156. OS: 7: The Other Woman (Part 19)

Section 19

Khushi lay looking at the ceiling, recalling all the events of the evening. She rubbed her poor tummy. It had taken a punishment, the overload of sugar and the ghee shocking it out of its complacence.

Khushi sighed.

She would never make a jalebi again, not when she was sad, not when she was happy. Just imaging it was enough to turn her queasy.

She turned over, clutching a pillow to her chest.

Diabetic Singh Raizada had filled her with sugar, right up to her throat. What an irony!

Was he on guard duty outside? Khushi wondered. She sat up hastily. Maybe she should peek through the window. She slipped out of her bed without disturbing Payal and looked out.

There was no white car adding class to the small street.

Khushi drew in a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you, Devi Maiyya,” she whispered. Maybe Ullu Singh Raizada had finally realised how dangerous it was to loiter around Laxmi Nagar without proper sustenance, she thought. But what to do about his gift-sending propensity? How could she make him understand that he was putting her in a fix everytime he sent her something? She rubbed her  stomach that churned in sympathy with the conflict in her heart.

Khushi spent a listless day at the office, drawing many comments of concern from her co-workers.

“Kaa hua, Khussi?” Sharmaji asked. “Are you sick?”

“No, I am fine, Sharmaji,” Khushi tried to smile widely.

“Khushi, come to lunch,” Seema called. “I have brought jalebis. Tumhe bahut pasand he na?”

Khushi’s eyes flew wide in horror. “I...I am fasting today, Seemaji,” she stammered before leaving the room on quick feet.

There was no car or Arrogant Singh Raizada leaning against it that evening. Khushi clutched her heart in relief and slowly walked home, enjoying the evening breeze. She waved at all her acquaintances at the well and the kirana store and Happyji’s garage before walking in to her home.

“Buaji, I am home. Jiji?” she called.

Buaji and Payal looked at her, their eyes stern.

“Kya hua?” Khushi asked, a frown forming on her forehead.

Then her eyes fell on the packet reposing on Buaji’s lap. All her hard-won peace went out through the window. Her heart leaped to her throat. Khushi tried to swallow but found the exercise almost impossible.

Gaily wrapped in red, shiny paper, the packet mocked her.

“Buaji, what...when..who..how..?”  Khushi began, hyperventilating.

“That is exactly what I want to ask you, Sanka Devi. A delivery boy brought it today. He said it is for you. I asked him if he was sure. He said he was. I made him promise on Nandkisore that it was for you. Then I signed and took it from him. It was after he left that I began to wonder who would be sending you a gift. Kaun he, Nandkisore?”

Khushi felt a man with hot, burning eyes pull the rug from under her feet. She wobbled.

“Khushi, sit down,” Payal pulled her down to sit by her. “What is happening here?”

“First open the packet, Payaliyya. Then we can listen to Parmeswari’s hundred excuses,” Buaji exhorted.

Payal handed over the packet to Khushi. “Someone has sent it to Khushi, Buaji. Let her unwrap it.”

Khushi peeled back the wrap with nervous fingers, sweating in the cool evening. What was it? What excuse could she give her family? If she could get her hands around that Generous Singh Raizada’s neck, she would strangle him till he promised never to send her gifts again.

She opened the box. A sari. Red, bright red, redder than red had any right to be.

Payal gasped. She pulled the sari out of the box. The soft silk tumbled out to fall over Khushi’s lap and legs, hugging her feet lovingly.

Khushi shivered as though warm, hard male hands had softly caressed her feet.

“It is so beautiful, Khushi. And it looks expensive. Who sent it to you? Why?” Payal asked.

Buaji looked at Khushi, her hands on her hips.

Khushi drew in air, a lot of it. There was no escape now. Only the truth would suffice.

“Buaji, Jiji, I didn’t want to tell you...” she began. She looked at the waiting faces of her family and tried again. “Buaji, a boy asked me to marry him.”

Buaji and Payal gasped.

“Is he pagal, Nandkisore?” Buaji asked. “Why would he want to tie his life to you, the sankiest girl in India? Shayad woh tumhe jaanta nahi he.”

“What did you say?” Payal asked.

“I..I refused him,” Khushi said.

“Ek ladka bach gaya, Nandkisore!” Buaji teased Khushi.

Khushi frowned. “But he is persistent. He sent me this gift,” she looked down at the sari.

Buaji frowned. “If he wants to marry you, why didn’t he bring his family and call on us? He could have made a formal proposal, Nandkisore.”

Khushi looked heavenwards. ‘Devi Maiyya, please don’t give ideas to Gadha Singh Raizada,’ she begged.

Buaji sighed. “He has good taste in sarees, but not in girls. Is he a salesman in some textile shop, Nandkisore?”

“No, Buaji. He is a criminal, a goonda,” Khushi tried to blacken her suitor’s reputation in Buaji’s eyes.

“Hein?” Buaji exclaimed. Payal gasped.

“Yes,” Khushi shook her head in emphasis. “He kidnaps girls, Buaji,” she said with relish.

Buaji clutched her heart.

“Khushi,” Payal’s voice trembled. “It is not safe to roam about the city alone. You either give up your job or let me escort you to office and back daily.”

“Titliyya, resign immediately,” Buaji ordered, her voice a mere thread.

Khushi gasped. She hadn’t expected this.

“No, no Buaji, he won’t hurt me,” she tried to qualify her previous statements.

“How can we be sure, Khushi?” Payal worried, her eyes anxious.

“He..he is a lion only to other people, Jiji. With me he is a pussycat,” Khushi tried to reassure her family.

“Khussi, I need time to think. You phone Shyamji. Tell him you won’t be coming to the office tomorrow. Waise bhi, it is Teej. You have to fast,” Buaji decided.

Khushi gasped. “Fast? Me?”

“Yes, you,” Buaji said firmly.

“But Buaji, I don’t have a husband. Hamein khane do na? I will fast after I get a husband,” Khushi tried to wheedle.

Buaji hit her on the head. “The way you are going, Parmeswari, you will never have to fast. No boy will take the risk of marrying you. Chup chap vrat rakho. Payaliyya, see to it that not a morsel passes through her lips tomorrow.”

“Ji, Buaji,” Payal smiled at Khushi’s cross face.

“What are we going to do about this sari, Nandkisore?” Buaji asked, her eyes uneasy.

“You don’t worry about that, Buaji. I will see to it,” Khushi pursed her lips.

Should I call him or should I call his home? Khushi wondered as she paced her bedroom.

If she called him...Khushi shivered. She would have to listen to his husky voice....She quickly phoned Goonda Singh Raizada’s home.

His Mami answered the call. “Helllooooo, who ijj it calling Raijjada Mansion?”

“Hum Khushi,” Khushi began.

“To mein kya karoon, Khussi?” Mami asked, lifting her legs and curling them under her. “Shall I make you Dukhi?” She bit in to an apple.

“Are you related to Arroga..I mean, Arnav Singh Raizada?’ she asked.

“Of course. I am his Mami, Manorama Singh Raijjada,” Mami said.

“Suniye, your nephew mere naak mein dam karke rakha he,” Khushi began.

“That is hamre Arnav bitwaa’s specialty,” his Mami chortled. “Did he shout at you, Hello Hi Bye Bye? Are you working for him?”

“Working for him? Even my dog won’t work for him, Mrs. Raizada,” Khushi claimed.

Manorama laughed. “Can your dog design clothes? Iph not, then your dog ijj useless at hamre Arnav bitwa’s ophice.”

“Mrs. Raizada,” Khushi bit out. “Your nephew is hanging around street corners like a loafer, eyeing me.”

The apple fell from Mami’s hands. “Bhat?” she asked. “Hamre Arnav bitwaa?”

“Yes, your Arnav bitwaa. He is sending me gift after gift....” Khushi began.

“What gifat did he give you?” Mami cut in, curious.

Khushi drew in a deep breath hoping to generate patience in her heart.

“Flowers, jalebi and now a sari,” Khushi complained.

“Sari? Is it silk? Kaunsa colourwaa he?” Mami asked.

“Red,” Khushi fumed. His whole family was mad.

“Red is hamre Arnav bitwaa’s favourite colour,” Mami mused. “Saasumma,” she hollered.

Khushi held the phone away from her ear. She had no desire to become deaf at such a young age.

“Saasumma, lagat he hamre Arnav bitwaa ijj improving. He is now behaving like a naarmaal boy,” Mami said.

Khushi’s eyes widened.

She heard Nani ask, “What did he do now, Manorama?”

“Laptop ko chodkar ladki ched raha he hamre Arnav bitwaa,” Mami informed her cheerfully.

Khushi heard the sound of a thali drop on the floor.

She cut the call.

It was no use talking to Baawla Singh Raizada’s family.

Khushi quickly punched in Arnav’s number.

“Hello,” he said shortly, wondering who was calling him.

“No Hello to you, you Saale-saheb,” Khushi fumed.

“Khushi? Kya hua, Khushi?” he drawled, smiling. “How did you get my number?”

“I asked Shyamji for it,” Khushi admitted.

“You wanted to talk to me so bad, Khushi? I am honoured,” he whispered.

Khushi shivered at the sound of his bedroom voice. “Aap chup rahiye. Bilkul chup. Don’t speak if you value your life,”  Khushi warned him. “I gave you so many chances, I thought you would realise on your own how idiotic you were being...but no. I have to teach you manners?”

“Khushi, meine kya kiya?” he asked, his honey-filled voice sending a tingle down her spine.

“I will tell you what you did,” Khushi sat down, preparing to unleash a diatribe against him.

“Did you like the flowers, Khushi? The jalebi? What about the sari?” Lovelorn Singh Raizada asked.