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.

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.

                                                   ***

1. OS 20: The Temperamental Tyrant (Part 1)

Will be posting today. Finally.

Sorry for the delay, darlings. Had to have a minor surgical procedure. Now back to form and raring to go.

Thanks for your patience.

Love,
Smita

The Temperamental Tyrant  (Part 1)

Hariprakash sighed looking at the stairs. His knees were killing him, but Arnav bhaiyya had to have his early morning tea, hot as hell and black as sin.

As he made to move ahead, a sweet voice stopped him.

“Hariprakashji, I will carry the tray up. Aap takleef na karein. Which room is it?” she asked, taking the silver tray from him.

He turned to look at the sweet, sanskaari girl standing by him, dressed in a fluorescent pink salwar kameez, stitched by a darzi in one of the bylanes of Lucknow. Her nose pin twinkled and her hazel eyes shone.

HP smiled fondly at the girl. “Khushiji, it is the last room. It is very kind of you to offer to help me.”

Khushi smiled widely at him and made to climb the steps.

HP’s face lost its smile.

“Khushiji,” he called.

She turned to look at him.

“Suniye....knock on the door. Arnav bhaiya is very particular, very set in his ways,” he said, almost hyperventilating.

“Arnav bhaiya?” she asked, frowning.

“You met Anjali bitiya yesterday,” he reminded her. “Arnav bhaiya is her brother.”

“Acha,” Khushi said with a smile. The brother of the pious lady who seemed permanently attached to the pooja thali must be older than her, she thought. Otherwise why would Hariprakashji call him Arnav bhaiya?

“He is...he is thoda gussawala, thoda...khadoos. Be very careful when dealing with him. Knock on the door. Open it. Place the tray by his bed, draw the curtains and leave,” HP instructed, a scared look on his face. He glanced at the clock. “Go fast. It is time for his tea.”

Older than Anjaliji, with a beard and matted locks and a temper to boot. Pukka sant aadmi, like sage Durvasa who was known for his temper, she concluded. 

“Don’t worry about me, Hariprakashji. I am Khussi. How can anyone be gussa with me?” she asked, beaming away. Then, with a flounce, she turned and went up the steps, humming Dekha he pehli baar, saajan ki aankhon mein pyaar...tan ta  na na, tan ta na na, tan ta na na, tan.

Hariprakashji wiped off the beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead in spite of the chill in the early morning air. Pyaar? He hoped she was not fated to witness one of Arnav bhaiya’s legendary temper tantrums! The last three men employed to assist him had run for their lives, fled the house before they had unpacked completely. He hoped Khushiji was made of sterner stuff and stayed at least a month.

                                                                 ***

Khushi knocked on the door, still humming the love song,

Dilbar tujhe milne ko kab se tha mein bekarar...

Ab jaake aaya mere bechain dil ko karaar....

She frowned. There was no reply.

Hariprakashji had asked her to knock and enter. He hadn’t mentioned she had to wait for the bearded ascetic’s permission.

So she pushed the door open with one hand, the other balancing the silver tray with one mug of an evil-looking, black concoction.

The room was dark and smelled faintly of sandalwood.

Her guess was correct, she congratulated herself. Hari Prakashji’s Arnav bhaiya was definitely a sanyasi who did pooja in his room. Otherwise, why would his room smell of sandalwood? Like brother, like sister, she thought.

Breathing in the fragrance, an appreciative Khushi looked around for the windows so that she could draw the curtains and let some light in. She finally located them and moved towards them on silent feet to draw the curtains.

Mellow, golden light filled the room.

Through the glass windows, Khushi laid her eyes on the most beautiful garden she had ever seen, set around a small pool.

She drew in a deep breath, thrilled at the sight.

She turned around and moved away from the window, to set the tray on a low table nearby.

Light fell on a sleeping Arnav’s face.

He stirred and opened his eyes, expecting to see HP.

Pink? Really?

He blinked. When had HP taken to wearing a pink so bright that he needed shades to see it?

“HP?” he called, his husky voice turned huskier by sleep.

His voice sent shivers down Khushi’s spine.

She turned to look at him and stood gaping at him, her eyes wide in shock.

"What the!" he exclaimed.

He sat up in bed, the sheet falling to his lap, revealing his finely muscled chest clothed in a beige t-shirt.

Her eyes ran over his molten chocolate eyes, the unruly hair, the finely shaped jaw, the stubble, his cute ears and his straight nose. She tried to keep her eyes on his face and not slip down to peek at his chest. After all, she was Sasi Gupta’s sanskaari daughter. From Lucknow.

“You are not HP!” he declared, his shocked eyes trying to take in her bright and colourful gorgeousness, her dangling earrings, her nose pin, her hazel eyes and her open mouth.

“You are not old!” she protested. “Where is your beard?”

                                                        ***