5. OS 20. The Temperamental Tyrant (Part 5)

Part 5

“Bitiya, Arnav bhaiya won’t be going to office tomorrow at his usual time,” HP informed Khushi.

She frowned. “Kya hua, Hariprakashji?” she asked.

HP sighed. “It is his and Anjali bitiya’s parents’ death anniversary,” he said softly. “The priest will come early in the morning to do the pooja.”

Khushi could only look at him in silence as her heart flooded with sympathy for the pair of orphans. A realisation made her frown. “They died on the same day?” she asked.

“Yes, bitiya,” HP replied sorrowfully.

Nani summoned HP and he left the kitchen.

“How could they die on the same day?” Khushi wondered, a frown creasing her forehead. “Maybe it was a car accident,” she concluded after thought.

A few minutes later, she slipped away to her room. She opened her wardrobe and pulled out a photo in a black frame from under the neatly folded clothes.

The photo was black and white. A handsome man stood by his gorgeous wife who was sitting in a chair. Both were dressed well and the lady was wearing jewellery. She looked shy and the man looked happy.

Khushi tried to swallow through her constricted throat.

She lifted a hand and traced the figures of the couple even as hot tears filled her eyes and trailed down her alabaster cheeks.

“Amma, babuji,” she whispered. “I thought it was just me that had to live without my parents, lekin that’s not so. Aap ko pata he, Anjaliji and her brother are orphans too.”

She sighed. “Where is justice in this world? Why should children lose their amma babuji? He Devi Maiyya, why such cruelty?”

“Khushi bitiya,” HP called.

“Haan, Hariprakashji?” she asked, hastily hiding the photo and drying her eyes.

“Bitiya, come and help me,” HP requested from the doorway. “Mamiji’s friends have dropped in and need to be served tea.”

“Aap chinta na karein. I will do it,” Khushi replied.

                                                  ***

That night, she stood by the dining table as ASR ate his dinner.

She was noticeably silent. There was no chatter about the dishes or how healthy they were or how he was eating too little or how her amma used to make these sabzi in Lucknow and the fragrance waft to neighbouring houses.

Arnav looked at her with suspicion in his wary eyes. Why was she quiet?

Khushi’s eyes were cast down. Her smile was missing from her face.

“Kya hua?” he asked gruffly.

She lifted her beautiful eyes to look at him. “Kuch nahi,” she replied listlessly.

The ASR who never pried into other people’s private lives, who refused to acknowledge that others, especially his employees, may have a private life outside of his office, asked, for the first time in his life, “Missing your family?”

Her lips trembled. He, who had lost his parents, was asking after hers? How good a man he was! Under his anger and khadoosness, lay a heart of gold.

ASR looked at her wet eyes and trembling lips and felt terrible. Maybe he should let her go home for a couple of days. But...how could he? Who would send him off to office in the morning and greet him at night with a wide smile? Who would serve him dinner and fuss over him?

 His eyes widened.

 What was he thinking? ASR shook his head to clear it. He was being ridiculous. He didn’t need her. ASR needed no one.

But...but HP needed her assistance. Yes, HP needed her.

Having found the excuse to keep her with him, he remained silent.

                                                   ***

The arrangements for the barsi were complete.

The photo of the dead couple was placed on a pedestal and garlanded. The pooja items and flowers were ready on silver plates. The priest had arrived.

Only Arnav Singh Raizada was absent.

“Khussi,” nani called.

Khushi walked up to her.

“Call Chotey from his room,” nani instructed.

Khushi nodded and ran up the steps. She knocked on the shut door.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Your naniji wants you to come down for the pooja,” she informed him.

He threw open the door, leaving her stunned.

He was in a white kurta and pyjama, looking far younger than he usually did, shrouded in black formal clothes.

He made to step forward, but she was blocking his path.

“Khushi?” he called.

She lifted her gorgeous eyes to his.

“Move,” he said, puzzled and amused. Why was she staring at him and that too, silently?

Khushi flushed and jumped aside.

ASR walked down the steps, followed by Khushi.

                                                     

                                                            ***

The barsi was a strange event to Khushi, who spied on the family from her vantage point in the kitchen.

Anjali wept delicately during the pooja, sniffing once in a while. Nani, mami and mama had wet eyes. But HP’s Arnav bhaiya had dry eyes and didn’t even glance once at the photo of his parents. He saw them every night in his nightmares anyway.

The garland on the photo slipped on his father’s side.

ASR did nothing. He would be damned if he honoured that good-for-nothing lecher who had caused his mama’s suicide.

“Chotey,” Anjali murmured.

ASR did nothing. Akash fidgetted, sensing his brother’s rebellious mood.

“Chotey, the garland has slipped,” nani informed him.

ASR lifted his eyes to look at the photo and then looked away, doing nothing.

Akash quickly stepped in. He adjusted the garland to cover both figures in the photo.

“Can we continue this?” ASR asked the priest brusquely. “I need to get to office.”

Khushi stared slack jawed at the strange behaviour of this incomprehensible man.

Once the pooja was done, he excused himself and left for his room, not even glancing at his sister who was sobbing in nani’s arms, wailing about how much she missed her parents and what they would have said had they been alive today.

All he said was, “Akash, I will see you in office at ten.”

“Yes, bhai,” Akash replied readily, not even expecting his brother to stay at home till noon on his parents’ barsi.

‘What an odd family,’ Khushi thought.

“Bitiya,” HP called softly from behind her. “Take Arnav bhaiya’s breakfast to his room. He won’t come down to eat with the others.”

‘Not even on the barsi of his parents? He wants to eat alone today too?’ she wondered.

Khushi carried a tray with covered dishes up the steps to the Laad Governor’s room.

He looked up from the laptop.

She stood in the doorway, not stepping into the room.

He waited.

“Suniye, won’t you come down and have your breakfast with the family?” she asked.

“No,” he replied shortly and firmly.

“Today is not any other day,” she tried again. “Please come down. You can share your grief with your family,” she urged.

He stood up and walked towards her to stand mere inches away from her.

Her hands shook. Her hazel eyes were trapped by his cold, steely ones.

He hissed, “The world is a terrible place, especially for fools like you who expect all and everything to be good and kind.”

Khushi frowned. “Should I expect everyone to be evil and cruel?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.

His lips twisted in a grimace. “It is a dog-eat-dog world. All are manipulators and opportunists. Nothing matters more to people than getting their own way and that too by trampling on you on their way up,” he said coldly. “And when they bring you down, they will make sure you don’t rise again.”

Khushi’s frown deepened. “You mean, all people are selfish?” she asked. “That’s not true.”

He warned, “There is nothing called selflessness. It is nothing more than the imagination of an unworldly idiot who expects the world to give him what he desires, on a platter. That’s not happening.” He came closer to her, breathing heavily. “When you are weak and helpless and you cry for help, they will laugh at you, jeer at you. No one, absolutely no one is going to extend a helping hand.”

Khushi blinked, his nearness and his words leaving her unsettled.

“Wise up, Khushi. Or you will pay a heavy price for your flights of fancy,” he said in his husky voice, looking down into her beautiful eyes.

They stood in silence for a long moment, sharing a potent eye lock.

Then Khushi said, “Hatiye aap.”

He frowned.

“Hatiye na,” she urged.

He stepped aside.

Khushi walked into his room and placed his breakfast tray on the low table by the recliner. She then flexed her aching arms.

He stood looking at her.

She turned to face him.

“We may disagree on many things, especially our views on the world. But that doesn’t mean you have to go without your breakfast. Aap khayiye. I have made paratha with your favourite, healthy olive oil. Aap ko office bhi jaana he na?” she asked.

He looked at her eyes that were totally free of malice or manipulation.

She walked towards him and with a sweet smile, slipped out through the door.

A step or two out of the door, she turned to look at him.

“I don’t think the world is such an evil place,” she said quietly.

He opened his mouth to refute her, but she continued, “Bad things happen. They happen to all of us. But good things happen too. There are bad and good people around us. So condemning the world as terrible is not right.”

He stood looking at her.

“Matlab, Mishraji used to beat me every day. If I had considered him an example of every teacher, I would never have returned to school. Chintu used to pull my hair. If I had believed that all students were bullies like him, I would have never made friends,” she explained. “I would have missed out on so much fun.”

He looked away.

She smiled at him. “Hum chalte hein. Hariprakashji will be looking for me. Aap, please, khayiyega. Don’t take your anger out on the food.”

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.