21. Khushi is My Wife


Arnav listened to the bitchiness of Mami, and his blood boiled. He leaned back in his chair, his breakfast untouched on his plate. Mami continued taking potshots at Payal & Khushi, aided and abetted by the helplessness of Akash & Mamaji and the silence of Nani & Di. Shyam sat with a slight smile on his lips, feeding on Khushi's sorrow and the family's disappointment at the sudden wedding.

Arnav pushed back his chair and stood up, looking at Mami square in the face.

"Enough! Khushi is my wife. Take her name with respect. She is a bahu of this family. If you can't accept her, we will leave this house."

He continued with a ferocious look at Nani & Anjali, "Don't force me to say this again. Or do something that you will all regret." He turned and left the room, leaving a silent family aware of the detrimental effects of tweaking the temper of a trigger-happy Chotey.

"Chotey! Your breakfast!", Anjali cried.
"Send it to my room." Arnav rapidly climbed the stairs to his room, and vanished from sight.
"Khushiji...I think you should...take Chotey's breakfast up to his room...His temper...", said Anjali.

Khushi entered his room, and Arnav watched her lay the table. She looked like a flower freshly bloomed in his garden, her yellow sari complementing her golden skin and her unbound silky dark hair. Her long arms, adorned with bangles...He noticed a scar on her right arm, a scar that had not been there the previous night.

Khushi jerked in shock as Arnav caught hold of her right arm. "What happened? How did you hurt your arm? Why didn't you tell me?"

In shock, she mumbled, "In the kitchen...while making breakfast...I was careless..."

"How can you be so clumsy? Why can't you take better care of yourself? Why didn't you tell me?", Arnav's worry made him shoot query after query at her.

"Why should I? Who are you to look after me? And why should I expect you to take care of me after what you did last night?"

Arnav was in no mood to argue with her. The burn had to be cleaned, and medicine applied. "Come to the washroom with me."
"No. I won't go anywhere with you.", said a stubborn Khushi.
"I need to clean your wound."
"You don't NEED to do anything. You have done enough. Blackmailing me into marrying you for 6 months... Dragging me off to a mandir... Leaving me alone to bear the taunts of our families... Throwing me out of your room at night...Making me spend the night by the poolside in the cold... And not telling me why...why you forced me into marrying you if you can't stand the sight of me..."

The memory of her in Shyam's arms churned his stomach, but the memory of her shivering in the cold hurt like a stab to his heart.

He pulled her by her unhurt arm into the washroom, and tried to pour water over her burn. She hid her hurt arm behind her, and refused to let him minister to her.

Arnav sighed. He had a bad headache from the torturous night, an evil & faithless Jijaji, a hurt & pregnant sister, a family out to teach him propriety, a full work schedule, and a hurt wife asking him questions to which he had no clear answers to give.
"Khushi..." He crowded her, and forced her near the sink. She tried to get away, but Arnav closed all avenues of escape with his outstretched arms. He pinned her to the counter, his front pressed firmly against her back. Both stood still, the shock and comfort of the touch leeching all fight out of them. He washed her arm, gently towelled it dry, and led her to sit on his bed.

"From tonight, you will use the bed. I can use the recliner."

"Why? Why this sudden marriage? Why are you so angry with me? What have I done?"

He applied the ointment on her burn, silently.

"You forced me to marry you. Your anger has cost me everything I value. My family hates the sight and sound of me...Amma refused to speak to me on the phone when she called to enquire after Jiji...They wish I were dead...Your family can't bear to look at me. They treat me like a leper. The Jiji for whom I let you tie a mangalsutra around my neck and put sindoor in my maang thinks that I am her worst enemy...What have I ever done to you to warrant this cruelty?"

He got up to leave the room, his throat aching with unshed tears and unsaid words.

"Why?"

He strode to the door, forcing himself to remember his Di, her child, the rascal married to his Di, the cruel words spoken by Khushi on the terrace, the hug...

"Who are you? You are not my Arnavji... What has happened to you? Why are you so angry with me?"

He turned and looked at her, standing near his bed, alone, tired, desperate for an answer. The tears in her eyes were his undoing. He swallowed, his mind full of memories of sweet moments with her. The day when he had removed the speck of mud from her eye, just the two of them in his garden...the trust with which she had taken his outstretched hand to get up from the rangoli into which they had both fallen... the night she had talked to him about her parents' death... the way in which she had jumped up and down after getting two silver coins in the detergent packet...coins that he had placed there for her...the care with which she had helped him when he had fainted due to low sugar... placing her hand in his, and letting him help her out of the circle of lamps...Khushi trying to tell him through gestures that his meeting had been advanced...

He rushed forward, and crushed her in his arms. The relief of it was enormous. Khushi..his...his wife...She would never hurt Di...She was not capable of hurting anyone...She hadn't blamed him when facing a barrage of questions & accusations from their families. She could have sold him out. Payal & Akash's wedding had been over by then. She could have blamed him, and left with her family. But she hadn't. ... She knew only to give, not to take...She would never hurt his family for her gain...He would sort out her involvement with that scoundrel as soon as possible. He looked at her, unconsciously burrowing her face in his shirt, seeking comfort from his warm skin. As though she couldn't do without him. Couldn't breathe. Her arms around him were like steel bands, holding him to her as tight as she could.

Her feelings might be hurt. Her eyes may reproach him. Her words might be full of pain. She might try to stay away from him. But her heart was his. He knew it. He had always known it. And had tried to fight it. Now he didn't have to fight it. He looked at the sindoor in her maang, the mangalsutra that he had tied around her neck, and felt peace slowly seep into his heart. He stood with her in his arms, gently comforting her by running his fingers through her hair, rubbing her back...

Arnav slid a finger under her chin, raised her face to his, and kissed her forehead, right where the sindoor was. Then he trailed kisses all over her face, on her cheeks, her eyelids, her nose, her hair, her ears...her poor hurt hand...Time came to a standstill for the lovers.
In the mirror, he caught a glimpse of Shyam near the door of their bedroom, probably there to spy on the current state of affairs between the newly married jodi. The chagrin on the rat's face was a sight to behold.