121. Recalling Arnav (Part 8-)

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 Part 8 Section 1

It was time for dinner.

The two families gathered around the dinner table in the ancient building, the elders letting Payal and Khushi serve them. Nani sat in an armchair watching the others have their meal, knowing that once the meal was over they would have to dig in to their collective past and expose half-healed wounds.

Khushi was all smiles, laughing with Nanheji at his jokes as she placed the plates before the guests and passed dishes to them. The Guptas and the Raizadas watched her with sharp eyes, taking note of every glance she threw at Arnav and every word she spoke to him.

She placed roti on Arnav’s plate and said, smiling, “Please have them.” 

As all watched, she moved easily to NK to serve him.

A moment later she poured water in to Arnav’s glass and placed it close to his plate so that he could reach it comfortably.

She treated him as she would any guest under her Babuji’s roof. She didn’t seem to have any special memories of Arnav or any bouts of her memory returning due to his presence.

The Guptas heaved a sigh of relief.

But their sigh of relief was prematurely heaved.

As Payal passed her bowls of rabri to be served as dessert, Khushi served all but hesitated before placing the sweet before Arnav.

The air in the room seemed to still.

The audience watched with bated breath, one family eager to see a sign of Khushi’s returning menory and the other family dreading it like a nightmare.

Arnav looked at Khushi’s face. It carried hesitation, reluctance, confusion and utter bemusement.

She looked at him. And then looked at the bowl of creamy sweet.

As he watched, his heart in his mouth, she placed the glass bowl on the table but far away from him, almost out of his reach.

“That is rabri,” Khushi told Arnav.

He nodded, his Adam’s apple moving visibly as he swallowed hard.

“I—I don’t know—I—maybe you don’t like it—I…” Khushi couldn’t express the irrational belief in her heart that he shouldn’t have the sweet.

“I can’t have it. I am diabetic,” Arnav helped her out.

“Aww!”  Khushi stared at him, her mouth open for a moment. “Shakkar ki bimari he aapko?”

“Yes,” Arnav said.

Buaji started talking to Anjali, trying to distract herself and everyone from the disturbing scene they had just witnessed.

        ***

Payal tried to get Khushi to bed early so that the Guptas and the Raizadas could talk about the tragic events of Arnav & Anjali’s childhood and Garima’s role in them without fear of being overheard by the young girl who was in the eye of the storm.

“Jiji, I am not feeling sleepy,” Khushi said. “Let’s sit on the cot in the courtyard and look at the stars.”

“Khushi…” Payal tried to protest.

“I will see to her. Payaliyaa, you clean the kitchen,” Buaji stood up. “Titliyaa, remember what the doctor sahiba said? You are not to strain yourself. Aur waise bhi you have to get up early to go to your shop, Nandkisore. Chalo, Parmeswari.”

Khushi stood up unwillingly and wished everyone a very good night’s sleep. As she was about to leave the room, she turned to Arnav and said, “Arnavji, I have kept the bat to kill mosquitoes on your bed. You can wield it like a sword all night and vanquish your enemies.”

All looked at Arnav and Khushi, unable to understand the implication of her statement.

Only Arnav knew. Images of the first night they had spent at Buaji’s house in Laxmi Nagar flashed through his mind. Her memory was returning. Not completely, but like waves they were washing over her, making her aware of herself and others. He smiled weakly at her, whispering his thanks.

Buaji & Khushi left the room.

       ***

Arnav walked up to Khushi’s room a little later to check if she had fallen asleep.

Khushi was in bed, her arms around a big pillow. She was half asleep. Buaji was sitting by her on the bed.

Khushi murmured sleepily, “Buaji, Jiji is back home. It is so nice, isn’t it? Like the old days.”

Buaji smiled. “Haan.” She ran a kind hand over Khushi’s hair.

“Buaji, why do all of them like me so much? I mean, Jiji’s family?” A frown creased the smooth expanse of her forehead.

Buaji’s eyes widened. Arnav stood at the door, feeling his heart clench in pain.

Buaji finally said, “Because they think you are very sweet. They don’t know the real you. Only I know what a Sanka Devi you are, Nandkisore!”

“Sweet?" Khushi smiled. The word turned her mind to the diabetic jetji. "Poor Arnavji. He can’t take sweets,” Khushi commented, fighting to stay awake.

Buaji bit on her tongue. Arnav had to look away, moved beyond measure.

“Buaji, will I ever get my memory back?” Khushi asked, a yawn disrupting her query.

Buaji looked away to blink her tears away. “Why do you want to remember, Titliyaa?”

Khushi peered at her through sleep-laden lids.

“Nandkisore has showered kindness on you, Titliyaa. Let his blessings remain, protecting you,” Buaji managed to say.

There was silence in the room for a few moments.

“Buaji, I fulfilled my promise,” Khushi yawned.

“Your promise?” Buaji asked.

“I promised to bring you your Nandkisore. And Nanheji came to see you,” Khushi smiled before falling asleep.

       ***

It was late at night. But the Guptas and the Raizadas were wide awake, both families dreading the discussion that was to happen.

Anjali passed her fingers in to Arnav’s, giving him her unspoken support.

He began, “I should have asked you this when Dadi showed me a photo of you and my Papa and said that you were the ‘other woman’ who broke up our parents’ marriage. But I didn’t. I was too—too upset to—too shocked to…”

Garima nodded, a long sigh shuddering through her.

“What happened between you and my Papa?” Arnav asked.

 Part 8 Section 2

Garima took a deep breath and clutched Sasi’s hand.

“I was hoping that some day you would ask me this question, bitwaa. That someday you would give me an opportunity to speak the truth, to reveal everything that happened. But—but I have no proof. I can only tell you what happened. I can’t prove that I am speaking the truth,” Garima said softly, her eyes directly on Arnav’s.

The Raizadas nodded.

“How did you meet Arvind Mallik?” Arnav asked, calming the dread in his heart at revisiting his nightmare. His Di's hand was firmly in his and he could feel her fingers tremble.

“I was walking home from the temple. A car stopped by me. The driver lowered the glass of the window. He asked me the way to Ram Charan Mishra’s house. I told him which road to take. That was Arvind Mallik.”

The Raizadas waited for her to continue.

“I had no idea who he was. I just knew that he was a stranger to our town, Purwa.”

Nani and the others nodded.

“Arvind Mallik had come to Purwa to set up a factory. He bought acres of land with a huge building on it from Mishraji, and within a month or two the factory began working. They advertised for female workers. I applied for a job,” Garima sighed.

Arnav swallowed, dreading what was to come.

“Jiji was with Jiju & Khussi in Kanpur. He was a school master and had been transferred there. It was just Babuji and me in Purwa. He was sick. So sick that he could not open his small shop regularly. So when I got the chance to work and help him with the household expenses, I applied for a job,” she paused, her voice trailing away, her mind in the past.

Sasi pressed her fingers in encouragement.

“Arvind Mallik interviewed me. He was very kind,” Garima said tonelessly. “He thanked me for having shown him the way to Mishraji’s house. He said that I could have the job and that I could come to him if I ever needed money or any kind of help. I nodded but never approached him for anything.”

Garima looked directly in to Arnav's eyes.

“I heard that his home was in Lucknow. He used to travel between Lucknow and Purwa. When he was at the factory, he used to visit the room I worked in and stop to speak a few words. He used to call me to his room and ask about the work. I thought that he must be the kindest man in the whole world,” Garima marvelled at her own foolishness.

“One day, Arvind Mallik came to my house. I was astonished. He met Babuji and told him that he was very pleased with the work I was doing in his factory. He tried to give Babuji money, but Babuji refused it politely. He then offered me permission to work overtime in his factory, but Babuji refused,” Garima continued.

“He continued to favour me with his special attention at the factory, often giving me gifts that he said he had purchased from Lucknow just for me. I was flattered but kept on refusing them for fear of what Babuji would say if he knew that I had accepted anything from a paraya mard.”

“I was young,” Garima sighed. “I was foolish, my head filled with impossible dreams. I believed everything he said. I had no idea…absolutely no idea that he was married.”

Nani nodded.

“Arvind Mallik came home one day and asked Babuji for my hand.”

Nani and the others gasped. Arnav clenched his fists. Was his family fated to deal with lecherous crooks and immoral bigamists?

“I was happy, excited, thrilled that my dreams of a rajkumar coming to marry me were coming true. Seeing my joy, Babuji agreed to the marriage. He asked me to get the neighbours. In their presence Arvind  Mallik placed a ring on my finger and we were officially engaged,” Garima said looking down at her fingers.

Mami’s mouth fell open. Anjali blinked away her tears.

“One of our neighbours had a photo studio. He arranged for the photo that your Dadi showed you to be taken,” Garima told Arnav. “You can see that I am not dressed in fancy clothes in that picture. I had no idea that he was going to propose or that we were going to get engaged.”

Anjali looked at Arnav’s stony face with wet eyes and leaned against his shoulder. It was Shyam all over again.

“Babuji asked him when we would get to meet his family. Arvind Mallik asked for a grace period of six months to convince his mother that he had found the girl he wanted to marry. Babuji agreed, not entirely happy that my future saasumma was averse to the idea of her son marrying me,” Garima looked at Sasi.

“Phir kya hua, Garimaji?” Nani asked, her voice low.

Garima sighed.

“One month after my engagement, I got a letter from Arvind Mallik’s mother asking me to meet her in Lucknow. He was not in Purwa and so I thought he had gone to Lucknow and had managed to convince your Dadi. I imagined foolishly that she was summoning me to bless me. Babuji & I went to her house in Lucknow,” Garima recounted.

“Your Dadi opened my eyes to what Arvind Mallik really was. A married man with two children! I couldn’t believe my ears. All the abuse she showered on me for trying to break up his marriage fell on deaf ears as I sincerely believed that she was talking about the wrong man. It took time, a close study of the family portraits hanging on the walls of her study and your dadi’s caustic tongue for me to understand that I was engaged to a married man,” Garima spoke softly, her eyes dry, her voice emotionless.

Arnav and Anjali sat still, frozen like statues.

“What could I say? How could I prove that her son had tricked me, cheated me? How could I make her understand that I hadn't known that Arvind Mallik was a married man?" Garima drew a long breath. "Phir kya karna tha? I told Babuji everything your Dadi said. He was shocked at Arvind Mallik's treachery and immorality. He was also grateful that I hadn't married him. I resigned from my job at the factory and we moved to Kanpur to stay with Jiji, Jiju and Khussi. First Babuji passed away and then Jiji & Jiju died in an accident. I and Khussi were left to live on. I did not wish to return to Purwa. Payaliyaa’s father, a widower, had been Babuji’s friend. He came to Kanpur to meet us and after seeing Khussi and my condition, offered to marry me and adopt Khussi. I told him everything that had happened…the engagement…the belief of your Dadi that I was a loose, abandoned woman out to trap her wealthy, virtuous, married son. He asked me to let the past remain in the past. So we got married and returned to Lucknow to live in Gomti Sadan,” Garima explained. “But destiny had more misfortunes in store for us. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that both Payaliyaa and Khussi would marry in to Arvind Mallik’s family. I knew you as the Raizadas, not as the Malliks. It was only when I saw Dadi that…” Garima hit her forehead with her hand.

There was perfect silence in the room.

Sasi held his wife’s hand tightly. Buaji held Garima’s other hand.

In to that silence, Arnav asked a single question in his low, husky voice.

“Did you come to Sheesh Mahal to see our parents’ corpses the day after Di’s wedding was cancelled?”

Part 9

“Parents’ corpses, bitwaa? Kya? Kab? Kaise? Matlab, Anjali bitiyaa’s shaadi? But she married Shyam, didn’t she? And Sheesh Mahal? That is where Khushi fell on you, isn’t it?” Garima looked as perplexed as she sounded.

Arnav felt his heart quiver, his breath stop, his whole body go numb.

“You…you didn’t know that Arvind Mallik and his wife had died?” he asked softly.

“I knew. A few months after Babuji and I went to stay with Jiji, Ram Charan Mishraji wrote to Babuji about buying our house and land in Purwa. In his letter he mentioned that the factory was being run by Arvind Mallik’s brother as he had passed away,” Garima said.

Arnav looked in to the wide eyes of his sister. 

Swallowing very hard, he managed to ask Garima, “Where did you meet Dadi if you are unfamiliar with Sheesh Mahal?”

“In a house in Triveni Nagar, Bitwaa. That was the address your Dadi wrote in her letter,” Garima said.

Mami gasped.

“Sumi’s house,” Nani whispered. “So you never went to Sheesh Mahal, Garimaji?” she asked.

“No, Devyaniji. I never went there,” Garima replied.

There was perfect silence in the room. Old absolutes were crumbling, leaving the Raizadas floundering, trying to make sense of their past.

“Did you ever meet my father in Lucknow?” Arnav asked.

“No, Bitwaa. Before I married Payaliyaa’s father and settled in Lucknow, I had visited the city only once. That was to meet your Dadi. Babuji and I left Lucknow immediately after your Dadi told me the truth,” Garima was definite about this.

“Then who was the woman who came to Sheesh Mahal to see the corpses of your mother and father, Chotey?” Nani asked in a whisper.

All the Raizadas looked at Arnav, seeking answers to all the questions roiling within them.

“This means that Papa was having an affair with another woman. Someone whom my mother saw with my father. That was what Mama said when she cornered him with her accusations on the evening of Di’s wedding. That she had seen Papa with the other woman. If Mama had to see him with her, then she must have been  in Lucknow,” Arnav whispered.

In to the silence that followed, Mami exclaimed, “Hein, he was having two affairs? Yeh to Roadside Romeo hi nikla!”

“Maybe even more. But we have no proof, no one who can…” he paused, as if struck by lightning. “Chacha! He will know.”

All the Raizadas nodded eagerly, their eyes anxious.

“I am sorry I had to ask you such questions and remind you of unpleasant events,” Arnav said softly to Garima.

“Kono baat nahi, Bitwaa,” Garima said softly.

“I need to find out more details. I will get back to you with the full truth at the earliest.” Arnav said in a low voice.

Garima nodded.

Next morning, Arnav, in full ASR mode, walked in to the haveli in which his Chacha, Anuraag Mallik and his family lived. 

A uniformed servant led him to his uncle’s study, announcing, “Arnav Singh Raizada is here to see you, Saahib.”

The glass holding gin tilted, pouring the contents to the carpeted floor as Anuraag Mallik reeled in shock.

“You! How dare you come here?” Anuraag frothed at the mouth.

“Who was the lady Papa was having an affair with at the time of his death?” ASR asked.

“What?” Anuraag almost collapsed in shock.

“You heard me,” ASR drawled.

“Why do you want to know?” a crafty look crept in to his uncle’s eyes. Maybe there was money to be made out of this, he thought avariciously.

“Tell me,” ASR ordered.

“What do I get out of this?” Anuraag asked, his eyes expectant.

“Nothing,” ASR said.

“I never do anything for nothing. You should know that,” his uncle had the gall to say.

Biting down bitter words, ASR drawled, “The question should have been, what do I lose if I don’t answer.”

Anuraag sat up, alert. ASR was a bad enemy, as he knew to his expense.

“This house is pledged to Mani Ram Mathur who TOO is—shall we say, very eager to transfer the documents to me,” ASR stood, his legs apart, his hand in his pocket. "Shall I buy it?"

Anuraag placed the glass carefully on the table.

“What do you want to know?” he asked, defeated and angry at his defeat.

“Who was the lady?” ASR asked, his cold face and colder eyes masking his anxiety.

“Sunehri.”

“Who?” ASR frowned, his direct eyes drilling holes in his uncle’s face.

“A dancer at a kotta,” Anuraag muttered.

ASR waited, his very silence a question.

“He had been involved with her for a year or so before his death,” Anuraag revealed.

ASR grit his teeth.

“She wanted more money than he had given her. He had promised her a house in Lucknow in a—shall we say, a moment of weakness.” Anuraag smiled an oily smile. “She wanted it urgently as her landlord was pressing her to move out. But Arvind Bhai had no intention of keeping his word. Why should he? His kaam was over. He wanted to move on to other women. After all, he had kept her for one full year,” Anuraag’s smile was a twist of his cruel lips.

“She came to Sheesh Mahal during the wedding ceremony and managed to corner Arvind Bhai. Apparently your mother saw them,” Anuraag said, lying back in his chair.

“Sunehri came to Sheesh Mahal the next morning. To gloat or to make sure that her lover was really dead, I don’t know,” Anuraag said ruminatively.

ASR stood as still as a statue, digesting all the unpleasant details of his father’s lechery. The very air around him seemed polluted; the blood flowing in his veins seemed dirty.

“Then she came after me to get the house, but I soon showed her where to go,” Anuraag’s face held contempt and disgust. He turned to look at ASR to find that he had walked out. 

Part 10

“Amma, where is Jiji’s Jetji?” asked Khushi, as the family gathered around the breakfast table.

Garima looked at all the pale faces around the table and said, “He went out, Khussi. You serve the food.”

“He has shakkar ki bimari and he is missing breakfast,” Khushi muttered to herself, frowning.

Buaji looked at Garima and sighed.

Arnav drove back in a daze, his head filled with conflicting thoughts, his heart heavy.

His father had been a scoundrel of the first order. Blessed with a gem of a wife he didn’t deserve, wealth he hadn’t earned, two children he hadn’t valued, Arvind Mallik had proceeded on his merry way, wreaking havoc in the lives of many.

He slammed on the brakes.

Garimaji had not visited Sheesh Mahal, especially not on the evening of Di’s wedding. It had been a dancer named Sunehri. His Mama had seen Sunehri with Papa. 

Maybe…maybe she had been in his arms… Arnav rested his forehead on the steering wheel.

The fight between his parents had been on account of Sunehri. His mother had never known that his father had gotten himself engaged to Garimaji. His Mama had killed herself on knowing the real face of her husband, suspecting that he was involved with Sunehri.

His mother had paid for his father’s sins. Di and he had paid for them. Nani had paid for them. Garimaji too had paid for them. Not once, but twice. Once she had been cheated by his father; years later his father’s son had broken her heart.

Khushi…His heart wept. She had known nothing. She had done nothing. Her misfortune had been that she had fallen in love with a man who let his temper rule him, his prejudice dictate his actions—a weakling—a coward…a man with a mind so filled with darkness and bitterness that he had not even stopped to ask Garimaji for an explanation before pushing Khushi out of his life.

He owed the Guptas, especially Garimaji and Khushi. He owed them big. How could he make up to them for the humiliation and heartbreak they had suffered?

He slowly drove back to Gomti Sadan and parked in the courtyard. He sat in the car, his head against the head rest, his eyes closed.

Sensing some movement, he opened his eyes to see Khushi standing at the window, peering in to it. He looked in to her concerned eyes.

She motioned him to alight from the vehicle.

Arnav opened the door and stepped out, standing on legs that were not too steady. His eyes traced the lovely curves of her face, lingering on the concern in her eyes.

Khushi caught hold of his arm as he swayed.

“I knew it. Your shakkar has become low because you went for a sair of Lucknow city in the morning without having your breakfast,” Khushi chided. “What is so captivating in the city that you are willing to neglect your health to see it?” she asked, frowning.

“Khushi…” Arnav whispered, leaning against the car for support.

Khushi placed her hands on the car by his sides, covering him, trying to stop him from falling. 

“Khushi…I am sorry…”

She pressed herself against him, trying to keep him standing.

“Khushi—I am so sorry…”

Images flashed through her head. Arnavji swaying and collapsing on the floor. Jalebi. Someone was giving him jalebi, pushing it in to his mouth…

“Khushi—forgive me…”

He was standing against a grill and someone was keeping him standing with his or her arms around him…

The pictures of the past merged with the pictures of the present, all of them swirling in her poor head.

“Buaji!” Khushi screamed.

Buaji dropped the thali of rice she had been cleaning for lunch and ran out.

The Raizadas and the Guptas who had followed her came to a halt at the sight before their eyes.

Arnav was leaning against the car, his head back, his eyes closed. Khushi was lying on him, trying to hold him up.

“His shakkar is down. Jiji, get some sugar from the kitchen!” Khushi shouted.

Payal ran for the sugar.

Akash, NK & Mamaji freed Arnav from Khushi’s death grip and helped him in to the house. Under Khushi’s supervision and the weepy concern of the Raizada ladies, Payal gave him sugar. Buaji forced breakfast down his throat and Khushi forced him to drink the sweet tea that Garima had made.

Soon, he recovered.

The Guptas and the Raizadas looked at each other.

 From the paleness of Arnav’s face and the deep grooves etched on the sides of his nose, it was clear that he had gotten the answers and that they were unpleasant, unpalatable. But how could they ask him when Khuhsi was around?

“Khussi Didi?” came Munna’s call. “Aren’t we opening shop today?”

“Yes,” Khushi replied unwillingly, her eyes still on her Jiji’s Jetji’s grave face.

“Banke Lalji will come at 12 for his halwa,” Krishna reminded her.

Khushi nodded, her eyes still on Arnav’s face.

“Titliyaa, you go, Nandkisore. We are all here to take care of Arnav bitwaa. Jao, dukaan sambhalo, Sanka Devi,” Buaji almost pushed her out of the house.

“Aap theek ho?” Khushi asked Arnav, wanting to hear the answer from his lips.

“I am fine. I will see you for lunch, Khushi,” his husky voice was filled with agony.

Khushi nodded and left reluctantly, turning to look at him a couple of times before exiting the room.

Arnav said, “Fourteen years ago, Di’s wedding was fixed. The house was filled with guests, laughter, the sound of fireworks, lights—then I heard Mama fighting with Papa.”

The Guptas looked at him, their eyes wide, wondering what they were going to hear.

Nani sighed and leaned back in her chair. Mami took hold of Nani’s hand, lending support silently. Mama sat on Nani’s side, his arm around her frail shoulders that had borne a heavy burden of pain for years.

Anjali leaned against Arnav’s shoulder, coiling her arms around his arm. Akash & NK came to sit by his side, sharing his pain. 

“Mama said that she had seen Papa with some other woman,” Arnav said softly.

Garima stared at him, shaking her head in the negative.

“I know. I know now that it was not you,” Arnav comforted her. “Papa was having an affair with a dancer named Sunehri. She wanted him to buy her a house and came to Sheesh Mahal on the evening of Di’s wedding to force his hand.”

All stared at Arnav who tried to keep his face expressionless as he said, “Mama shot herself dead a few minutes later.”

Garima gasped, her fingers covering her parted lips, her saucer-like eyes looking at Arnav. He could see the whites of her eyes as she struggled to make sense of the tragedy and its ramifications.

“The wedding got cancelled. Later that night, Papa shot himself. The next morning, as we sat weeping over our parents’ corpses, Sunehri came there to see them,” Arnav said softly.

Garima did not take her eyes off him. He too looked directly in to her eyes as he confessed, “We never knew that he had a relationship with Sunehri. I think, even Dadi had no idea about her. We thought that you were the cause of Mama & Papa’s suicide.”

Garima shook her head in the negative, weakly.

“I know now. We know now that you had nothing to do with all this. We were wrong to blame you for this tragedy,” Arnav said.

There was perfect silence in the room.

“How do I apologise to you?” Arnav asked Garima, his eyes wounded, his jaw clenched. “My Dadi accused you of a crime you did not commit. I judged you without giving you a chance to speak, without even asking you what had happened. I destroyed Khushi’s life and took away her memory. How can I make it up to you?”

After a long moment, Garima said, “Arnav Bitwaa, can you leave Khussi to her fate and leave Lucknow?”

Arnav felt his heart break in to a thousand fragments, felt his eyes sting.

Seeing the anguish on his face, Garima’s eyes filled. “I am being selfish, par kaa karoon, Bitwaa? I can’t see Khussi’s pain any more.”

The Raizadas sat silent, having to face the reality that Khushi was lost to them forever.

“Bitwaa, when we came here—Khussi—she used to cry all the time. I—I…” Garima lowered her face in to her hand. "For the first time I was glad that her parents were dead. At least they didn't have to see her like that!"

Arnav swallowed hard.

“She has forgotten her past, Bitwaa. She is happy. Let her remain like this, Nandkisore. If you stay for a few more days, she will remember all the painful things that happened in your office and home,” Buaji shook her head. “We don’t want her to carry the burden of the past on her shoulders, Bitwaa.”

“Let Khussi go, Bitwaa,” Garima pleaded, her hands folded. “Please.”

Part 11 

 

There was absolute silence in the living room of that ancient building, Gomti Sadan. Even the air seemed to be waiting  for Arnav’s reply to Garima’s request.

“If I leave now, can you be sure that Khushi will never regain her memory?” Arnav asked softly. “If you can promise me that Khushi will never again remember the pain and the abandonment of the past, I will leave now.”

The Guptas looked at him, helpless, unable to give him that assurance as they knew that Khushi was slowly remembering incidents from her past, that the nightmare was lodged firmly in her subconscious and would emerge one day to burn her to cinders. It was only a matter of time.

“I was wrong to abandon Khushi at the mandap. I should have come there and talked to all of you, found out the truth,” Arnav shook his head in self-disgust. “Then Khushi would not have cried. She wouldn’t have returned to Lucknow, wouldn’t have fallen down the steps, lost her memory. We would have been married for five months now.”

The Raizadas and the Guptas listened silently to the reserved man baring his heart.

“I am responsible for every misfortune that Khushi suffered. Every single tear that she shed after we met can be laid at my door,” Arnav was truthful.

Nani wept silently. Mami and Mamaji held on to her lest her sorrow fell her.

Anjali had tears in her eyes. “I am responsible too, Buaji, Amma, Babuji. Had I not married a scoundrel like Shyam…”

“What is the use of crying over the past, bitiyya? Don’t look back. Look ahead, Nandkisore,” Buaji advised.

“Babuji, Buaji, aunty—I have been a very bad husband to Khushi. Not just a bad husband, but also a terrible employer. Any other girl would have run away from my very shadow. But Khushi dared to love me,” Arnav swallowed hard.  “I had the greatest contempt for love and marriage, my past colouring my views, my parents’ suicide killing all my hopes of a normal life. My eyes were blind, my heart protected behind walls of rock,"

 "Khushi effortlessly drew the blinds from my eyes and tore down the walls,"

 "I don’t know how or when she made me hers. I just know that she is a part of me now. Whether I stay or leave, whether I see her or don’t, whether she regains her memory or not, whether we get married or not, she is my wife and owns my heart. There is no other woman for me, only Khushi,” he said softly, letting the two families see in to his heart.

The Guptas looked at him, their hearts heavy. His sincerity and honesty were beyond doubt.

“Buaji, babuji, aunty, just as she is a part of me, I know that I am a part of Khushi too. She cannot live a complete and happy life away from me. She has been pining for me as I have been for her. Even in her state of amnesia, she knows that there is something missing, something she has lost. That is why she asked me to help her regain her memory,” Arnav dropped the bomb gently.

All stared at him.

“Titliyyaa—she asked you…” Buaji exclaimed. “Hai Re Nandkisore!”

“Jiji, what will we do now?” Garima sked Buaji.

“I promised her that I would help her,” Arnav said in a low voice. “Five months back I broke a promise I had made to stay with her through thick and thin, hamesha. I will not break this one.”

The Guptas stared at him.

“I will help her remember—because she wants to remember.  I will help her knowing very well that once she remembers that I am a Rakshas and a Shaitan, once she knows how much I hurt her, humiliated her, tore her heart to shreds, she may throw me out of her life—which is what I deserve.”

“Bitwaa…” Garima sighed.

“This time, let Khushi decide what she wants. Once she is in full possession of her past memories, she can take me or leave me. I will honour her decision,” Arnav said firmly.

The Guptas looked at Arnav, helpless.

“You want what is best for Khushi. I too want what is best for Khushi. But unfortunately we are not the ones to decide what is best for her. Only she can do that. I think we should let her choose her own future, even if it is one that does not include me or my family,” Arnav said.

As the Guptas and the Raizadas pondered over Arnav’s statement, Khushi breezed in to the house.

Her eyes looked at each face, rapidly moving on till they rested on Arnav.

“How are you?” she asked Arnav.

“Much better now,” Arnav tried to smile.

Khushi smiled in return. “You look good when you smile. Bilkul Laad Governaar nahi lagte.”

All gasped, but Khushi was supremely unaware that she had slipped in to her old form of addressing Arnav.

“Buaji, I am hungry. Kuch khane ko do na, meri Madhumati Rani,” Khushi pleaded, clutching her tummy, a comical expression on her face.

Part 12

Arnav stood at the window of the room allotted to him by the Guptas and looked out at the roofs of hundreds of houses in the neighbourhood.

 Lights gleamed from those abodes; loud conversation, laughter and the sound of blaring TVs fell on his ears. In these houses lived people—people with normal lives, ordinary joys and sorrows. People unlike him who had dug himself in to a hole as deep as a hole could get with his anger and his bad judgement.

 He had wronged Khushi, made her weep.

 Arnav stood with his eyes tightly shut, his fists clenched, his face grim as images of the hundreds of ways in which he had hurt her rushed through his mind.

He slipped in to bed, trying desperately to sleep, to give his eyes and his head some rest so that he could set out on his mission of helping Khushi remember with full alertness.

As he slipped in to oblivion, the nightmares of his past came rushing like vultures to feed on his peace. The sound of the shehnai, the laughter of the ladies, his mother running, the argument, the sound of the shot…he sat up with a jerk, sweat pouring down his face.

 It was over, it was over, he chanted. Over.

 His Mama was gone. His Papa was gone too, following his Mama a few hours later—as though he couldn’t face a life without his wife—Arnav’s lips twisted in a cruel grimace.

 Lecher! Selfish and immoral! A ghatiya man! Spoilt by his mother in to thinking that the world had been made for his pleasure, that he did not have to pay for his actions—Arnav turned away in disgust at the thought of his father.

He frowned. But why had he shot himself a few hours after Mama had killed herself? He should have been happy that he was rid of his inconvenient wife.

 Arnav rubbed his chest, feeling his heart hurt. There was something fishy about the whole tale.

He picked up the phone and called Aman.

“Sir?” Aman’s sleep-dulled voice came through to Lucknow.

“Get me the phone number of the best detective agency available in the market,” Arnav ordered.

“Detective agency? Sir, is someone missing?” Aman scratched his head.

“Yes. Sunehri,” Arnav said.

Aman frowned, sleep falling away. “Sir, it is Khushiji, not Sunehri,” he reminded his boss.

ASR smiled. “I don’t think I will forget my wife’s name, Aman. I need to trace another woman, Sunehri. She was a dancer at some kotta in Lucknow about 15 years back.”

Aman swallowed. “I will get back to you in a few minutes with the details, Sir.”

“Good.”

Arnav walked to Khushi’s bedroom. The door was closed but not locked. He pushed it open, careful not to make a noise.

Khushi was asleep. Not spread all over the bed in her Taekwondo pose but curled up in one corner with a pillow clutched to her heart.

He sat in a chair by her bed and looked at her sweet face. Tomorrow he would have to help her remember the past, a past filled with his vitriolic words and his bitter taunts, his callous actions and his heartless deeds.

 He bent his head. He had brought all this upon himself. He had no right to complain.

When Buaji came to awaken Khushi early in the morning, she found Arnav asleep in a chair by Khushi’s bed.

“Hai Re Nandkisore!” Buaji whispered. 

Part 13

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ARSHIPRIYA!

“Khushi…” Arnav called.

It was noon. Khushi had returned from her shop and the whole family had shared lunch.

Khushi turned to look at her Jiji’s Jeji who was standing at the entrance to her bedroom.

 “Ji?” she asked, surprised to see him there.

“I promised to help you remember the past, “ Arnav reminded her.

“Ji,” Khushi smiled, happy.

“Are you free now?” Arnav asked.

“Ji. I finished today’s work at the shop,” Khushi chattered away as she set two chairs for them to sit and discuss the past. “I made halwa and laddoo. Munna made peda and kheer. Krishna made gulab jamun and jalebi.”

“You didn’t make jalebi?” Arnav asked, his intent eyes on Khushi’s face.

“No,” Khushi frowned. “I don’t like making them. Pata nahi kyon, I feel sad when I see jalebis.”

Arnav swallowed. Hard.

“Aap baitiye. Why are you standing?” Khushi pointed to a chair.

Arnav sat.

Khushi quickly occupied the chair next to him and leaned forward eagerly as if expecting him to hand over her lost memories to her immediately, as if to witness a miracle or a magician pulling a rabbit out of his hat.

Arnav took a deep breath. This was the beginning of the end. His end. He savoured the happiness on her innocent face for a long moment before asking, “Khushi, what is the last thing you remember?” 

“Jiji’s marriage,” Khushi smiled. “The house was full of our neighbours. Babuji had arranged for lights to be hung all over the house. Jiji looked so beautiful. Akash Jiju is very lucky to get my Jiji,” Khushi smiled.

“Yes, he is,” Arnav said softly.

Khushi frowned, “But I don’t remember seeing you, Arnavji. How can Jiju get married without you?” She looked directly in to his eyes. “Didn’t you attend his marriage?”

Arnav swallowed. “Khushi, do you remember seeing Nani or Mami or Mama or Di at the wedding?”

“No,” Khushi frowned.

“Do you remember the wedding?” he asked.

Khushi grimaced. “No.”

Arnav looked at Khushi for a moment. “Khushi, what were you wearing for the wedding?”

Khushi smiled. “A green lehenga. With pearls sewn on it. I had matching pearl earrings. Bada wala. They were so heavy.”

“You have it with you now?” Arnav asked, his heart thudding. He was moving towards her enlightenment and his ruin on slow but sure steps.

Khushi looked bemused for a second. She then got up, went to the cupboard in one corner of the room and began digging in to the huge piles of dresses.

Arnav watched her with sad eyes.

Finally she emerged victorious, dragging the lehenga, choli and dupatta from the closet. “This is the one,” she told Arnav. She brought it to him and said, “It is pretty, isn’t it?”

Arnav nodded. He slowly unfolded the dupatta, spreading it over his hands. Khushi looked at the quaint sight of the delicate cloth lying over his masculine arms.

“Is the lehenga in a good condition?” he asked softly.

“Why shouldn’t it be in a good condition?” Khushi asked, an eyebrow raised in mock anger. “Aap ko bata doon, I always take good care of my clothes.” She lifted the lehenga high up in the air to show him its perfect condition. Then she held it against her waist and turned around, letting the folds fly around her.

“Now I look like a titliyaa, Buaji’s titliyaa…” Khushi laughed, still twirling.

“Why don’t you wear it? You can tease Buaji,” Arnav suggested.

“Yes,” Khushi’s eyes lit up with naughty laughter. “I will change. But aap please promise keejiye that you won’t go away while I am changing,” Khushi demanded.

“I won’t go anywhere, Khushi—till you send me away,” Arnav said softly.

Khushi frowned at him. “Are you sure you are not a poet? Woh kya he, I can’t understand half of the things you say.” 

“No, I am not a poet. I am a businessman. I own a fashion house where we design clothes and models display them in fashion shows,” Arnav said.

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes troubled. “Acha?” Khushi voice was unsure, her tone screaming her uncertainty. She looked down at the dress in her hand. “I will change.”

“I will wait,” Arnav promised.

A few moments later, Khushi called from the bathroom. “Arnavji, are you there?”

“Yes.”

Khushi emerged, dressed in the green lehenga. She twirled. The pearl doris of her choli were tied at her back.

So someone had repaired the broken pearl strings, Arnav surmised.

“Khushi, can you get on to this chair?” Arnav asked.

“Ji?” Khushi’s face showed her confusion.

“I just need to look at the hem of your lehenga. The work is beautiful,” Arnav said.

Khushi clambered on to the chair.

Arnav took a deep breath. “Khushi!” he called loudly to startle her.

Khushi turned around on the flimsy chair. Her arms flailed as she tried to retain her foothold and her balance. Failing in her attempt, Khushi began to fall.

Part 14