13. OS 20. The Temperamental Tyrant (Part 13)

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Part 13

“Are you interrogating me, Chotey?” nani hissed. “Remember that I am your nani.”

“I know who you are,” Arnav bit out. “I also know what you are capable of.”

“Chotey!” Anjali protested. “is this the way to talk to our nani?”

Arnav smiled wryly. He turned to nani. “You looked after us when our chacha threw us out after our parents committed suicide,” he said bluntly. “Thank you. But that doesn’t give you the right to dictate my life.”

“Arnav bitwaa, yeh ho kaa raha he?” mama asked.

“Nani feared that history was repeating itself,” Arnav said laconically.

“Kaa?” mama asked, perplexed.

“What, bhai?” Akash asked.

“Bhat hajj Sasumma to do with Khussi going to meet her buaji at night like a thiefwaa?” mami asked, confused.

“That is what I want to know,” Arnav said, throwing a look of challenge at his nani.

“Chotey, this is enough. Why should nani be involved in the personal life of a maid we employed here?” Anjali asked, distaste loudly written on her face.

“Nani, di too wants to know,” he said, throwing a provocative glance at the elderly lady.

Nani said nothing.

“You know everything,” Arnav taunted nani. “You are responsible for Khushi leaving this house at night.”

“Amma, ee sab kaa he?” mama asked his mother, disturbed.

Nani lost it.

“You are asking me, Manohar? You, who brought disgrace to this house by dangling after the maid, who fell for the lures thrown at you by the house help?” Nani was magnificent in his anger.

Manohar flushed and mami’s face turned ashen, throwing into relief her ‘skilfully’ applied makeup.

“Dadi!” Akash interjected. “You are talking of my mother.”

“Ussi ka rona he,” nani stated. “And now your bhai is following in your father’s footsteps.”

All except nani and Arnav gasped. Anjali shut her eyes, fearing a blow-up.

Mami looked at mama with horror in her eyes.

“Out of the lakhs of sanskaari, educated girls available from good families, your bhai couldn’t find any girl to please him. No, not at all. He had to be infatuated with an anpad, gavar from Lucknow, wearing cheap, flashy clothes and inexpensive trinkets,” nani said with a sneer.

HP slowly withdrew into the kitchen. Naniji was wrong about Khushi, but she wouldn’t listen to him.

“What?” Akash asked with an incredulous gasp.

“Ee kaa keh rahi ho, amma?” mama asked, unable to believe his ears.

“I told him to marry. But your Arnav bitwaa declared that he didn’t believe in marriage. I invited a potential bride and her family here. He insulted them. Kyon? Because he was fascinated by a gold digger who was trying her best to dig her claws into him,” nani said. “I expected better of him, but I should have known...”

“...that the son of Arvind Mallik can change his name, but not his blood,” Arnav said quietly.

“Chotey!” Anjali whispered.

“Arnav bitwaa, naahi...” mami wept.

The rest of the family stared at him, including nani who hadn’t expected him to embrace his past with ease and no emotion. His lack of visible anger was scarier than his outbursts and tantrums.

 “What did you tell Khushi?” was all Arnav asked.

Nani had to look away for a moment. Then, because weakness wasn’t an option, she looked at him and said, “That girls from impoverished families shouldn’t hope to marry eligible sons of houses they work in.”

Arnav clenched his jaw, but he remained silent, waiting.

“That she should give up her dreams of being Mrs. Arnav Singh Raizada. That her father, a halwai had sent her here to trap one of my grandsons,” nani said.

“Did Khushi try to lure you into marriage, Akash?” Arnav asked quietly.

Akash’s mouth fell open. “No, bhai,” he replied, flustered. “We barely exchanged a couple of words.”

“We had many conversations. I never felt she was trying to trap me,” Arnav said laconically. “And I should know, with my experience of girls of marriageable ages and their mothers chasing me, hopeful that the chase will end at the mandap.”

“Amma, I think you overreacted,” Manohar said quietly.

Nani grimaced. Her son was a fool. “Do you want Arnav Singh Raizada to marry a poor halwai’s daughter?” she asked acerbically.

Manohar looked away.

“She is not a halwai’s daughter,” Arnav clarified, totally free of anger because the way ahead was very clear to him.

Nani snorted.

“Kaa, Arnav bitwaa?” mama asked.

“She is an orphan, like me,” he said quietly. “Her parents died in an accident when she was young. The man she calls babuji is her mother’s sister’s husband.” He looked at nani. “She loves him, respects him, would do anything for him.”

Nani looked away.

“That makes him more than a poor halwai,” Arnav said.

Mama nodded. “He seems to be a good man,” he remarked. “Amma, you are mistaken about Khushi.”

“You may be happy to see Arnav Singh Raizada marry a beggar, but I am not.” She stood up. “As long as I am alive, I will not let it happen,” nani said, walking away.

                                                            ***

12. OS 20. The Temperamental Tyrant (Part 12)

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Part 12

Khushi knocked on the door of her buaji’s home at night.

“Aaawat he, Nandkisore!” buaji called out. “Who is this banging on the door at midnight?

She unlatched the door and stared open-mouthed at Khushi.

“Khussi? Tum? What are you doing here at midnight?” She looked out at the almost deserted road. “You travelled alone, Nandkisore?” She clutched her heart.

Khushi abandoned her bag and hugged her buaji as tight as she could.

Tears that she had been holding back till then, flowed copiously down her face.

Madhumati held her weeping niece close, terrible thoughts filling her mind.

“Suno, Khussi, kono oonch neech to naahi hui na?” she asked, her heart thumping.

Khushi shook her head in the negative in between sobbing.

Madhumati took a deep breath of relief.

“Ab chodo mujhe, Nandkisore,” she said, setting the girl aside. “Bring your bag in, sit down and tell me what is wrong.”

Khushi obeyed. Sitting by her buaji on the sofa in the living room, under the benevolent gaze of Devi Maiyya, she recounted the events of that night.

Madhumati swelled up in righteous indignation. “How dare that nani accuse you, Madhumati Gupta’s niece, hamri Sasi babua’s daughter of trying to entice a boy? Is this our sanskaar, Nandkisore? Is this the way we marry off our daughters? We would have never sent you to work in a house if you hadn’t insisted and Sasi babua weren’t so sick.” She turned to look at Khushi. “You are my Sanka Devi, my Parmeswari, my Bhooleswari Devi. But no one, no one can accuse you of trying to attract men. You may drive them away with your antics, but never lure them to their doom.”

Khushi dried her tears.

“Khussi, call Happy Singh now. Ask him to bring his auto. I will go now to that nani and give her a piece of my mind. How dare she insult my niece, Nandkisore?” buaji fumed.

“No, buaji, don’t,” Khushi begged. “Let it be. Chodiye.”

“Kaisen chode hum, Nandkisore?” buaji asked. “She insulted you, she insulted our whole family.”

“What is the use, buaji?” Khushi asked. “How can I prove my innocence? There is no proof,” Khushi wept. “How can I make her understand that I never....”

Buaji looked at the sobbing girl. After a moment, she said, “Khussi, go to bed. It is very late. Kal savere dekhenge. Your buaji will find a solution to this problem, Nandkisore.”

Khushi nodded.

One hour later, Madhumati entered Khushi’s bedroom.

She was asleep, her cheeks still stained by tears.

Madhumati pulled the blankets up to her neck and smoothed her hair back from her forehead. It was a cold night.

How could a poor, helpless girl prove her innocence against an accusation made by a rich, elderly woman? Especially in such a case when proof couldn’t be produced?

Buaji sighed. Dishonour was a stain that could never be rubbed out.

                                                           ***

Arnav stood in the living room and shouted, “Khushi!”

Akash stood up from the chair he had been sitting on in his parents’ room. “That sound like bhai,” he murmured. “Why is he shouting?”

Mami looked at mamaji, apprehensive.

“Let ujj go downs,” she said. “Saasumma must have said something for hamre Arnav bitwaa to pheel angry, angrier, angriest.”

All three of them rushed down to hear Arnav shouting for Khushi.

“Bhy ijj he asking for Khussi, hello hi bye bye?” mami asked, perplexed. “Bhat did she do?”

“Maybe she disobeyed him,” mama said softly. “You know Arnav bitwaa’s anger.”

Akash looked at Arnav’s pale face, wondering what that slip of a girl had done to merit so much aggression.

“Khushi, where are you?” Arnav shouted.

HP peeked into the room.

“HP,” Akash asked softly, “where is Khushi?”

“Missing, Akash bitwaa,” HP said quietly.

“Missingwaa?” mami asked. “Ijj she a mojri to go missingwaa?”

Anjali and nani joined them, Anjali, unaware and nani, resolute.

Mama asked, “Arnav bitwaa, why are you calling Khussi? Why did HP say that she is missing?”

“Because she is missing, mama,” Arnav said, his ironic gaze resting on nani. “Her bed hasn’t been slept in.” Anger and fear and an acute sense of loss ate into him.

Anjali gasped. She turned to look at nani with fear in her eyes. Had nani killed Khushi and buried her in the flowerbed?

“She didn’t sleep here last night?” mama asked thoughtfully. “She served dinner, didn’t she? She must have left soon after that. Lekin raat mein..ek ladki akeli... Bitwaa, I think we should call the police. This city is not safe for girls at night.”

“Good idea,” Arnav said, his accusing eyes on nani. ‘Control, control,’ he told himself. Losing his temper would do only harm. And the stakes were too high here. “Call the police, mama,” he said.

Nani drew in a deep breath.

Mama moved towards the phone.

“Manohar, stop,” nani ordered.

Manohar halted, looking curiously at his mother. His hand hovered above the phone receiver.

Anjali clutched her heart, sure that nani had killed Khushi.

“There is no need to call the police,” nani declared. “Khussi went to her house of her own free will.”

Arnav smiled sardonically, fury rising like a wave in him.

Mama asked, “She went home at night? Kaa hua, amma? Was there a family emergency?”

“How should I know?” nani asked furiously. “I am not the caretaker of every little maid in Delhi and Lucknow.”

Mami looked away. Mama fell silent.

Akash clenched his fist. He swallowed his anger and asked Arnav, “Bhai, shouldn’t we call her and make sure she is fine?”

Arnav nodded tightly and motioned towards the phone.

Akash looked at HP.

HP hobbled to his room and brought back a piece of paper with Khushi’s phone number.

Arnav stood there, fists clenched as Akash called Khushi. His heartbeat picked up speed.

She answered.

“Khushi, this is Akash Singh Raizada. We just wanted to make sure that you reached home safe.”

“I am fine,” she replied.

Arnav held out his hand for the receiver.

Akash relinquished it.

Nani pursed her lips.

“Khushi?” Arnav asked, his voice shaking slightly.

There was a moment’s silence. Then she said, “Arnavji?”

The name was sweet music to his ears. “Yes,” he replied. “Why did you leave RM?”

Nani’s eyes widened.

A moment of silence later, Khushi said, “I am fine, Arnavji. Aap apna khayal rakhiyega.”

He was not in the mood to be fobbed off with such an answer. “I asked, why did you leave RM? That too at the dead of night. Tumhe kuch ho jata to?” he thundered.

She smiled at his concern.

He could hear her smile in her voice as she said, “I am safe. Aap pareshan mat hoyiye.”

“Why did you leave RM?” he asked again, striving for patience. “Answer me, Khushi, dammit!”

She tried to keep her tears at bay as she replied, “It was time to leave. My buaji...I wanted to be with her.”

Arnav swallowed hard. He asked, “Really, Khushi?”

She couldn’t lie any longer. “Hum...hum chalte hein, Arnavji. Aap sahi wakt par dawayi leejiyega. Please eat on time and take care of yourself.”

She cut the call.

Arnav lowered his hand holding the receiver, but stayed lost in thought.

Akash took it from his hand and replaced it.

“What did Khushi say, Chotey?” Anjali asked.

“That she wanted to be with her buaji,” Arnav replied, a frown on his face.

“Hein?” mami asked. “If she wanted to see her buaji, she could have gone savere savere. Bhy run away like a thiefwaa at night?”

“HP!” Arnav called.

“Yes, Arnav bhaiyya?” he asked.

“What did Khushi do after serving us dinner?” he asked.

“We cleared up. Then...then...” he hesitated.

“Then?” Arnav was merciless, his eyes sharp and focused.

“Naniji asked me to summon Khushi,” HP admitted.

Anjali gasped.

Mami turned to look at nani, surprise in her painted eyes.

Arnav smiled without humour.

“Then?” he asked.

“Khushi went to naniji’s room. That’s all I know,” HP revealed.

All eyes turned to nani and then towards Arnav.

“So, nani, why did you want to see Khushi?” Arnav asked, his voice quite and menacing.

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.