Changing Shades - 11

Chapter 11 



"How long has it been? Years ... Khushi, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

It was the last thing Khushi had expected to hear, and she gaped at him.

Manish's eyes closed again, and he seemed to drift away, his face as pale as the sheets he lay on. Then with a supreme effort, he opened his eyes again. He looked around almost blindly.

“Pratibha?!”
The younger girl moved forward quickly, her eyes fixed on Manish, a wild, almost desperate look in them.

“I'm here, Manish. I'm here.”

“Is she there? Is Khushi really here? Or am I dreaming?”

Khushi spoke for the first time. It took an effort, and her voice was scratchy, soft.

“You're not dreaming, Manish. Or if you are, I'm dreaming the same dream. Only I'd call it a nightmare.”

Manish gave a half smile. Just a twitch of the lips, but it was there.
“It is you,” he said. “Nobody but you could talk like that.”

He closed his eyes again, and they all waited. This time when he opened them, there was determination in them, and he focussed on Khushi at once.

“Khushi? I don't have much time. Ma? Baba? Are you with them? Do you know where they are? I tried to find you all, Khushi ... I really did. Khushi … Khushi, I’m sorry. I’m so very, very sorry!”
Khushi moved forward to the bed, her eyes moist.

“Ma and Baba are with me, Manish,” she said softly. “They are … well.”

She bit her lip on the lie, but her voice was steady, as steady as she could make it.

“We tried to find you too, Manish. We tried so hard … but you didn’t want to be found, did you? Where did you get lost, Manish?”

 His eyes closed, and to her surprise, a tear trickled from one side.

Then he opened his eyes again, and gazed at her.

“I should have known,” he said softly. “You cared for them too much to abandon them, the way I did. I’ve been such a bad son, Khushi … such a waste. You should have been their child, not me. Do they … do they hate me very much?”

She looked at him helplessly.

“Manish, what have you done to yourself? You had everything, everything in the world. Parents who loved you, a wonderful life, friends … Then why did you do this? Why have things turned out this way? Why did you throw it all away? Everything was there for you, you had it all.”

He grimaced.

“That was the problem, Khushi, don’t you know? That was the problem. I had it all, and I got it all so easily. Money, a great life … even college was a breeze because I didn’t really have to work at all. Baba’s money and position made sure I got everything I wanted without a struggle. And I wanted it all … I wanted more. And I found there was one thing I didn’t have … I didn't have you. So of course I wanted you.”

Khushi looked stricken. His face changed.

“Don't look like that. It's not your fault. It never was. I knew you loved him. I knew you very well, remember. I knew you from childhood, and you were the most transparent person there was. I knew you loved Arnav. You didn’t know it yourself, but I did. I used to see your face light up when he was around, I saw the way you both spent hours together, lost in each other. And I was angry … because you were my friend, mine. How could Arnav get you? I also knew you'd never say no to Ma. I used that, Khushi. I was a spoilt child, who wanted everything, and then when he got it, wanted more, always more. I wanted especially what wasn't mine, and I used all my cleverness to get it. But I forgot that you can't do that with people, not with their emotions. You were never mine to get. You always belonged to him, and he to you. I'm sorry, Khushi. That's all I wanted to say to you before I went. I'm sorry. When I found Pratibha, that's when I realised what love really is. Not the selfishness I had with you. Love is giving, and she has given me everything. I had to give you your life back. Tell me, Khushi. Tell me you found him, you're with him. That will ease my conscience.”

Tears were running down her cheeks. “Manish!”

“Tell me you forgive me, Khushi,” he said urgently. “Tell Ma and Baba to forgive me. Khushi, please. Will you do that? Tell Arnav I'm sorry. And there's one more thing. The most important thing for me, and maybe for ma and baba. Pratibha,…” he looked at her and she nodded, and wheeled herself out. Raj followed her.

His eyes closed again, but he was still there. He spoke softly.

“I know I don't deserve it, but can you do us both one big favor, Khushi? That will let me die in peace? Please! I know you never loved me as a husband, but as a friend, as a brother, maybe? Please?”

Khushi nodded. “You are a friend, Manish. You are and always will be. Perhaps my first friend. We should have left it that way. Both of us made mistakes. I should never have agreed to marry you. I didn't have the courage either, to face your parents. Manish, come back with me to Bombay. Ma and Baba …they need you. Manish, please come back. Bring Pratibha. I'll explain to them. Come back, Manish!”

He shook his head, and it was obvious he was exhausted.

“I can't. I'm dying, Khushi, I know that. I don't want them to see me like this, and anyway, I can't go. I'm in no state to go. I want to stay with Pratibha till the end. Her brother will look after everything when I go. But, Khushi, please look after Pratibha after I'm gone. Please. And my daughter… my baby … Khushi, will you look after….”

His voice had been getting fainter and fainter, and now tailed away completely, just as Pratibha and Raj came back into the room, the latter carrying a small bundle in his arms. Pratibha gave an exclamation and wheeled her chair swiftly to Manish's bedside. When she looked up, her face was wet, and her small hand clutched his desperately.

“Don't let him go,” she cried to her brother. “Not yet! Please, not yet!”

But Manish had gone, slipped back into the coma he had so briefly emerged from.
Raj held his sister's hand, as the doctor rushed in, and checked the silent figure on the bed. Then he looked up at the group, and motioned them out of the room.

“Doctor,” said Pratibha, urgently. “Doctor, how is he?”

The doctor looked at her briefly. “Bad,” he responded, his attention on the bed. “Leave him alone. He has said what he wanted to say. Let him be at peace now.”

Pratibha nodded, her eyes wet. She looked at Khushi, and then at the small bundle in her brother's arms.

“He was waiting for you,” she said, her voice full of grief. “He was waiting to hand her over to you. He had faith in you, Khushi. Maybe not in his parents, he didn’t know whether they would accept her, but he knew you would.”

Khushi nodded, her eyes wet.  She couldn’t speak. Pratibha looked at her with pleading eyes.

“Will you look after our baby, Khushi? Will you tell him that? Then he can go in peace. He loves her very much. Even though he has never held her even once, he wasn’t allowed to hold her because of the infection, but he has talked to her for hours on end, he has loved her as a father should, as his father never loved him.”

There was bitterness in her voice. Khushi looked at her gently. She spoke, her words an effort for her, shocked as she was.

“Pratibha,” she said, with an effort. “Pratibha, don't think so badly of them, when you have never even met them. And don’t say they don’t love him. It’s not possible for any parents to not love their child. They love him, he is their only child. Their only fault is that they spoilt him with their love. He was petrified of Baba, Baba was a strict father … but Baba loves him too. Baba…”

“Then why did they never make an effort to come here, try and find him, see what state he is in? Why did they wash their hands off him?” asked Pratibha fiercely, her eyes angry.

Khushi took a deep breath. “How do I explain to you, Pratibha? What happened with us, what we have been through the last four years, because of Manish’s drug habit. His habit has ruined four lives, not just his own.”

She turned away from Pratibha, her eyes gazing unseeingly out the window.  

“Did Manish ever try to think what state they could be in? Whether they were in a fit condition to try and find him? The drugs didn’t just give him a high, they distorted his perceptions, his views of right and wrong, even his memories.”

She turned back to Pratibha. Her voice, when she spoke next, was flat, emotionless, as though recounting the story of strangers.

“Manish’s drug habit ruined everything, Pratibha. His own life, and that of Ma and Baba. They have lost everything in the last few years … their home, their health, their business. His father sold everything to send him the money he asked for. Not once, not twice, a hundred times! Is that the action of a man who doesn’t love his son? Did Manish know that the business, the house, the shares, the jewellery, everything has gone? Gone … so that they could send him money, whenever he wanted! And with the money, they sent letters, pleading with him … come back, we'll help you get over your drug habit, we'll do whatever it takes to make you healthy again, just come back. He never answered a single letter, not a single one. Not even the letter in which I told him that his father has had a stroke, and cannot talk, walk, write, anything! His father has lost his memory, and keeps thinking Manish is still in office and will be back home at the end of the day. His parents are in a home. A nursing home, Pratibha! And they are there because of the charity of some friends, not because their only son is looking after them! Left to him, they would be on the streets – that's what he and his drug habit brought them to. They can't expect anything from him, no support, no comfort, nothing! They have to depend on the charity of good friends, on the earnings of their daughter-in-law, who never was, or should have been, their daughter-in-law in the first place! These are the people who are looking after them now, not their own son. And yet they wait for him every day, hoping against hope that he will come back. And you say they don't love him!”

Pratibha listened, aghast. “I didn't know,” she whispered. “He never said anything. He just said…”
Khushi smiled bitterly.

“He just said that his parents didn't love him, they always had too many expectations from him? He said he didn't want to become an architect, but they forced him. He didn't want to marry me, but they forced him. Is that what he said? But he's wrong, Pratibha, he's wrong. I'm not saying he's lying. He was so lost in his drugged world, he probably didn't know the difference between fact and fantasy. It's true that he didn't want to become an architect. But never once did he have the courage to tell them that. He just obeyed his father blindly. And as for marrying me, he didn't marry me to please them.”

She turned away again, her eyes unseeing, her mind reliving the memories of her brief wedding, the wedding that had turned everything upside-down in her life, a wedding that should never have happened … if only she had been strong enough to stop it.

“He married me because he was spoiled, and wanted everything that was out of his reach. When he saw that Khushi, his childhood friend, his property, the orphan fed on crumbs from his table, had got over her childhood worship of him, and was in love with somebody else, he promptly decided he had to have me. His parents could not say no to him, and I could not say no to them. He never loved me, never. And when did he tell me this? On my wedding night! The only consolation I had when I married him, was that I might not be marrying the man I love, but I am marrying someone who loves me, and that myth he shattered on our wedding night.”

Khushi looked out of the window blindly.

“Throughout our marriage, brief though it was, he never let me forget that he had got the better of me and Arnav that he had scored over us by separating us. And in such a way, that today, Arnav thinks of me as a gold digger, and hates me.”

She turned back to Pratibha. “I wish Manish had come back, brought you back to his parents,” she said, more gently. “Maybe we would all have found some happiness. Now …what do I tell them? I can only carry grief for them.”

“Maybe not,” said Raj Bahadur, quietly from the door, and Khushi looked at him in surprise. And then noticed the bundle he was carrying in his arms.

Slowly, she walked to him, and looked at the little face, the perfect features.

Pratibha spoke slowly, her eyes fixed on the baby.

“I told you he married me because I was pregnant. This is our daughter. She's all right. By some miracle. She's healthy. Will you give her to his parents? Will you raise her, and look after her? Tell her about us, and teach her not to be like us. Raise her to be like you. We don't want her to end up like either of her parents.”

Khushi looked at her, and nodded, her being filled with pity and sorrow for this brave girl. She spoke softly.

“I promise you that I will bring up this child as my own. She will never want for love, or a mother's care. And I know Manish's parents will accept her too, will love her. I promise you that.”

She came back to the bed and looked at Manish's face, as he lay unconscious.

“I'm sorry, Manish,” she spoke softly. “I'm sorry, too, but glad I arrived in time. Glad that you waited for me. You've freed me from my guilt, my burden.”

She turned again to Raj Bahadur, hands outstretched to take the baby.
And froze.

Arnav stood at the door, next to Raj Bahadur, watching her steadily.

Khushi's hand crept to her mouth. She couldn't think of anything to say.

Changing Shades - 10

Chapter 10

Leaving Lavanya completely and absolutely stupefied, and for once, totally bereft of words, Arnav disappeared.

Arnav drove home, his brain reeling. He had picked up the phone by a genuine mistake. He hadn't heard the phone ring – it was never directly transmitted to him in his office, but always went to Lavanya's desk first. He just hadn't noticed the green light when he punched the button for a line, and had inadvertently found himself eavesdropping on a conversation he was definitely not supposed to overhear. His first instinct had been to cut the line – but something in the caller's voice, and Khushi's hushed, almost scared tones had stopped him from doing so, and he found himself listening. He didn't hear all the conversation, only the latter half, but it was enough. Enough to make him realise that something was terribly, terribly wrong. That Khushi's life was not the ideal holiday he had assumed it to be, and had found pleasure in savagely punishing with his cruel taunts.

He had known – oh, of course he had known that she was not happy at work, but naively, egotistically, he had assumed her discomfort to be due to his presence there, and to her own guilt at having turned him down so many years ago, a tacit admission that he was right about his reasons for her marrying Manish. He had been blind, blind to her feelings, except with regard to his own, his unrequited love had turned into an almost blind hatred, an unbearable jealousy of Manish; every time he visualized them together, a red cloud obscured his thinking, and he couldn’t look beyond that, couldn’t imagine that she could have other troubles than the ones he had found pleasure in giving her at the office.

Arnav cursed himself for his blindness, his selfishness, his ego. As he drove home, he remembered again and again, the ever-present worry and tension in Khushi's face, the dark circles under her eyes, the strain in her voice, her posture…everything he had never noticed in her presence came back to haunt him on that short ride home.

He reached home, and made a few quick calls, one to his travel agent, one to a hotel in Kathmandu, and then one to a special contact, a man who owed him a few favours.

******

Kathmandu, Nepal

 

Khushi stretched tiredly as the plane touched down, completely exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to get to the nearest bed, and sleep, preferably for ever, she thought, with a grimace. She had barely slept at night what with the tension of anticipation, and had been up early packing and mentally preparing herself for what she might find waiting for her in Kathmandu. Then the wait for the flight, which had, of course, been delayed, and finally the touchdown in a strange town, where she knew no one, except the person who was supposedly waiting for her. The next few hours promised to be the most traumatic ones in her life, she thought and she braced herself mentally as she left the plane and looked around for the man who had promised to be there.

The man whom she had spoken to on the telephone, was waiting for her, as he had promised. He was a small, thin Nepalese, with a tired, but kind face, and he smiled at her as she approached him.

“Khushi Dewan?” he asked, and when she nodded, he took her case, and led her out.

“I'm sorry to rush you like this, but we really haven't much time,” he said. “I was so afraid I wouldn't be able to find you in time. You don't know how many Dewans there are in Bombay!”

“Where are we going?” asked Khushi, as he ushered her into a waiting car. Neither of them noticed a man in a long overcoat and cap pulled over his eyes following them, nor did they see the car that he got into immediately behind them, which promptly pulled away from the kerb, and followed them into the traffic.

“To the hospital,” replied the other, and held out his hand to her for the first time. “I'm Raj Bahadur, by the way. Pratibha, my sister has told me about you. You don't know her, but she knows you very well. She…she…” he stopped, and looked away. To her horror, Khushi saw a tear roll down his cheek. He looked back at her.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “Maybe it's better that she tells you herself.”

“Tell me what?” asked Khushi, completely nonplussed, but Raj Bahadur shook his head, and didn't say much more till they reached their destination.

Khushi got out wonderingly, and looked around her. It was early evening now, and getting dark, but the hospital was well lit, and she could see that it was not very large, but scrupulously clean. Raj Bahadur led the way in, and up the stairs into a landing, where a young girl was waiting anxiously. As they came up, she looked at them eagerly, and Khushi saw that she was very pretty, but very, very thin, almost as though something had eaten her away, to the point of emaciation. She was also, Khushi realised immediately, very sick. She made no attempt to get up from her wheelchair, and her arm, where it lay on the arm of the chair, had tubes running into it.

“Khushi?” said the girl, hesitantly, and Khushi nodded, and came over to her. The girl shrank back.

“No! Don't touch me! Please!”

Khushi looked at her, then back at Raj Bahadur helplessly. “Why? Will one of you please tell me what's going on? What's the matter? And where is Manish? You called me all the way here at a moment's notice for him – where is he? And who are you?”

The girl looked at her helplessly.

“Please, Khushi, Please sit down. I have to tell you everything, and there's not much time. Not for him, anyway.  I'm Pratibha.”

“That doesn't tell me anything,” said Khushi, evenly. Pratibha looked at her miserably.

“Manish and I were married about eight months ago,” she said, softly, watching Khushi's face.

Khushi went blank.

She looked at the girl in front of her, her brain in total shock. She tried to speak, but no words came. Her head whirled, and she actually felt giddy for a moment. She put out a hand to steady herself, oblivious of the worried glances of the brother and sister looking at her.

“Married?” she whispered. “Married you …eight months… married?”

Then, with a supreme effort, she collected her scattered wits slowly. She looked at both of them, her face still mirroring her shock, and Raj Bahadur rushed to get her a glass of water. Pratibha looked at her anxiously.

“I'm sorry,” she said, weakly, and Khushi could see the physical effort it took for the girl to speak, her voice coming in short breaths. “He told me about you, that he was married. I always knew that. But he didn't want to go back. He told me that he didn't love you, that you didn't love him, had never loved him. I still would not have married him, it was enough for me to just live with him. He didn't want to go back, you know. But when I became pregnant, he insisted we get married. He wanted his child to have his name, and later, when we both became sick, we knew we had to. We didn't know whether the child would survive, whether I would survive, but we knew he would not. And Raj can't look after a child. His only hope was you.”

“Wait,” said Khushi, slowly, painfully. “Tell me the whole story from the start.”

So Pratibha told her. It was a pathetic story, and a short one. Manish had met Pratibha at one of the hangouts for young drug addicts. They both were on drugs, they both enjoyed each other's company, and they found living together, a natural solution. Manish wired his parents for money – the last letter they had received, after which they had sold their business, and moved to Bombay. He kept wiring them for more money, not knowing that his letters went unopened. He never believed their threats, never believed that they would not, and could not, give him any more. But within a few months of being with Pratibha, Manish discovered he had AIDS.

Khushi gasped. This time, she really had to sit down. She sat on the narrow hospital bench set against the wall, her hands clenched on the armrest, trying to digest what the other girl's words meant.

"AIDS. Manish has AIDS." She repeated the words again and again to herself, as though they would make more sense if she said them again. 

She looked at Pratibha, and try as she might, she couldn't keep the accusation out of her eyes, her tone.

"How ... where ... how did he ...? From ... you? Or from ..."

Pratibha's eyes were nervous, her tone hesitant.

"We don't know. Probably from the needles. They were not ... very clean. Or maybe ...," she stopped and took a deep breath before she continued. "Maybe from one of the other girls. We ... they ... it was communal living ... if you know what I mean ...  and we were all high most of the time ... we ... he ... didn't know what he was doing."

Khushi tried to digest this new shock. Manish had been on drugs, that was something she knew, had known for a long time ... but he had also been unfaithful? 

She spoke slowly, trying to make sense of what the other girl was saying.

"So you and he ... you weren't ... together ...?" she stopped. How to ask this young girl ... and, she thought slowly, did she even need to? Did she want the answer? She turned to Pratibha again, her tone marginally steadier.

"So ... when did you get together? And when did you know about his ... illness?"

She couldn't bring herself to say the dreaded word. But Pratibha, it appeared, was stronger. 

"His AIDS? Not too long back. Like I said, about eight months. We lived in this commune, about twenty of us ... and we, Manish and I, got together about a year ago. It was a few months after that. He was sick off and on ... all of us were ... the place we lived wasn't clean. But then he got sicker, and one night he started throwing up and didn't stop all night. In the morning, I took him to a doctor, and he ran a test ..."

Pratibha looked at Khushi squarely.

“I didn't leave him. How could I? He had nobody. His parents were not answering his letters, neither were you. And anyway, he didn't want to go back. He said he couldn't, his father would never accept him back. So I stayed with him, looked after him. Then I discovered I was pregnant. I just didn't know what to do. I didn't want the baby to be sick. So I went back to my brother. Manish followed me, and insisted I marry him. He said I needn't stay with him, but if we got married here, in Nepal, at least the baby would be registered as his, under his name. It would be legitimate. We were both hoping the baby would be all right. He even promised to give up drugs, if the baby was okay. He wanted me to stay away till the baby arrived, then test it to check. I agreed. He had already told me about his marriage to you, about his father, and how scared he was of him, everything. So we got married, and I stayed with Raj. Till the next bombshell.”

She looked at Khushi again.

“I escaped AIDS but I got TB. I could take some of the medicines, but not all, because of the baby, and TB here in Nepal is drug-resistant – my infection hasn’t been responding to much. We didn’t know whether I would get better or not. We were both shell shocked – we didn't know what to do. For a while we thought of aborting the baby – what was the use of bringing it into this world, when both parents might be dead before long? But while I was pregnant, without my knowledge, Manish started trying to track you down. He thought his parents would have nothing to do with the baby, but he thought…he hoped that you might. He sent Raj, as he was already unable to travel. Raj, bless him, went all the way to Delhi to look for you. He didn’t find you, of course, the people at the house had no idea where you were. With great difficulty, he traced your lawyer, then found you had moved to Mumbai. But by that time, his health started getting worse, and he was in such a state that he couldn't give any names of anybody you might know in Mumbai. So Raj started calling up all the Dewans in the phone book one by one. That's how he found you. We had to find you."

Pratibha stopped, and looked at Khushi pleadingly. She whispered in a lower voice, "We had to find you, Khushi. You were our only hope.”

Her hand came out to cover Khushi's. Her eyes, as they gazed into Khushi's were wide, scared.

Khushi swallowed. “Where…where is Manish now?” she asked, almost in a whisper. Raj, who had been sitting silently all the while, listening to the conversation, got up.

“I'll take you to him,” he said quietly. “But be prepared. He will not know you.”

Khushi smiled bitterly.

“He’ll know me,” she said flatly. “He knows me better than I did myself.”

She followed Raj into the small hospital room. And saw her husband for the first time in two years.

She hardly recognized him. He lay, frail and thin, under the covers, an emaciated hand peeping out from the sheet, into which a clear plastic tube dripped fluids. His eyes were closed, and he breathed heavily and noisily. Wires ran from his chest electrodes up to the shelf behind his bed, where the heart and blood pressure monitors bleeped their warnings, and an irregular green tracing paced repetitively across the screen.

Khushi looked at him ... at the boy she had grown up with ... the man she had married ... her friend, her biggest enemy. The man whose parents had given everything she needed when she was orphaned and alone in the world, and the man who had taken everything away from her. 

And she found that she felt nothing. Not love, not affection ... and not even hatred. She was blank. Numb. Empty of all emotion.

He was sleeping. Or was he? The nurse, dressed in protective clothing, gloves, and a mask, looked up at them, and bent back to her work of adjusting the drip rate.

“Visitors? Now? Visiting hours are over.” Her tone was dismissive, but not overtly rude. She must have been used to relatives coming in at odd hours.

“She's just got in from Bombay,” explained Raj Bahadur. The nurse looked at Khushi.

“You may be too late,” she said, not unkindly. “He's been like this for the last couple of weeks. He drifts in and out, but it's not so frequent now.”

“What's happening to him?” asked Khushi, and then felt foolish for asking. The nurse looked at her consideringly.

“You know he has AIDS?” As Khushi nodded, she went on.

“Well, I don't know how much you understand of the illness, but basically it means his immune system is knocked out. So he's prone to getting bugs which would not bother normal people. Also some cancers. He's got a tumour in the brain, which is making him unconscious from time to time. Now and then we manage to bring down the pressure on his brain, and he becomes lucid. Then he goes off again. He's got a skin cancer. He's got fungus all over his intestines, and that is not responding to any treatment. Then one of his lungs also has a fungus, a different one. That's causing his lungs to collapse, and he needs breathing support and oxygen all the time. What we're worried about, is that the fungus in the lungs may have infected his heart.”

Khushi sat down. It was too much for her. Pratibha wheeled herself in and looked at her. She made as if to say something, then a sound from the bed stopped them both. They whirled around to the bed.

Manish had opened his eyes, and was staring vacantly around.

Pratibha wheeled her chair to his side, and took his hand. “Manish,” she said, softly. “I'm here. I'm here. Can you hear me?”

The hand in hers twitched, then his gaze seemed to become more focussed. He looked at her.

“Pratibha,” his voice was slurred, laborious.

“Did you find them? Did you find ma and baba?”

Pratibha held his hand tightly.

“Manish?” she spoke clearly, slowly. “Can you hear me? Yes, I did find them. I found Khushi, Manish. I found Khushi. She's here. Can you see her?”

Khushi moved so that Manish could see her directly. She was incapable of speech. Manish turned slightly, and gazed at her vacantly. Then his eyes seemed to focus, and she saw them light with recognition. He struggled for speech.

“Khushi? It's really you?”

She nodded. It was all she was capable of doing.

He spoke again, slowly, with effort, and she could see the pain and the concentration it took for him to stay there, to orient himself.

“How long has it been? Years? Khushi, I'm sorry.”

Khushi gaped at him. That was the last thing she had expected to hear. 

 

Changing Shades - 9

Chapter 9

Lavanya looked up as Khushi stormed out of Arnav's office into the outer room, barely holding back her tears. Lavanya's face mirrored her shock.

“Khushi! What happened?!” she gasped out.

“I've had it,” said Khushi, fiercely, stuffing her drawings and plans into her briefcase with trembling hands. “I can't work here any more. He wanted to break me ... for the last four months, he's been trying to break me ... well, bully for him, he finally has. I'm going to my hostel. If he asks for me, tell him he'll have my resignation in the morning.”

Lavanya tried to hold Khushi's papers, her mind reeling. “Khushi, you can't do that! What will you do? The nursing home, the bills…”

“Damn the bills!” said Khushi explosively. “As you said, they're not my concern anyway. I'll starve if I have to, but I cannot work with him anymore. Let him find another slave to work all the god-awful hours he expects and put up with the abuse also. I refuse to keep apologizing for what happened four years ago. I've paid for it enough, I don't have to pay any more ... and not to him!”

She laid her briefcase on the table, her hands still shaking. In her mind, she heard her voice again … ‘Manish knew everything,’ … she saw again the look on her husband’s face as he faced her on their wedding night with his knowledge of her love … his eyes glittering strangely ... his contorted, twisted sense of triumph … the boy she had known all her life turned into a frightening, maniacal stranger, a man she didn't recognise ...
When her personal journey into hell had started.  

Lavanya was aghast. She had never seen Khushi in this state. She came up to the other girl and put her arms around her.

“Khushi, what happened? What did he say? Khushi, calm down, for god's sake. You can't go home like this!”

“I'm going,” Khushi said, more calmly. She looked at Lavanya in something akin to despair, her voice husky with unshed tears as she spoke.

“You see, Lavs, the problem is that he doesn't know I would have given my right arm to be free to love him all those years ago. And I still would. But I’m not free – my life’s not my own – and it never has been. Anyway, forget it. He is not going to forgive me, and I can't make him understand. He doesn't want to understand. So the best thing for both of us, is that I don't work here anymore. He's won. He wanted to break me, to drive me out of here – well, he has. Tell him I'll send the plans with the revisions in the morning, along with my resignation.”

She picked up her bag, and made to move to the door. Lavanya watched her helplessly.

Just then, the phone rang, startling them both.

“Who could it be, at this time of evening?” muttered Lavanya, as she rushed to get it.

“Maybe the boss, saying he's had a heart attack?” asked Khushi half-jokingly, then she continued … “oh, can’t be – he doesn’t have a heart.” They both smiled wanly. Lavanya picked up the phone.

“Suri Constructions, good evening. Can I help you?” she said, schooling her face into a solemn expression, then her face changed. “Just a moment , please.”

She held out the phone to Khushi, her face serious.

“It's for you. Some guy. Says he's calling from Kathmandu.”

Kathmandu. Where Khushi's long search had ended in a dead end.

Khushi looked at Lavanya, her own face changing, and the color draining from it. She came hesitantly forward, and her hand shook just a little as she took the phone.

“Hello?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

She listened for a while. “Yes, I am Khushi Dewan, that's right. Yes, I am an architect. What?”

Her face still pale, Khushi listened to the caller for another minute, then her voice very low, she answered again.

“Yes, that is correct. I am. Who are you?”

She listened again, and Lavanya watched, getting more and more concerned. Khushi looked as though she was talking to a ghost. Her voice almost threadlike, she spoke again.

“I'll be there as soon as I can. Can you give me a contact number or an address? I'll call you as soon as I reach, or as soon as I get organized.”

She took a pen and wrote something on the pad next to her. Then she spoke again.

“Right, I'll get my ticket done and try to be there tomorrow morning at the latest. I will call you when I get there. Thank you.”

She made to put down the phone, then quickly spoke again.

“Just a minute. What is your name, and does he know you are calling me?”

She listened again, then put the phone down with a brief word. She turned to Lavanya, her face empty of expression.

“Lavs, you'll have to cover my back from Arnav. Maybe for a day or two, maybe longer. I don't know yet how long. Can you do it?”

“Of course,” said Lavanya, instantly. “You don't have to ask.”

Khushi nodded, and picked up the phone again, calling their travel agency. She quickly booked a single ticket to Kathmandu, and putting down the phone, looked at her watch.

“I don't have much time,” she muttered. “I'd better leave right away.”

Lavanya looked at her.

“What's this all about?” she asked directly. “Or would you rather not say anything?”

Khushi smiled, but there was strain in her smile. She said one word.

“Manish.”

Lavanya knew the bare details enough for that one word to make sense. She nodded in instant understanding.

“He's there? In Kathmandu?”

Khushi nodded. “Seems to be. How they traced me, I don't know. I'll find out soon enough. Lavanya, if Arnav comes comes, please make some excuse for me. I may need a couple of days, there seems to be some major problem.”

The other girl nodded again. 

"Will do, Khushi. You need to go and sort this out. As soos as possible."

Khushi looked briefly at her. 

"I just hope ..."

She stopped and swallowed. 

"I hope this isn't a dead end again, Lavs. I just hope this guy is telling the truth."

 

“Are you going to tell your in-laws?” Lavanya asked carefully. Khushi shook her head decidedly.

 ‘No, I don't know if this is a wild goose chase. I'll go to the nursing home, break my fast, and then go home. The flight is early morning. I don't want to raise their hopes, if there is a mistake. Let me find out first. I'll come back and tell them."

“And Arnav?” Lavanya asked quietly. Khushi looked at her helplessly, then she did something she had never done before. She came into Lavanya's arms, rested her head on the other girl's shoulder, closed her eyes and held her tight.

“I need him,” she whispered, so softly, that Anjali barely heard her. “Oh, God, how I need my old Arnav. My best friend ...”

Neither of them noticed Arnav standing just outside the room, in the corridor, watching them, nor did they notice as he stepped quietly and noiselessly back.

Lavanya hugged her back, her throat aching with unshed tears.

“Go,” she said, her voice suspiciously husky. “I'll handle Arnav.”

Khushi nodded and stepped back.

“What will you tell him?” she asked, as she got her things together rapidly. Lavanya looked at her a little wickedly, wanting to lighten her mood.

‘I'll tell him you're pregnant and having morning sickness,’ she said happily, and Khushi looked at her for a horrified moment, and a smile grew on her face.

“You'll do it, too, if I know you,” she grinned, “but please, I think I need to live a little longer. Could you possibly think of another excuse that won't endanger my life?”

Lavanya laughed. “I'll try,” she promised. “Now, off with you.”

Khushi nodded and disappeared. Lavanya sat down with a sigh, frowning, as she tried to think of what to say to Arnav.

She needn't have bothered. He walked in a couple of minutes later, whistling, as though without a care in the world, greeted her and went straight into his office. After a little while he came out, and came to Khushi's desk, casually picked up her pad, on which she had written the Kathmandu address, and tore off the paper, while Lavanya watched, horrified, completely unable to say a word.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked, casually. “What's happening around here?”

“N…nothing much,” she managed to say, watching as he glanced at the piece of paper, before crumpling it in his hand, then she breathed more easily, as he wrote something on the fresh page of the pad.

“Can you contact these people for me?” he said, handing her the paper. “I have an appointment with them tomorrow afternoon. Reschedule it for next week, will you?”

She nodded, thankfully, and waited for him to ask about Khushi. But he didn't, and she didn't notice, as she looked at the paper he had handed her, that he had put the crumpled one in his pocket. He went back into his office, and she was left wondering at his uncharacteristic behaviour. So puzzled was she that she forgot to wonder at his change of mood after the fight with Khushi.

She wasn't left to wonder long. In about half an hour, he came out of his office, closing the door. Lavanya looked at him in surprise.

“You're off, Arnav?”

“Yes, I am. Cancel all my other appointments, as well, will you, Lavanya? For the week.”

“Week?” she stuttered, in complete shock. “Wh…wh…where are you going?”

He leaned over her desk casually.

“Kathmandu, of course. Where else?”

Leaving her completely and absolutely stupefied, and for once, totally bereft of words, he disappeared.

Changing Shades - 8

Chapter 8

Things could not have gone on the same way for much longer, and they didn't.

But how matters would come to a head, Khushi could not have even dreamed.

Arnav came into office a few weeks later in a temper. He was early, and neither Khushi nor Lavanya were in yet. He barked at Suresh, and sent him scurrying off to call the girls. When Lavanya came in, he barked at her too. She answered back politely but fearlessly, and he grouched into his room.

“Send Khushi in when she comes,” he shot at her. “And you can tell her if she's late again, she can look for another job. I don't tolerate nonsense in my office.”

“She's not late, you are early,” Lavanya replied, calmly. “She left at past 2 last night.  The plans you need are on your desk. She left them there. Sir.” she added pointedly.

“How do you know?” he barked, and Lavanya looked at him coolly. “She called me last night to tell me,” she said, making no attempt to hide her annoyance. “She was afraid she might be late today, because she left so late, so she wanted me to wake her up in the morning.”

Arnav stared at her, his annoyance forgotten temporarily, as he tried to process Lavanya's words.

“She's got a whole army of servants to wake her up, and she wants you to call her? Why? Does she need a personal alarm clock, for heavens sakes? She can't make do with alarm clocks, like the rest of the world? And why you? Why not someone in her own house?”

Lavanya didn't reply. She got busy with her computer, and didn't look at him.

“I'll have this lot of letters and the proposal finished by the morning,” she said, briskly. “Is there anything else you need done today, sir?”

“I'll call you when there is,” he said, briefly, his face shuttered. “Send Khushi in when she comes.”

Lavanya didn't look up till he had closed his door, then she stopped her work and gave a sigh of relief.

“Boy oh boy, you nearly blew that one, woman,” she admonished herself, and looked up with a smile, as Khushi opened the door cautiously and came in.

“Storm warning,” she said, briefly. Khushi sighed.

“I really can't take it today,” she muttered, collapsing into her chair. Lavanya looked at her, and her expression spoke. Khushi smiled tiredly. "Don't give me that 'I told you so' look, Lavs. I'll manage. It's just that ... I'm so exhausted after the past few weeks, and on top of that, I just managed a couple of hours of sleep last night." She dropped into her chair, and stared out the window, her face pensive.  

Lavanya waited for Khushi to say something further. She knew something was wrong. And she knew what it related to ... or rather, whom. Khushi always had a peculiar look on her face when she spoke about ... him. But Khushi never spoke too much, she chose her words carefully, and took care to never be critical. She owed them too much, and she never forgot that fact. 

Khushi finally turned towards Lavanya. She spoke calmly enough, her tone not giving away anything. But her eyes were tormented.

 “Mummy called in the morning at 5. She wanted to remind me to eat something. It's karva chauth.”

Lavanya stared at her disbelievingly.

“Do you still keep the fast? For ... him?!”

“I didn't keep it the last two years,” confessed Khushi. “It's all over, except in name, so I didn't. I don't think of him as my husband any more, anyway.”

"But you're fasting," guessed Lavanya, and almost missed the slight nod, so imperceptible was it.

“Then why ... what ... just for them?" began Lavanya, confused, and Khushi looked at her with a twisted smile.

“You'll tell me I'm a fool, again, and I need my head examined. Maybe I do, at that.”

Lavanya whistled. “You are,” she agreed. Then she hugged the other girl. “But he’s a bigger fool! He's an idiot if he doesn't appreciate your worth. Khushi, tell him. Please! Tell him about Manish. You're not being fair to him ... nor to them ... and most of all, you're not being fair to yourself.”

Khushi shook her head stubbornly and Lavanya sighed defeatedly.

“I thought I told you to send Khushi in as soon as she came,” barked a voice, and both the girls jumped. Arnav was standing at the door of his office, looking decidedly grim. Khushi got up with a sigh. She gave Lavanya a look of 'here we go again', and walked towards Arnav's office. He stood aside to let her enter, and shut the door behind her.

Had he heard her conversation with Lavanaya, wondered Khushi. She spoke quickly to preempt any questions.

“The plans are already on your table,” she told him. “I did finish them last night.”

“I think that either I'm retarded or you are,” Arnav retorted. “I cannot understand what you have done at all. These look like the work of a fifth grader ... and I'm being insulting to the fifth grader. Could you be so kind as to explain what you have drawn? Where are the revisions I asked for?”  

 That was the beginning. Khushi was exhausted, and she answered back far more sharply than she ever had before. They had a roaring fight, and at the end of it, Arnav stomped out of his office.

“I have a meeting with this client, and I'll be back only after lunch. I want the plans done by then, with all the revisions,” he barked at her.

“You're not asking for revisions, you're asking me to do the whole lot again,” Khushi answered back equally sharply. “I can't possibly have them done by the afternoon.”

“You'd better, or you're out of this office,” he retorted, and walked out.

Khushi stared after him, almost at the end of her tether. Then she got determinedly back to work.

“He is not going to get me down, nor is he going to drive me out of this office,” she vowed to herself, as she picked up her pencils again.

She was still working when Lavanya popped into the room at 6 o'clock. 

"Khushi, you've been inside here the entire day! Aren't you going to take a break? It's evening, aren't you going? You have to go to the nursing home today, don't you?”"

“Can't leave before he comes and checks these,” said Khushi briefly, looking up. Lavanya came further inside and gasped at Khushi's face, drawn, exhausted, yet determined. She gave an exclamation.

“You're done in, Khushi. Go home and get some rest. You haven't eaten anything the whole day. You'll drop dead, the way you're going.”

“I should be so lucky,” replied Khushi, and looked over Lavanya's shoulder. Her face changed, the determination strengthened, along with a look Lavanya recognised as pure stubborn mulishness. Arnav was back, Lavanya thought, and he's in trouble. Khushi didn't often go on the warpath, but when she did, she was unstoppable. 

As she was now. Her next words were clipped and defiant.

 “The tyrant is back, Lavs. You'd better get back to your desk before he accuses us of wasting our time gossiping.”

She was at breaking point, and didn't seem to care that Arnav heard every word she said, indeed her words seemed to be aimed at him. Lavanya scuttled back to her desk, and Arnav passed her to come into his room and slam the door. He looked at Khushi and it was clear her words had found their mark. If she had intended to provoke him, she had succeeded.

He came up to her and grasped her by the shoulders.

“Don't ever…” he hissed at her in a low, menacing tone “…ever talk to my staff like that.”

“Like what?” asked Khushi innocently. “Oh, you mean, don't call you a tyrant? All right, I won't. She knows it, anyway.”

She was hurting from the pressure he was applying to her shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh, but she didn't care. Something had finally snapped in her, a combination of the last few months' tiredness, the fights, the tension, and her own exhaustion and hunger, and she felt almost lightheaded as she faced him.

“You are trying to undermine my authority with my staff,” he said furiously. “And, for the record, you are part of the staff here, so…”

“So what?” she retorted. “Are you threatening to fire me? All right, go ahead and do it. Fire me.”

She looked at him and laughed bitterly.

“No, you won't fire me, will you, Arnav? You will never fire me. It gives you too much pleasure to see me here, under your authority, obeying your orders, being completely at your mercy. Face it, Arnav, you're not finding fault with my work, are you? For the last four months, you've been punishing me for what I did four years ago, and my work has nothing to do with it. And you want to continue punishing me, so…”

“You flatter yourself,” he broke in furiously. “You and I were finished four years ago, before we even started. There is nothing between us now, so don't manufacture anything, or give yourself imaginary reasons for your inadequacy.”

“My inadequacy!” she cried. “How is it that you are the only person who thinks I'm inadequate? Mr. Suri didn't think so, our clients didn't think so, only the great Arnav Singh Raizada, who is such a brilliant architect, finds fault with my work. No, Arnav, that won't wash. Just because Manish…”

“Don't take his name!” snapped Arnav. “I don't want to hear his name. He has nothing to do with this. Keep him at home, don't bring him into my office.”

“He has everything to do with this,” retorted back Khushi. “He is the cause of all this tension between us, and he doesn't even know it.”

“I said, don't talk about him,” ground out Arnav. Khushi looked at him squarely.

“Why shouldn't I talk about him. He is my husband, he has a right to know how I'm being treated at work, and by somebody who claims to be his friend.”

“Our friendship ended when you both got married,” said Arnav savagely. He came to her and grasped her by her upper arms in a grip that hurt, his eyes burning as he looked at her. “Come on, Khushi, tell me that he didn't know you loved me and I loved you. Tell me that he didn't know that there were never only the two of you in your bed. Tell me he didn't know that when you kissed him, it was my face you saw…”

“He knew everything! That was why …!” shouted Khushi. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth and stared at him. He looked back at her, stunned. His hands dropped like stone.

“He knew … everything,” she whispered, her tone anguished. She looked away from him and out of the window, and the anger, the fight went out of both of them suddenly. She looked around at him, and he stared back at her. The room seemed warmer suddenly, sparks flying between them, the tension in the air so thick that it was almost difficult to breathe. Then suddenly, she turned and picked up her plans. Without a word, she walked out of the room.