18. OS 20. The Temperamental Tyrant (Part 18)

Part 18

Her lashes fluttered. She opened her eyes slowly to see his beloved face close to hers.

Any other girl might have swooned at his handsomeness and their closeness, but Khushi, being Khushi, said, “How thin you have become!”

His lips quirked. She could make him laugh in the most insane of situations.

He wrapped his arms tigher around her.

Her arms lifted and her hands cupped his lean cheeks.

His eyes fell shut. The relief of being with her was phenomenal.

“Arnavji, kya hua? Kya haal banake rakha he aapne?” she asked, her eyes filling with tears.

He opened his eyes to smile at her, reveling in her concern for him. It had been so long!

“Did you fight with someone? Did you have some trouble with your business?” she asked. Without even giving him a chance to reply, she went on, “Whatever it is, it is not worth losing your health over. Aap ko khayal rakhna chahiye tha na?” She sniffed, one tear rolling down her cheek. “Is there no barber in Delhi? Dhadi kyon badda liye aapne?”

He smiled.

“Ek guitar ki kami he or you would look like a phillum hero crying over lost pyaar,” she said ingenuously.

His smile widened.

“Aap has kyon rahe ho?” she asked. Suddenly her face changed, becoming red with anger. “How dare she!” she fumed.

Arnav quirked his brow.

“I told her to take care of you, to never leave you alone!” Khushi thundered. “She broke her promise. Dekhti hoon mein unko,” she threatened. “Your nani broke her word to me...” She tried to free herself from his hold, ready to march all the way to Delhi to give nani a piece of her mind.

Arnav tightened his hold, touched to his heart’s core that even when his nani had insulted her, her sole thought had been him and only him. He lifted her in his arms, walked to a sofa and sat down with her on his lap.

“You can fight nani later,” he said indulgently.

Khushi became aware of the indecorous way in which she was sitting on the lap of the billionaire his nani had warned her away from.

She tried to jump up, but Arnav coiled his arms around her waist and held her close.

Her breath caught in her chest.

“Khushi,” he whispered, “will you return to Delhi with me?”

Her heart was sorely tempted. So was her body. But her sanskari upbringing vetoed the plan. How could she go to Delhi with Arnavji when his nani had called her a gold digger and immoral and accused her babuji of dangling his girls before eligible men to attract them?

“No,” she replied, her voice and her heart breaking.

“Not even if I apologise for nani?” he asked.

She shook her head. Finding words was too difficult.

He leaned forward, his cheek brushing against her petal-soft cheek.

Khushi jumped. “Humein chalna chahiye. I need to leave,” she gasped, trying to vacate his lap.

But he held on.

Suddenly it dawned on her.

“What are you doing here, Arnavji?” she asked in astonishment. “You work in Delhi, don’t you?” Her eyes went to the huge teak door. “The lady said the owner of Happiness Hospitality Group wanted to meet the employees...” Her voice faded away. Her wide eyes stayed on his face. “Yeh sab...kya ho raha he, Arnavji?”

“I bought Sheesh Mahal,” he replied, his eyes on her astounded ones. “I set up Happiness Hospitality Group.” He smiled at her. “Happiness is Khushi,” he said simply.

Teras filled her eyes and flowed down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry, Khushi,” he pleaded softly.

“I thought...I thought...I would never see you again,” she sobbed.

He held her close.

“I thought...you would...forget me...” she wailed, her head in the crook of his neck and her arms around his shoulders.

“Never,” he replied.

They sat together for a while, silent at times.

“Amanji?” she asked.

“My private secretary,” he explained. “We came to Lucknow to buy this building.”

“You came to Lucknow?” she asked, surprised. Her face fell. “I didn’t know. Nor did I see you. Matlab, on the street or in a shop...”

“I saw you,” he said.

“Sachi?” she asked.

“You were carrying a tray of laddoos, looking as though someone had died,” he said bluntly.

She looked at him for a moment, her eyes vulnerable. Then she turned her face away.

“Khushi, there is something I need to show you,” he said sombrely.

She looked at him for a few seconds and then stood up.

“Come with me,” he said, holding his hand out.

She placed her hand in his and let him lead her out of the room.

The lady manning the desk dropped the file she was holding when ASR walked out of his office, holding Khushi Kumari Gupta’s hand.

When she could get hold of herself, she phoned Aman.

“Sir, ASR just walked out of his office holding Khushi Kumari Gupta’s hand,” she hyperventilated.

Aman smiled, feeling an amazing sense of accomplishment far greater than what he had ever felt before. “Good,” he said mildly, leaving the lady perplexed.

                                                                   ***

ASR took Khushi to the second floor, making for a room at the end of the corridor.

Employees fell away at the sight of their stern-faced boss marching towards a room, with Khushi trailing behind him, her wrist in his soft but firm hold. What had Khushi done? Had she displeased him? Had her work not been up to the standard?

He led her into the room and shut the door.

She looked around the luxurious room with designer furnishings and a soft bed that could put clouds to shame.

“This was my room,” he said quietly, his molten chocolate eyes on her hazel ones.

She frowned. His room? But he had never come here before.

“This house...” he explained, “...this house is our ancestral home.”

She gasped.

“I lived here till I was fourteen.” He turned away to look out of the window, her wrist still in his hold. He needed the comfort that only she could provide with her presence.

Khushi didn’t utter a word. He was troubled. There were bad memories associated with the house and he was reliving them. In a flash of insight, she realised that maybe this house was the source of his bitterness and his cynicism.

He led her out to the next room.

“This was di’s room,” he stated.

She nodded.

He led her to the ground floor.

“This was my mother’s room. She loved to embroider,” he said before leading her to the courtyard. On the way her eyes fell on Ratna Raizada’s portrait.

When they reached the courtyard, he said, “This was where my di was sitting.”

She looked at him enquiringly.

“It was her wedding day. There were guests, shehnai, lights, flowers...” He waved his hand in the general direction.

 She waited.

“Then mama went upstairs. I sat with di, teasing her. After a while, I went up to get mama. It was time for the groom to arrive.” He drew in a deep breath and his hold on her wrist tightened.

“Arnavji,” she whispered.

“Come with me, Khushi,” he murmured. It was a plea.

She nodded.

He led her back to the first floor. Stopping at the door of a room, he said, “This was my parents’ room.”

He pushed open the door.

He blinked. It looked nothing like it had. Now it was bright and airy, the white walls and pastel green and ochre furnishings adding to its charm. The furniture was antique, but polished to within an inch of its life.

“I heard them arguing,” he said softly as though he were speaking of someone he barely knew.

She swallowed through a dry throat. Something bad was coming. The premonition was very strong.

She freed her hand from his hold.

He turned his head to look at the beautiful, innocent, young girl standing behind him.

She caught hold of his hand and laced her fingers through the gaps of his.

His eyes fell to their locked fingers.

He said, “Mama was angry with papa, accusing him of...of having an affair.” He turned his head away, not wanting to fall in her eyes but helpless. He was ashamed of his father and he was terrified that Khushi would think he was made of the same material.

Her fingers tightened around his.

Drawing courage from her action, he continued, “The lady in question had apparently joined the guests and mama had seen papa and her together.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t make out much more of their conversation. Papa was protesting his innocence. Mama was unwilling to believe him.” He lowered his head. “I turned to walk away in disbelief at what I had witnessed. I reached the stairs and was half-way down when...when I heard it.”

He walked her to the room next door. “Papa’s study. He...he kept his hunting guns and rifles here. Also antique swords and daggers...” He pushed open the door.

There was no carpet and the walls were painted white. He drew in a deep breath. The white tiles had been changed, furnishings and furniture replaced. It was a bedroom now.

Khushi moved closer to him and standing facing him, lifted their locked hands to her chest and held them there.

“One shot...just one shot,” he said, his eyes moist. “I ran back, pushed open this door to see....to see mama on the floor...blood everywhere...gun on the floor...the carpet was soaked...the walls were red....” The child in him trembled at the very memory.

The next thing he knew, he was enclosed in fragrant warmth as Khushi hugged him tight, wrapping her arms around him and holding him as tight as she could.

A moment of shock later, he coiled his arms around her and buried his face in the crook of her neck. If hot tears seared her skin, she said nothing. If he felt her tears fall on his hair, he said nothing.

Later, she led him to sit on a chair and sat down on the tile, facing him. Their fingers were still locked.

He completed the sorry tale. “Papa shot himself a couple of hours later.”

She caught her breath. That was why his family had celebrated his parents’ barsi together. She had wondered how they had died on the same day.

“We cremated them the next day. I set fire to their bodies and returned home after the rituals.” He looked away. “Di was in tears.” After a moment of silence, he continued, “Relations and well-wishers left. The groom and his family left too, cancelling the wedding. The next morning, our chacha threw us out.”

“What?” Khushi could no longer control herself. “Threw you out? Matlab?”

“He wanted the house. So he threw di and me out of the house,” he stated in an emotionless voice.

“I will kill him,” Khushi threatened, jumping up.

Arnav caught hold of her wrist, warmed by her support. He looked at her face and then at her hand in his hold.

Breathe, breathe, he told himself. He had to divulge the secret that could rip her heart out, but he needed some time to prepare himself to bear her tears.

“He deserves your anger,” he continued after a moment. “Nani, mama, mami and Akash came and took us away. We lived with them.” He looked at where his mother’s lifeless body had lain and said more to his mama than to Khushi, “Mami and nani supported me when I wanted to start a business. Nani pledged her land and house in Lucknow and mami gave me her entire stash of jewellery to sell. She also gave me the papers to a small property her father had left her, to pledge or sell. I started my firm, worked 24x7. I hired Aman. We worked day and night. Slowly the firm started showing profit and then there was no looking back. I returned everything I had taken from nani and mami, with interest.”

Khushi smiled at him.

He looked away.

“What is wrong?” she asked, the smile fading away.

He looked at her anxious face and felt he was dying inside. Would she hate him when she found out her parents’ killer was his chacha?

He tugged at her arm.

She came closer to him.

He tugged her to sit on his lap. His arms came around her protectively. She would cry, rant against fate. He couldn’t hide the truth from her. Nor could he save her the pain. But he could hold her, absorb her grief within himself.

Each drop that fell from her eyes was his. Every breath she took was his. She was so much a part of him that he didn’t know where he ended and she began.

 Was this love? If it was, then he was in love with Khushi Kumari Gupta. Totally, irrevocably in love with Khushi. Lost in love for her. Desolate without her. She was all that mattered; she was all he wanted.

“Khushi,” he murmured in his husky voice.

“Ji?” she looked into his eyes, their faces only a few inches away.

“Your parents died in an accident,” he stated.

“Ji,” she replied. She had already told him about the tragic accident that had taken their lives when she had been ten.

“Do you know who owned the car that killed your parents?” he asked.

She shook her head.

He gulped. Then he said, “My nanaji.”

Khushi stared at him, her eyes wide in shock.

“But he didn’t kill your parents,” he informed her. “He didn’t drive. He had never learned to drive.”

Khushi breathed easy.

“But the car was his. My chacha borrowed it from him.” He looked into her bewildered eyes. “My chacha killed your parents. He was drunk and .... He then paid to have the matter hushed up. He hid it from nanaji too. Your amma tried to file a case against him, but he was too powerful.” He said it all in a rush.

Khushi sat looking at him, lost.

Slowly, a tear trailed down her cheek.

Arnav leaned forward and rubbed it away with his cheek.

She threw her arms around his neck and burst into tears.

He hugged her close, willing her to absorb his strength, silently begging her to give him her pain.

A long time later, she sat up. He dried her cheeks.

All she said was, “If I meet your chacha, ever, I will kill him. Twice. Once for you, Arnavji. Then for me.”

He hugged her as tight as he could.

He murmured into her hair, “I bought this house from him. Aman threw him out.”

“Good,” she said. “Your mother must be so proud of you today.”

He shut his eyes. Yes, his mama would be proud of him. He had set foot in Lucknow again, for Khushi. He had bought Sheesh mahal, for Khushi. He had stayed for more than a few minutes in Sheesh mahal, for Khushi. He had finally spoken about his past to Khushi. He had dared to enter the rooms where the tragedy had occurred and was now sitting in a chair near the scene of the crime, with Khushi.

Now nothing could faze him. The nightmares had lost their power over him. He was a free bird.

                                                                    ***