220. OS 11. An Uncomplicated Wife (Part 3)

Link to my new short story: Taking Care of You


“I thought I was dreaming when I first saw you," he said.

 “How did you know it was me?” she asked. “I could have been anybody. A thief even.”

He smiled wearily. “I don’t know many thieves who would look at me with anxious eyes and then cry because I was sick,” he mumbled.

Is it possible for love to bloom, sight unseen? Juhi and Abhay are strangers who know each other better than they know themselves. One night changes the equation and the even tenor of their lives and puts all their doubts and fears to rest.

http://pothi.com/pothi/book/ebook-smita-ramachandran-taking-care-you

Link to my first e-novel; A Home for Meenakshi

http://pothi.com/pothi/book/ebook-smita-ramachandran-home-meenakshi

"I love the way you love, Meenu," he whispered, his eyes on hers. "Such loyalty, such passion..."

Meenakshi Sharma, an orphan, lives in Varanasi with her uncle, a chronic bachelor who wants her to become a professional musician. She unwillingly relocates to Delhi to study under a renowned musician for eight months. Staying for rent in the outhouse of the Agrawals, she meets Aditya Agrawal, an attractive young man brooding over the memories of his horrendous past. Pulled between her uncle's expectations of her and Aditya's love for her, Meenakshi struggles with her feelings. How can she disappoint her uncle who had devoted his entire life to her upbringing? How can she pretend to be blind to Aditya's feelings for her? A romance that moves between the alleys of the holy city of Varanasi and the modern city of Delhi.

A blog for my VMs:

http://smitarsvms.blogspot.in/

Part 3

Arnav closed his warm fingers over the small, cold, trembling hand placed trustingly within his and quickly moved towards the edge of the road. She followed, gripping the heavy lehenga with one hand.

He looked down from the road at the jungle below.

The road was built at a height. They would have to clamber down and move among the trees and shrubs to avoid being seen.

“Careful, Khushi,” he murmured. Then he rested his free hand on the trunk of a tree and slowly, cautiously placed one foot before the other to walk down to level ground. He halted frequently for Khushi to adjust to his pace, making sure that she was safe.

They reached a ridge running parellel to the highway.

“We need to get away from here,” he murmured, walking forward, still holding her hand tightly.

“Yes,” she replied softly, following him, her eyes on his broad shoulders.

“And find a refuge before it gets dark,” he said.

She shivered in the cold wind, the darkness adding to her trepidation.

He felt the shiver through her fingers and turned his head to look at her.

“I am alright,” she said, hearing his unspoken question. This was not the time to fuss about her shivers. They could be dead soon if the men returned and found them.

They made their way through the trees on quick feet, Arnav keeping a close watch on the highway. Each time a vehicle passed by, Khushi’s heart stopped and Arnav tensed. His eyes sought the colour and make of the automobile; his ears cocked to hear if it was slowing down in search of them.

They ducked under shrubs, Arnav holding slender branches up so that she could follow without difficulty.

When he stumbled once, she held on tight with both hands till he regained his balance.

“There is an exposed root here,” he warned breathlessly.

“Ji,” she breathed, still hanging on to his arm with both hands.

They moved rapidly, frantically, covering a considerable distance inorder to distance themselves from the scene of the attack.

Arnav stopped suddenly.

Khushi crashed into his back, saving herself from being crushed against him by raising a hand at the last minute between her soft bosom and the corded muscles of his hard back.

“We can rest here for the night,” he muttered thoughtfully, looking at the small shelter afforded by jutting rocks. “Or go ahead.”

Khushi was drooping with exhaustion. Sleep was looking more attractive than staying alive. She could fall where she stood and never get up, but she remained silent.

His answer came from the skies.

A streak of lightning was followed by a loud clap of thunder.

Khushi whimpered, her fingers on his back biting into his coat.

The sound of approaching rain filled their ears.

Arnav quickly tugged Khushi into the protection of the outcrop. They were just in time. Strong winds and furious rain lashed against the trees. Light from the streetlamps filtered to where they were hiding.

He turned to look at her.

She was trembling.

He quickly shrugged out of his coat and handed it over to her.

“Aap...?” she asked, her teeth chattering.

“Wear it,” he said briefly. He looked out. It would take a very brave killer to track them on such a terrible night with torrential rain.

He turned his head to look at the small space that was their refuge. There was enough room for them to stand or squat, but not to lie down.

He looked at Khushi, intending to instruct her on the rules of etiquette of their sleepover and stood transfixed.

She was easing the dupatta over her head, her eyes lowered, unaware of being spied upon.

He saw her beautiful face, her slender neck with a necklace, the heavy earrings, the bindi, the nose ring, long dark hair plaited down her back and decked with tiny red roses....

He swallowed hard. Beauty had never attracted him, never distracted him from his path...Why did it stop him in his tracks now? Was it because she was so unaware of her fatal appeal?

As he watched, Khushi struggled to ease her arm into the sleeve of his coat, the heavy pleats of the dupatta on her left shoulder blocking the easy slide.

“Remove the dupatta,” he whispered.

Khushi jumped, her startled eyes meeting his molten ones.

She nodded obediently.

Arnav swallowed hard.

She turned away and unpinned her dupatta from her shoulder. She slid her arm free of it, clutching the cloth to her chest.

Arnav tried to look away, but his eyes refused to obey his half-hearted instructions.

She slid her left arm into the coat sleeve, let her hold on the dupatta slip and then pushed her right arm into his black coat. The dupatta fluttered to fall down.

In a dream, Arnav bent to lift the heavy pink cloth in his hand, his fingers caressing the fabric that was still warm from her body.

Khushi pulled the loose and long black coat around her slim body, feeling warmth seep into her cold bones.

“Let’s sit down,” Arnav suggested, his voice a mere croak.

She nodded obediently and sat down.

Arnav tried to look out at the terrible fury of the rain, tried to keep his eyes from sliding to her.

“Your name is Arnav, isn’t it?” Khushi asked softly.

He turned to look at her, lost for words. They were husband and wife but were strangers to each other.

“Yes,” he said softly.

“I asked Akash Jiju,” she explained. “Naniji calls you Chotey, but I wasn’t sure you would like me to call you that.” Her voice was matter-of-fact.

“No, no..err..I don’t want you to call me Chotey,” he muttered. Never ever, he thought.

She lifted her fingers to her nose and removed the ring. Evading killers while weighed down by heavy gold jewellery would be difficult, she thought.

He stole a look at her.

Unaware of Arnav’s eyes on her, she then undid her necklace and freed her hair from the maang tikka. She released her ears from the earrings and placed the gold pieces on the floor by her.

She began on her bangles, trying to ease them from her arms. “They were difficult to wear,” she muttered. “I told Amma I don’t want them, that they are too small, but who listens to me?” she muttered.

He parted his lips and then closed them.

“Aaaa,” she cried softly as a bangle scraped her hand.

“Let me,” Arnav offered his services as though he had spent all his life selling chudis.

Her eyes flew open.

She watched him take her soft hand in his warm, callused ones. It felt odd but nice. She looked at his fingers as they coaxed the bangles off her wrists and hands to fall on the floor. She winced once in a while, but stayed patient and silent.

When he was done, she complimented him, “You do this very well. Do you help your Di wear bangles?”

He stared at her for one moment in silence. Did his Di wear bangles? He had no idea.

“I love bangles, but only the ones in my size. The chudiwala comes to our home once a week. Jiji and I buy chudi then,” she smiled. Then the smile faded slightly. “I mean, we used to...”

He nodded. He looked down at the pink cloth on his lap and the jewellery heaped on the floor.

Arnav folded the dupatta into a small square. As she watched, he gathered the abandoned jewellery and wrapped it in the cloth, making a bundle of it. He pushed it to one corner of the small space, his head working overtime.

“Why?” he asked her.

She looked at him, one brow raised in enquiry. Her direct gaze unsettled something within him.

“I mean, you could have married someone in Lucknow. Why this marriage?” he asked.

She looked at him with innocent eyes. “Why not?” she asked simply. “Any man I marry will be a stranger to me. I thought if it is you, I...” she paused.

He waited, his eyes on her gorgeous face, lit by the dim light of streetlamps.

“For years Naniji has been telling me about you. I felt....” a small blush made its presence felt. “I felt I knew you.”

“Naniji? My Nani?” he asked, his head whirling.

“Ji,” she nodded.

“When?” he asked. “I mean, when did she meet you?”

Khushi looked at him with confusion in her eyes. “I have known her for years,” Khushi claimed. “She was friends with my Dadi. She used to stay with us when she visited Lucknow.” Khushi smiled, her mind lost in the past. “She used to bring a big bag of channa for me when she came. Every single year. She still does.”

Arnav sat staring at her, totally oblivious of the rain. The channa had been for her? For Khushi? Every year when his Nani had set out to visit friends and pray at temples across Lucknow, she had asked him to buy her a big bag of channa. Him. Not HP or JP. Him. He had thought that she was offering it to birds at some temple!

“And...and she talked about me?” he asked, unable to believe that his Nani was so Machiavellian.

“Ji. I know that you take care of your family, that you love them very much...” she began.

‘Really?’ he wondered silently.

“...That you don’t talk much, that you like to be alone...” she added.

His breath left him in a huff.

“And?” he asked. If only his Nani had been so loquacious about her!

“But she always called you Chotey. That’s why I asked Akash Jiju what your name is,” Khushi smiled at him.

Her smile added beauty to an already exquisite face.

“But our wedding was arranged in a hurry,” she grimaced. “It was after all the arrangements had been made that Nani said that they couldn’t get Akash Jiju married to Jiji when his elder brother was still a bachelor.”

His mouth fell open, his jaw hitting the floor. His eyes widened. What the!

“So she asked Amma if they would accept your proposal for me. Buaji asked me if I would marry you. I said yes. How could I let Jiji’s wedding be cancelled? And you were not really a stranger. After all, you are Naniji’s grandson. So I said yes. Then Mamiji and Di insisted that the two weddings be held together,” Khushi revealed.

Arnav wanted to bury his head in his hands. But this was not the time for anger or for feeling bested. It was the time for honesty.

“Khushi, Nani played us both,” he said bluntly.

Khushi frowned.

“The first I heard of you was when I came down to Lucknow for Akash’s wedding with Payal,” he explained. “Nani told me that the Guptas were unwilling to let the marriage take place as they wanted both their daughters to get married in one mandap.”

Khushi gasped.

“And that Akash liked Payal very much and was desperate to marry her. That I had to step in and save the day. I told Nani I would negotiate with your parents, make them see sense, but she refused saying that they would feel affronted if I argued with them and even cancel Akash’s wedding,” he explained.

Arnav and Khushi stared at each other for a long moment.

Would she cry? Would she regret the wedding? Would she feel that her sacrifice had been for nothing? His heart slowed its beat, anticipating the worst.

Khushi burst out laughing.

He stared at her as she doubled over in laughter. When she could speak, she said, “This is why I love your Naniji.” She dried the tears of laughter from her cheeks.

His lips quirked.

“But she must have known we would find out the truth after the shaadi,” Khushi mused.

“Yes,” Arnav sighed. “I don’t know how she is planning to deal with that eventuality.”

“Your Naniji is so smart,” Khushi leaned against the wall,  feeling light-headed with tiredness.

“Sleep,” Arnav said. “I will keep watch.”

Khushi smiled in gratitude, but before the smile could end, she fell asleep.

Arnav sat watching her, his eyes tracing her features and the way his coat covered her. Minutes passed by, but Arnav couldn’t take his eyes off her.

His wife. Khushi Arnav Singh Raizada.

As he watched, she slipped from her position against the wall and fell against his shoulder.

He sat still all night, savouring her slight weight against him, her warm softness against his chest, her fingers holding on to the neck of his jacket as she found space for her head in the crook of his neck....He had better things to think about than a murder attempt.