Changing Shades - 19

Chapter 19

He put down the phone, his head whirling. Khushi was back. She hadn't contacted him. She had gone straight back to Manish's parents' house. She hadn't even called Lavanya, she hadn't come to office. What did that mean?

The hours till the evening stretched interminably.

Pratibha greeted Arnav at the door of the new house and let him in, a gentle smile on her face. Her health seemed to be improving, he noticed. She was out of the wheelchair and walking, albeit slowly, although she was still painfully thin and weak. Mrs. Dewan fussed over her affectionately, scolding her for attending the doorbell, and Pratibha seemed to be responding to the warmth and love emanating from the older lady, even more than her medication. 

They were happy to see him, and Arnav tried to reciprocate their warm welcome with all the warmth he could muster. His heart was beating uncomfortably fast as he looked around for Khushi, but she was nowhere to be seen. Mrs. Dewan and Pratibha led him into the small drawing room where a single diya was lit in front of a portrait of Manish.

Arnav looked at the smiling face in the picture, and he felt a lump in his throat. Manish – his friend and his enemy in one … they had both loved the same girl in different ways, but their love had had very different colors, different shades. Shades of friendship, of envy, of jealousy, of bitterness and revenge. But never the pure red of love. Neither had realized it at the time, and  neither of the two had managed to give her any happiness in their quest to outdo each other. But Manish had realized his mistake, and had tried his best to make up …

“Now it’s my turn,” thought Arnav silently as he looked at the picture, “and I will try … I will try my best, Manish … if she’ll let me …”

And then his heart contracted as a soft scent filled his nostrils and he knew without looking around – Khushi was there. He went still for a moment, then he turned slowly to face her.

She was standing at the doorway of the room, dressed in a simple pale blue saree, her hair long and loose, flowing down her back, a few silken strands falling in front over her forehead. She looked … beautiful. Her face was pale, her lips a soft pink, her eyes, those large, hazel green-gold eyes that had haunted his dreams for years, were soft as they gazed at him. She looked at him, he looked back at her and for a few moments, the whole room faded and it was just the two of them alone in the whole world … in the universe …

Then Mrs. Dewan broke in between them, cheerfully scolding.

“Arnav, why are you standing still? Come, beta … come and sit. Khushi beta, has Soni slept? Did she drink her milk? You sit with Arnav - I’ll go and see what’s keeping Baba. Pratibha, don’t stand for so long, my child, you’re still so weak.”

“Yes, ma, Soni’s sleeping. She …” started Khushi, breaking out of her trance.

“I’ll just go and check on the baby,” said Pratibha as she looked at Arnav and Khushi.

“Good, you do that, then take your medicine and sit with these two. I’ll call your baba and get the dinner ready.” Mrs. Dewan bustled out. Pratibha gave Khushi a look and went out after her.
Khushi came forward.

“Won’t you sit, Arnav? Can I get you a drink ...?” she began, in a polite, impersonal tone – a ‘hostess’ tone.

“When did you come back?” he asked softly, interrupting her. She winced slightly.

“Two days ago. Arnav, I …”

“You could have told me,” he said, still very softly. “I was waiting … for you.”

He made no move towards her, but his eyes touched her, caressed her. She flushed slightly and looked down.

“I … didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know I was waiting for you?” he asked incredulously.

She looked at him then, a little nervously, remembering the cutting words she had spoken to him in the hotel room, the words she had wished unspoken almost as soon as she had said them.

“I … wasn’t very nice … to you … in Kathmandu …”

“I haven’t been … very nice … to you for many months,” he said wryly. She smiled slightly, but didn't reply.

He took her arm and escorted her into the small drawing room. Khushi let him hold her arm, but moved away as soon as he was seated on the sofa, and sank down into a chair a little away from him.

"Where did you go?" he asked her, and as her expression changed, he rushed into speech. "It's okay if you don't want to tell me, Khushi. I was just ... worried. You disappeared, and even Lavanya didn't know where you were. I couldn't ask Aunty Dewan ..."

"I've resigned, remember?" she said with a straight face, and he looked at her, appalled

"Khushi, you don't ... you can't ... you don't mean that, do you? Especially now. Now that ..."

He fumbled to a stop, and she looked at him, a strange look in her eyes.

"Now that you know I'm not a gold digger after all?" she asked him, her voice flat, emotionless. "So if Raj hadn't called that night ... if I'd left ..."

His face turned a dull shade of red. He leaned forward in his chair, and spoke in low, urgent tones.

"If you'd left, I would have come after you, Khushi. You know that. I would have brought you back."

"To punish me further," she said, still in that flat, strange voice, and he winced.   

She got up from her chair and moved to the window, her back to him. He got up too, and moved to stand behind her. He searched for words, feeling more guilty than ever. He ran his hands through his hair, his eyes showing his torment.

“Come back – please?” he said urgently. “Khushi … please? To the office, if nothing else. Just come back. Everything will be all right … you know that. Give me a chance to make it up to you. Please, Khushi? Just one chance? I … I really want you back.”

She turned and looked up at him. He didn’t say any more – didn’t dare to say any more, and, mindful of Lavanya’s words, he didn’t want to – yet. But his eyes were blazing down at her and she flushed again. Slowly, she nodded.

“When?” he asked, still in that urgent tone. “Tomorrow?”

She nodded again, just as Mrs. Dewan came back into the room, supporting her husband. Arnav moved to help her and the rest of the evening passed in a blur, at least for him. He smiled, made polite conversation, offered condolences on Manish’s tragic passing, and did everything that was right, but later he never remembered a word of what he had spoken the entire evening. He came back to life again only when Khushi mentioned to her erstwhile mother-in-law that she would be going back to the office the next day. Mrs. Dewan looked at Khushi in not very pleased surprise.

“But … Khushi … you just came back ... so soon ...?”

“It’s okay, mummy,” said Khushi gently. “I need to get back to my normal life.” And we still need to pay the bills, she thought to herself. Arnav helped to organize the house, but I can’t take anything more from him. Whatever he says, these people are still my family, my responsibility – now, after Manish’s going, even more so.

“Will you be all right?” Mrs. Dewan asked worriedly. “And where will you stay? Again at the working women’s hostel? Can’t you stay here now, Khushi? I know it’s far, but I don’t like that place.”

“Why did Khushi stay at the hostel?” asked Arnav casually, his ears pricking. So this was the explanation for why Lavanya had needed to give Khushi a wake up call. Mrs. Dewan looked at him for support.

“Well, Arnav, earlier we were staying at the nursing home, and we just had that suite, that you saw, so she couldn’t stay with us,” she explained. “But more than that, the office is so very far from here. I get worried if she stays late and has to come back so far on her own. But the hostel isn’t so nice either.”

“I’ll look for something for her,” he promised Mrs. Dewan, and the older lady cheered up, obviously so much in awe of Arnav’s organizational abilities that she had no doubt he would keep his word.

Changing Shades - 18

Chapter 18 

A few weeks later:

Arnav entered the office and looked into Lavanya's room.

“Have you heard from her?” he asked. He asked the same question every day, and Lavanya's answer was the same.

Lavanya shook her head. “No news,” she said, worriedly. “She's not picking up her cell phone either. Arnav, she didn’t say anything to you about where she would be?”

He shook his head.

“She just said she needed a few days to herself,” he said, then in a wry tone, “I haven’t the right to ask her for any explanations, Lavanya. But it's been three weeks ... I thought she might get in touch with you …?” he tailed off as she shook her head.

“She will,” Lavanya said reassuringly, “as soon as she feels she can. She’s a very private person, Arnav. She doesn’t share her pain easily.”

She always did, with me, he thought silently, she shared everything with me. And that she doesn’t now, is all because of me, my bloody ego, my wretched jealousy. I’ve driven her away. I had another chance, and I’ve messed it up – completely.

To Lavanya, he nodded. Lavanya’s heart ached for him. He looked lost, hurt. Khushi’s silence was killing him. In an attempt to cheer him up, she asked, “How is Uncle Dewan?"

Arnav smiled briefly. “Better,” he said. “He's accepted Manish's going. The baby seems to be giving him a new will to live. They've settled into the new house. It's small, but enough for them.”

Lavanya nodded. Arnav had been busy ever since he had returned from Kathmandu. Mr. and Mrs. Dewan, with Pratibha and baby Soni were now settled in a small apartment very close to the nursing home, where Mr. Dewan still went for treatment. Arnav had taken care of all the arrangements and the move had been smooth, easy. Except that Khushi, on returning to Mumbai, had disappeared. Maybe she had told Mrs. Dewan where she had gone. Lavanya didn’t know, and Arnav certainly didn’t.

Arnav seemed to want to say something more, he seemed to be struggling to find the words.

“If she calls,” he said with difficulty. “Will you ask her to come back? To work, to the office? I know she said that she resigned, but even so. Tell her things will be different. She knows that already, but even so ... just tell her. She can continue the way she was with Mr. Suri. Nothing will be different.  Not till she’s … whatever way she wants … just tell her, Lavanya? Please?”

Lavanya nodded again. Then she took a deep breath.  She had seen the tension between Arnav and Khushi for so many months, she had been furious with Arnav for treating Khushi the way he had, but he seemed so lost without her, she found herself feeling sorry for him. He had been wrong, and he knew it now. And he seemed genuinely remorseful. Khushi might kill her for this, but she had to say it.

“Arnav?” she said, diffidently. “it’s none of my business but …”

He looked at her eagerly.

“Tell me,” he said softly.

Lavanya looked at his face and that made up her mind.

“She’s had a tough few years,” she said gently. “and she’s had to be the strong one all along. It would be great if she had someone to lean on, someone to take care of her. Without asking for anything in return. Someone to show they care for her, for herself alone. She’s done all the taking care and it’s been hard on her. Very hard.” She added.

Arnav nodded.

“I know,” he said bleakly. “I wish I’d known earlier, but … Lavanya, I will take care of her. I promise you. She’ll never be hurt again. If she just lets me into her life …”

“Don’t rush her,” advised Lavanya. Then she sighed.

“Look, Arnav, I really don’t know all the details of what happened between you and her, but from what I do know … you were friends, best friends, but never … you know … in the romantic way …”

He nodded, listening carefully. Lavanya took courage from the way he was following her words intently and went on.

“And then she got married … and that was a disaster from the word go. She’s never had someone to love her, to show her that he loves her … to court her, if you like … you know … the whole romance, falling in love bit … going out together, dates, dancing, someone looking out for her, being protective, caring … girls want that, you know. However independent we are, we love being treated like that. We love that feeling. The feeling of being the most important person in a man’s life, someone he will love, always be there for …”

She stopped, nervous suddenly, but Arnav looked at her seriously as her words sank in.

“I get what you mean,” he said slowly. “No, she hasn’t … thanks, Lavanya. You’re right. I … thanks. If only she comes back …”

If only, he thought … two words, and his whole life seemed to be hanging on them.

“She will,” said Lavanya reassuringly, and she meant it. Khushi would not be able to stay away from Arnav for too long, she knew that. There was too much unsaid, unfinished lying between them.

Lavanya was right. A few days later that Arnav got a call from Mrs. Dewan inviting him for dinner.

“Just you,” Mrs. Dewan told him. “My husband would really like to meet you again. The last time you met him, he was still very … confused … He’s much better now. Pratibha and Soni have helped so much. He really would like to thank you for all you’ve done … the house … everything. We didn’t celebrate Diwali, of course, but it was Soni’s first Diwali, so we thought … just the family. Please come, beta.”

Arnav was about to refuse when a thought struck him.

“Will … you all be there?” he asked awkwardly.

Mrs. Dewan’s tone sounded slightly surprised on the other end of the line.

“All, Arnav beta? It’s just us … the family. Pratibha, Khushi, Dewan sahib and me. And you … of course. You’re like family now, aren’t you? Don’t say no, beta.”

“Khushi …?”

“Yes, she’s back. Just got back yesterday. I was waiting for her to come, otherwise I would have called you earlier. You’ve done so much for us …”

“I’ll be there,” Arnav broke in, his heart racing. Khushi was back … but she hadn’t come to office, she hadn’t called him – she had gone to the Dewans. What did that mean? He put down the phone, his head whirling.

Changing Shades - 17

Chapter 17

'Om bhurbhuvaha swaha tatsya vitur varenyam
Bhargo devasya dheemhi dheeyo yo na prachodaya' 

The priest sonorously chanted the Gayatri mantra repeatedly. The dying flames of the small fire in the havan kund flickered golden, shooting out occasional sparks. With a loud clang, the metallic doors shut on the brick walls housing the electric crematorium. Beside Khushi, Mrs. Dewan gave a muffled sob, and turned her head away from the last sight of her son's body. Standing a short distance away, Raj Bahadur conferred with Arnav in low tones. Khushi couldn't hear what they were saying. By tacit consent, Pratibha and her baby had not been allowed to attend the small cremation ceremony.

It was late evening, and the sun cast its last golden rays over the high walls of the burial ground. The dirt floor and brick walls took on the same golden hue, lending muted sepia tones to the surroundings. A few white robed priests wandered through the grounds, but the area was otherwise deserted. The priest who had performed the brief ceremony for Manish, completed his mantras and disappeared behind the building, and the small group of mourners waited for him to return, to discuss the next day's program. It had been decided that Khushi would stay back to recover the ashes, and bring them back to Mumbai after four days, while Arnav would return with Mrs. Dewan the following day, after obtaining a copy of the death certificate, and setting into motion whatever paperwork was required. Pratibha would follow when her visa was ready. As her marriage to Manish had been registered in a registrar's office in Kathmandu to ensure the legitimacy of their baby, this appeared to pose no major problems, and Raj Bahadur had promised Khushi and Arnav that he would ensure that the paperwork was dealt with as quickly as possible. 

Khushi stared unseeingly at the brick building which housed the crematorium. This was the end of one phase of her life. The end of her 'marriage', brief and unsatisfactory as it had been. Also the end of a longer journey ... the relationship between her and Manish, a journey which had lasted as long as she could remember. A childhood friendship, one which had started with sibling-like rivalry and squabbles, grown to a comfortable friendship, and soured with a marriage that should never have happened.

She remembered Manish welcoming her in their college, absorbing her effortlessly and comfortably into his group of friends, without a trace of social superiority or patronage. She remembered his cheerful smile, his playful banter, his teasing, his laughter. His frequent bursts of temper, almost always followed by remorseful apologies, the panic attacks at the approach of every end semester examination, the pleas for her to support his excuses to his strict unyielding father when his results were less than satisfactory. The way the panic attacks seemed to lessen during their final year, his mood swings, his bouts of boastful confidence ... alternating with alarming troughs of despair. The sudden proposal, the even more sudden claim of 'love', which had taken her completely by surprise.

Could she have realised earlier? Early enough to prevent their marriage? Early enough to save him? Mrs. Dewan was not the only one with regrets, Khushi thought sadly. Now that Manish was gone, she could look back on those harrowing days with some detachment, and wonder ... did she fail to pick up the clues early enough? Could she have done something more to help him? To avert his tragic end?

"You couldn't have saved him, you know," Arnav said softly, and she jumped. She had been so lost in thought that she hadn't noticed he had finished his conversation with Raj, and come up close to her. His expression changed to one of concern.

"I'm sorry, Khushi, did I startle you?"

"I didn't see you," she managed. He was too close to her, too close for comfort, and lost in her thoughts about Manish, she felt uncomfortable. He seemed to have read her thoughts and answered them, which made her even more uncomfortable. It reminded her of the old Arnav, and she didn't want to remember ... not right now. She moved away slightly, putting some distance between them.

He noticed, of course, and his face hardened slightly.

"What were you and Raj discussing?" she asked him, more to change the topic than anything else. She didn't want to talk to him about Manish, didn't want to hear him blame Manish in an attempt to make her feel better. The last four months weighed heavy on her mind. She didn't know if the realisation of the truth had had an effect ... she didn't want to know what effect it had had. He had thought the worst of her, despite knowing her so well. If Raj Bahadur had not found her that particular evening, she would have walked out of Arnav's life again, and he would never have known the truth, never have changed his mind about her.

"Just the arrangements for Pratibha and the baby," he answered. He noticed the deliberate change of topic, but went along with it.  "Khushi, I can stay back with you. How will you manage everything here alone ...?"

"I'm used to managing alone," she said quietly. She didn't mean it as a barb, just as a statement of fact, but he reddened.

"Don't ... feel bad. I didn't mean anything, Arnav," she said quickly. "It's the truth. I'm used to it. Besides, Raj Bahadur is here to help me, and I'd be happier if Mummy doesn't travel alone at the moment. Pratibha may be Manish's legal wife here, but my passport has his name as my husband, so getting the ashes into India will be easier for me  to do. Mummy can't stay here for four days, Baba can't be left alone for so long. We really have no choice."

Her tone was even, matter of fact. Arnav nodded in reluctant agreement.

"Where do they stay in Mumbai?" he asked her, taking her by surprise. "Where do you all stay? Is there space for Pratibha there? Can I help with the arrangements there before she arrives? Things for the baby ... all that? Or will you do it when you come back?"

Khushi looked at him, her heart sinking. She hadn't thought of that at all. Her in-laws stayed in a nursing home, in a small suite. It was adequate for them, but not for Pratibha. She could continue staying at her hostel while she looked for another job, but she had to arrange for Pratibha.

"I'll do all that when I get back," she said slowly, but some of her worry must have shown in her face, because Arnav looked at her closely.

He didn't say anything though, merely nodded and went back to Raj Bahadur. 

*****

Arnav and Mrs. Dewan left early the next morning, and Khushi fought off the sudden unexpected pang of loneliness as she waved them off from the hotel door and watched their car disappear out of sight. She was used to being alone, she told herself fiercely. She had told Arnav that, and she meant it. Just because Arnav knew the truth now, it didn't change anything.

Besides, she thought forlornly, as she made her way back to her hotel room slowly, what had really changed? If Raj Bahadur hadn't fortuitously located her that particular evening two ... no, three days ago, she would have walked out of Arnav's life forever. She had resigned, she remembered ... and although in the subsequent upset of the events that followed, she had forgotten to submit a resignation letter, she had told Arnav so in no uncertain terms ... had thrown the words on his face before storming out of his office. And he would not have followed her. He would have continued to believe that she had married Manish for money, for security ... had turned down Arnav's love ... and he would have continued to hate her for it.

She hurt again, to think that he could believe such a thing of her. Of all the friends in college, he had been the closest. He claimed to love her, yet he found it so easy to believe that she was a gold digger. Not only when they were both young and immature, but even four years later. It took the meeting with Manish, and the truth to be thrust in his face, for him to change his opinion about her.

And if he could think that way about her, how deep, how true was his 'love'? Khushi loved him, she loved the man she knew he was, the man he could be. But did he really love her? Did he even know her? Could he love her, thinking she was the kind of woman he thought she was?

And could she love him, knowing what he had believed about her?

'I won't think about all this now,' she told herself firmly. There were so many things on her mind in any case, not least the twin worries of finding a new job, and a place to live for her in-laws and Pratibha. Besides, she was technically a widow, even though she didn't really feel that way. And with Manish's mother also accepting that their marriage had been a mistake, the burden of pretense had dropped.
But that didn't lessen her responsibilities towards his parents.

Arnav, and her feelings for him, would have to wait.

Changing Shades - 16

Chapter 16

But his mother was too grief-stricken to be comforted.

“I didn't do enough enough,” she said, her sorrow, her regret, in her voice, on her face. “I am his mother. I should have known him better. Why? Why didn't I realise what he wanted?! Why didn't I understand how weak he was, how much support he needed? I should have known him better. I knew he was scared of his father, but I took that to be normal ... I thought he would get over it. How far ... how deep the fear was ... I had no idea ... how much he hid from us ... drugs ..."

She tailed off helplessly, her eyes welling up again.

She looked at Khushi, her eyes anguished. "I failed him, Khushi," she whispered wretchedly. "My only son ... I failed him. I didn't even know him ..."

Khushi stood helplessly, not knowing what to say. Arnav came up to Mrs. Dewan, and took her hand gently.

“You couldn't have known,” he said, his eyes clear and direct on the older woman. “He hid it from all of us. Including me ... and I thought I was his best friend. Only when Khushi was with him, living with him all the time, seeing all his moods, could she realise that something was so badly wrong. When people are on drugs, they become very clever at hiding things.”

Mrs. Dewan nodded, but it was evident she still bore the burden. She looked at Khushi suddenly.

“How long have you known? That he was here, I mean? About … Pratibha?” she looked at the younger girl, and her expression was hard to read.

Khushi sat down by the other lady, and took her hand in hers. She swallowed. This was going to be difficult to explain. She spoke slowly, haltingly.

“I've only known since the last two days, Mummy.  Raj Bahadur, Pratibha's brother called me in the office the night before. The poor man had called all the Dewans in the phone book, I think. And I didn't know if I was the right Khushi ... I didn't know if he was the same Manish ... our Manish. I reached here yesterday afternoon. Mummy …”

“You should have told me, Khush,” Manish's mother said, tiredly, using the dimunitive of Khushi's name that she used often as an endearment. Khushi looked at her, guilt-stricken.

“I didn't know what I would find. I wanted to spare you the disappointment if it wasn't ... you would have got your hopes up and ...”

Her mother-in-law nodded. “I know. He told me,” nodding to Arnav. “He said you wanted to spare me. But, Khushi, there is nothing left now. I've seen it all. What can you spare me now, what can you save me from now?”

Her eyes, her voice, were full of grief. She was mourning her son, and her guilt, thought Khushi. It was as though she had been prepared for his going. Or for finding the worst. A thought struck her and she looked at Arnav. He was standing quietly on the side, watching the two grieving women.

“How … Did you ….?” She began again, and he grimaced slightly.

“I got her here, yes. I called them last night after we got back to the hotel. I called Anjali, and after I told her what I'd found here, she gave me their address and number immediately. I spoke to Mrs. Dewan, and made the arrangements to fly her out immediately. I was so afraid she would not be in time. I was at the airport in the morning to pick her up, then I dropped her here, and came to get you.”

So that was why he had looked so haggard and worn out this morning. Handling Manish’s mother, preparing her for the truth of her son’s condition and comforting her in her emotionally distraught state would have drained anyone.

"Did you see Manish ... again?" she asked him, and he shook his head. 

"No," he said briefly, and his eyes held the same grief she was feeling. "I came back to the hotel to pick you up. Pratibha and Raj Bahadur met Mrs. Dewan outside, and they rushed her in, because Manish was lucid ... we wanted her to meet him while he could talk. I was hoping I could bring you here in time to meet him too ... but ... I'm sorry, Khushi. I was too late."

He swallowed again, and Khushi nodded. Her mind still felt too blank to react, and she was grateful for that.

Manish's mother seemed to pull herself together, and looked at Khushi and Arnav.

“He saw me, but he didn't say anything," she said. "Pratibha told me the whole story. About how they met, the baby … everything. Manish didn’t say anything, but I think he was listening. Khushi, I …”

She sat down on the chair heavily, and looked at Khushi. Then she turned to Raj Bahadur.

"Can I have a few minutes alone with my daughter?" she asked quietly, but with great dignity.

Khushi was taken aback. So was Raj Bahadur. He looked helplessly around, and once again it was Arnav who stepped into the breach. He moved away to speak to the nurse, and within a few minutes, Khushi and Mrs. Dewan were sitting in a small room just off the nurses' station. 

Mrs. Dewan took Khushi's hand in hers.

“I saw the way he looked at ... her," she said carefully, nodding towards Pratibha, who was waiting anxiously outside the room with her brother and Arnav. Her eyes were steady, questioning, on Khushi. "Khush, bitiya ..."

"He loved Pratibha, Ma," Khushi interrupted. "He did love her ... and not in the way he loved me. He never really loved me, you know. He just ..."

"And you don't mind that?" interrupted the older woman. Khushi looked back directly at her. 

"I did at first," she said honestly. "But I've known it for so long ... long before Pratibha ever came ito his life. He didn't fall out of love with me to fall in love with Pratibha, Ma. He never loved me ... and nor did I love him. I was fond of him, and he of me. Only we never realised it till too late."

Mentally she prayed that God would forgive her for lying to Manish's mother. How could she tell her that Manish had married her only to satisfy his ego, an ego bloated and distorted by his drug habit? She had forgiven Manish for that long ago, when she realised his drug habit was responsible for his changed behaviour. And if she held any lingering grudge, it had been dispelled by the sight of him last night. Manish had received his dues.

Mrs. Dewan looked guiltily at her. 

"I realised that too," she confessed, and Khushi stared at her in shock. "But like you, too late. And Manish's father was so set on having you as his daughter-in-law. He believed that you could reform Manish, get him on the right path ... he had faith in you ... and I couldn't go against him. Not with his health ..."

It was a plea for forgiveness. Khushi caught her hand.

"I know that, Ma," she said. "I don't blame you. I never did." 

Mrs. Dewan nodded tearfully. "I’m so sorry, my dear,” she said, sorrowfully. “We both love you so much, and yet we wronged you so much. We never thought about what you wanted, whether you and Manish were right for each other or not. If we had, we might have realized that you both were never meant for each other, not as husband and wife. You had grown up together like brother and sister and that is what you should have remained. It was our selfishness that made a good relationship turn so wrong. I wish we had realized that earlier. Manish spoiled his life ... but we ruined yours. Can you forgive me, Khushi?"

Khushi held her hand tighter.

"You gave me a life, Ma," she said softly. "You gave me my life when mamma and papa died. My life is yours. You did what you thought was best for both of us. And I still have you both. You could never ruin my life."

Her voice was choked, she couldn't say any more. She meant every word. It was true. Manish had hurt her, betrayed her ... but his parents had given her everything after she was orphaned ... a home, an education, and most of all, the security of feeling that she belonged. In her college days, she had been too immature to see that, but later, all through the dark days, that feeling of belonging had kept her going, had given her strength. 

For a few moments, the two women sat quietly, united in their grief. Then Mrs. Dewan turned to Khushi. 

"Khushi," she began hesitantly. "I hate to ask this ... but this girl, Pratibha? Do you think he truly loved her? Is the child his?"

Khushi looked at her in surprise.

"Why are you asking this, Ma?"

"Does Pratibha know we have nothing?  Or did she try to contact us for the money Manish told her we had? By claiming the child as his ... I know, Khushi, I'm not being nice ... after she took so much trouble to find us ... but I can't help wondering ..."

"I told her we had nothing," Khushi told Mrs. Dewan. She looked at the other lady directly, her eyes clear.
"I confess ... I did have the same thought. Last night, before I met Manish, Pratibha told me what Manish had told her about us, his complaints that we never sent him money ... and I told her what he had done. What we had done to save him ... to try to save him. Where we were now. That we have nothing, except for my earnings. That everything is gone, the house, the business, everything. She is still here this morning. All she wants is for us to take the baby. She doesn't want anything for herself. She does love him, Ma. I saw it in her eyes. And he loved her. The baby is his, Ma." 

Mrs. Dewan heaved a big sigh. She looked at Khushi again. 

"Then maybe I should talk to her now," she said simply, and Khushi nodded. She knew her mother-in-law, and she knew what she would do. 

Mrs. Dewan looked at Khushi one last time.

"Khushi, bitiya ... will we manage? The burden will be on you again ..."

Khushi nodded again. 

"We will manage, Ma."

Mrs. Dewan reached up to kiss Khushi's cheek.

"I love you, bitiya. Thank you."

Pratibha, Raj Bahadur and a very impatient, anxious Arnav were waiting when the two women emerged from the small room. Arnav came up to Mrs. Dewan quickly.

"I've made arrangements for the cremation," he said gently. "Because of the infection, they have rules. We have to follow them."

Mrs. Dewan nodded tiredly. She held out a hand to Pratibha, and gave her a small smile.

“I owe you my thanks, my child,” she said. “You made his last days happy. Who knows, if he had found you earlier, he might have come back to us. But at least, he was with someone who cared for him at the end. And you took so much trouble to find us …to let us know, let me see him once again…”

She broke off, in tears again.

Then she pulled herself together again. She looked at Khushi, who nodded encouragingly, then back at Pratibha.

“I want you to come back to Bombay with us,” she said, more firmly. “I want you to meet Manish's father. Show him this beautiful gift you've given us.” She looked at the little baby still in her uncle's arms, and gently Raj Bahadur handed over the precious bundle. Mrs. Dewan held the little baby close, as though she was holding her dead son. Then she looked at Pratibha again.

“I can never thank you enough for this, my child. Come back with me to Bombay. Meet Manish's father, show him this little one. I think she will be the means to bring him back to us. And for you, too. Maybe after you meet him, you will forgive both of us. You have a family there now. We are there, and this daughter of mine is there, too, who will take good care of you …”

She looked at Khushi, and there was immense love in her eyes, and pride in her voice.

“This daughter of mine. Khushi bitiya ... we can take Pratibha back with us too, can't we? We will have to find a bigger place ... or maybe ...”

"Leave that to me," Arnav said firmly, and Mrs. Dewan turned to him with gratitude.

“Arnav … I don’t know how to even begin to thank you. Manish’s friend … and you have done so much for me and Khushi. I wish you had come back into our lives earlier, but I can only thank God that you came when you did. Thank you, beta …”

“I didn't do anything,” interrupted Arnav, his face pale. He didn't look at Khushi. “In fact, I will never forgive myself for ... Don't thank me. I don't deserve thanks. I'm only glad I was able to do something, however late.”

Mrs. Dewan shook her head.

“I don’t think so, beta I owe you so much. Because of you, I was able to see my son one last time, to tell him how much I loved him. I will always owe you for that. I don't have anything to give you, to show my gratitude, except my blessings, the blessings of an old and tired woman. God grant you a long and happy life, beta, and may you have all the love and happiness in your life that I wanted for my son,” her voice broke again and she stopped, silent tears coursing down her cheeks.

Khushi held her hand tightly, not daring to look at Arnav and see his reaction to what Mrs. Dewan unknowingly had put into words. Her own eyes were wet. Arnav looked away from them both, swallowing fiercely.

Changing Shades - 15

Chapter 15

Fortunately for Khushi, sleep must have come after some time, and saved her from the thoughts that swirled around inside her head. The next time she next blinked her eyes, it was morning, and the sun was streaming through her window curtains. 

For a moment she blinked in sleepy puzzlement, squinting her eyes against the unaccustomed light. Her tiny hostel room faced west, she never got the morning sun. Had she slept through the day for some reason?

As she struggled to wakefulness, her eyes swept around the unfamiliar surroundings of the hotel room, and memory of the events of the day before flooded back with shocking suddenness. Manish ... Pratibha ... the hospital ... Manish was sick, dying ... Arnav's sudden unexplained appearance at the hospital ...

Khushi jumped out of bed, looked at the clock, and gave a small gasp of shock. 

“10.30! How did I sleep so long?! Where is Arnav?!”

She almost threw on her clothes, and ran out of the room. She rushed downstairs to the lobby, and then stopped. She didn't even know the name of the hospital, where Manish was, nor did she know Raj Bahadur's address, or phone number, or anything. She had been in such a state last night, that she hadn't noticed the name of the hospital or the hotel, and Arnav had just taken over everything. 

Where was he? She wondered as she looked around her almost hysterically. Where was Arnav? Why had he not called her? Why had nobody called her?

She went to the Reception desk in the lobby.

 
“I need to speak to Mr. Arnav Singh Raizada,” she told the woman at the desk, and the other girl looked back at her blankly.

Khushi looked at her impatiently, and repeated her query.

"I need to speak to Mr Arnav Singh Raizada," she said again, enunciating each syllable slowly and carefully, as though the receptionist was an idiot. "We came in together late last night. I'm in room 408, he is in the next room. Except that he isn't. In his room, I mean," she added, her impatience growing at the other girl's evident confusion. "I need to contact him urgently. His cell phone is switched off. Did he leave a message for me? Did he say where he was going? Was there any call for me?"

  

“He went out early this morning,” the receptionist answered, thrown off balance by the rapid fire questions Khushi was shooting at her . “I don't think he's back yet, but I'll check.” She dialled a number, but before she could say anything, Khushi saw Arnav walk into the hotel lobby through the front glass doors.

With a hurried word to the girl, she rushed to Arnav.

“Where have you been?” she asked, breathlessly, accusingly, her earlier worry forgotten in this new one. “Nobody called me. You … Raj Bahadur … no one! What’s happening?! Have you seen Manish this morning? Arnav, answer me! Arnav!”

He was looking tired, his face haggard and pale. He looked as though he hadn't had much sleep the last night, she thought suddenly, and felt a ridiculous urge to smooth the lines on his forehead. It wasn't his fault all this had happened, she thought belatedly. In fact, he had no business to be here at all, sorting out her problems.

Why was he here, she wondered belatedly, and then pushed the thought away. There was no time to ponder that now, nor even ask him. She had other, more pressing concerns to think about. 

"Arnav?" she said again, more quietly this time. 

Arnav looked at her as though not really seeing her, and she caught hold of his hand and shook it slightly.

“Arnav! What is it? Where have you been? Why did you not call me? Have you been to the hospital? Arnav, answer me!”

He looked at her then, and his face seemed to clear slightly, gain some focus. “I'm sorry,” he said, and his voice was husky. “I should have left word for you. Too many things…. He tailed off, then looked at her again, and seemed to pull himself together. His voice was more like his normal voice when he spoke again.

“Are you ready? Should we go to the hospital?”

“Haven't you been there already?” she asked, puzzled, and he shook his head, not answering. He ushered her out to a waiting car.

“Where's Raj Bahadur?” she asked, as the car started, and he shook his head again.

“At the hospital. Bear with me, Khushi, will you? Don’t ask me any questions. I’m really not in the mood. It’s been a rough morning.”

“Where have you been?” she asked again, so worried that she didn't even realise she was ignoring what he was saying. “Why didn't you go there in the morning? Where have you been?”

He didn't answer immediately. He looked at her, then looked away, out through the window. He ran his hand over his face and through his hair, then looked back at her. His eyes were dark, tortured, and she caught her breath at the anguish in them.

"Arnav ..." she said, reaching out almost without volition, her voice soft.

“I wish to God I’d …” he said, and then stopped. He shook his head again and didn’t say any more all through the short journey. His hands were clenched, his jaw set as he stared out the car window. And was that a glimmer of ... tears she saw in his eyes?

Khushi sat back, and stayed silent through the ride, shaken at the sight of her normally unflappable Arnav so obviously upset.

They reached the hospital, and got out, and walked up the stairs to the first floor where Manish was admitted. And there, Khushi had her second shock of the day.

Her mother-in-law walked out of Manish's room, into the waiting area, just as Khushi and Arnav entered. In her arms was Manish's baby. And following her, in her wheelchair, came Pratibha.

Khushi looked at Manish's mother's face, and reached her side before she knew what she was doing.

“Mummy,” she said, hoarsely. “Mummy. What are you doing here? Oh, Mummy, I … I didn't want you to see him like this.”

Her mother-in-law looked at her. Her face was stricken.

“He's gone,” she said, blankly.  She looked at Khushi, her eyes unseeing. “He's gone. After so many years of searching, I find him, only to lose him. Oh, god, Manish …so many years! So many years of waiting, hoping, wondering, praying. And when I find him, he goes! In my arms! As though he was just waiting for me. Oh, why didn't I come earlier! Why couldn't I save him?!”

Khushi looked frantically at Pratibha. Her face told Khushi more than any words could have.

“When?” Khushi whispered, shocked. “When ….?”

“Just before you came,” answered Pratibha, her voice choked with tears. “He just went like that. He saw his mother. He seemed to recognize her, he wanted to say something to her. Then … he just went. He looked … he looks so peaceful now ….” Her voice broke and she struggled to control her tears. Then she looked at Khushi again.

“I shouldn't cry,” she said softly, her grief showing in her eyes. “We both knew this was coming. I should be happy that I managed to get you here in time, and you managed to get his mother in time to meet him … Thank you, Khushi. I think ... ” her voice broke slightly, but she went on bravely. "I think he will be at peace now. At least he isn't suffering any more."

Pratibha was trying her best to be brave, but the strain showed in her eyes, in the shaky tone of her voice. Khushi's heart ached for the younger girl, even as she tried to absorb the news Pratibha was giving. Just yesterday she had seen Manish, talked to him ... And today he was ... gone? Khushi felt blank.

Manish's mother sat down almost blindly on the worn chair in the waiting room, and Khushi pulled herself out of her own grief and went to her. She sat down next to her mother-in-law and put an arm protectively around her. 

The older lady seemed in a daze, a state of shock. She looked at Khushi again blankly.

“Khushi,” she began. “Khushi, why? Why did this have to happen? Where did we go wrong? He had everything, everything! Why did he throw it all away?”

“I asked him the same question, ma,” said Khushi, softly, gently. “The blame is not all his. Or yours,” she added. “I think we all, me included, must share it. If there is any to be shared at all. Maybe it was his fate, kismet ... ordained that it be this way.”

Manish's mother shook her head. “No, it's our fault,” she said, her voice heavy with grief. “If only I had listened to him more. I should have known him better, realised what was happening to him. You saw what was happening after you got married, and I, living in the same house for twenty-five years, closed my eyes to it. If I had realised earlier, maybe he would be alive today. Maybe we could have tried harder, got him back …done something …more …” she broke off in tears.

Khushi looked at her in despair. “Mummy, don't do this to yourself. You did all you could. All he would let you do.”

But his mother was too grief-stricken to be comforted.

Changing Shades - 14

Chapter 14

Tears trickled down her cheeks, and she sank down on the sofa and buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, sobs she tried to restrain. 

Arnav looked at her helplessly, afraid to touch her, to comfort her as he longed to do. He could see her sorrow, her tension, and he kicked himself mentally again, that he hadn't seen it earlier. He had driven her to this, he told himself savagely, self-loathing and disgust clouding his eyes. Then he shook himself. Time enough to feel guilty later. Right now, Khushi needed him. And this time, he wouldn't let her down.

He sat tentatively next to her, his hand reaching for her, but holding back from touching her.

“Khushi,” he said, softly. “Khushi, please don't cry. We'll work it out. I'm here now. Let me help you, please. We'll work things out, I promise.”

She looked at him, her face tear-stained and this time he couldn't help himself. He pulled her into his arms, and sent up a soft heartfelt prayer of thanks when she went into them like a lost child, and finally let herself sob freely.

Khushi lost sense of time, of place. She was tired, exhausted, spent, and the arms holding her were warm and gentle yet firm. She let herself melt into them, and the tears came thick and fast ... tears she had been holding back for so long. And she cried. She sobbed for all her hopes and dreams, for the lost years, the nightmarish years, for the man she had loved and lost, the boy she had known for so many years, the waste of a young life, the tragedy of two people in love, and the little baby who would never know her father.

At last she was spent, her tears exhausted. She quietened, and then became aware that he was still holding her. Gratefully, she allowed herself the comfort of staying in his arms, of feeling herself wrapped in a cocoon of comfort and warmth. Even after so many years, even after the bitterness and agony of the last four months, being in his arms felt like … being at home, finally being where she belonged. For so long, she had had to be the sole support, the backbone, the dependable one – even the luxury of tears had been denied her. To have Arnav to lean on, to cry to, had been a dream for so many years – and she’d kept telling herself it was just that – a dream, a hope that had never quite died, however much she had tried to tell herself it was impossible, a fantasy. The last four months had almost – but not quite – banished that last hope too. But now … he was here, holding her, his touch gentle, his arms a refuge, his breath warming her skin and her heart – and that small flame of hope flickered into life again.

He held her, not too tightly, his cheek against her temple and she felt his lips touch her hair in the softest of kisses. She bit her lip, moving back slightly from him, and he looked at her gently, his eyes soft. His hands came up to her face, his thumbs wiping away her tears. She lowered her gaze. She should pull back, she knew. She had no right … and she was still technically married … but oh, she needed this. She needed Arnav so much, needed to be held by him, to be told that he was there for her, that he would put things right, make everything all right again.

His thumbs moved from her cheeks to her lips … his fingers trembling slightly, he traced her lips gently as though he couldn’t help himself. He put a finger under her chin, lifting her face to look at him.

“I’m here,” he repeated softly. “I promise you.”

She looked at him, lost in his eyes. He gazed back at her, and then, as though he couldn’t help himself, his head lowered … she closed her own eyes … 

And then she came back to her senses and snapped them open. He stopped … waiting … and how she wished … she wished ...

It seemed to her that she had been waiting since eternity to see that expression on his face, in his eyes.

But there was still Manish … and that whole mess to be cleared up …

Khushi's eyes fell and she moved back slowly out of the comfort of his arms. Arnav let her go without protest, but he was looking at her steadily, and she couldn't meet his gaze. 

“I'm sorry,” she said, quietly, looking away. “I shouldn't have done that. You’d better go now. It's late and tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

He nodded, and got up. He seemed to hesitate, then he turned away, and spoke with difficulty.

“You seem to have forgiven him very quickly, Khushi.  Can’t you do the same…”

“I can forgive him for not loving me, because I never loved him back,” interrupted Khushi, evenly. “And the rest ... what he did ... he didn't let me down because I never expected better from him. He wasn't in his right mind. I can forgive him for that. He didn't set out to hurt me knowingly. It was the drugs. He didn't set out to make my life miserable for some petty revenge.”

Her eyes were hard, her meaning clear. 

Arnav's expression changed, hardened.

“Good night, Khushi,” he said, quietly. “I'll see you in the morning.”

He left the room without another word.

Khushi looked after him with a stricken face. 

“Why?” she whispered to herself. “Why did I say that? I can forgive Mansih for not loving me ... but I will never forgive Manish for taking Arnav away from me. And whether Arnav loves me or not, it doesn't really matter. It never did. I love him. I always will.”

She sank onto the pillows, huddled up into a little bundle, and waited, dry-eyed for sleep to come, her mind churning. How ironic, she thought. For so long, she had imagined this moment, meeting Manish again, with Arnav at her side, so that Arnav would realize what had really happened. Always, in her imagination, Arnav had turned to her, remorse-stricken, and begged for her forgiveness, and she had melted into his arms, while Manish faded, unnoticed, unexplained, into the distance.

Now her imaginings had become reality. She had found Manish, and Arnav was at her side when she did. But the situation had only become more complicated. She was the one who found it difficult to forgive, and Arnav had actually not yet asked for her forgiveness. And to top it all, she had promised to take care of a little life, when her own was in such turmoil!

“What will I do?” she thought to herself, forlornly. “What do I do?”

The dark room seemed to echo her thoughts back at her. What was she going to do?

Her last thoughts as she fell asleep were, had she driven Arnav away from her once and for all?

******   

Changing Shades - 13

Chapter 13 

"Why didn't I tell you?" she asked and laughed almost hysterically. "My god, Arnav, did you ever give me a chance?"

He was taken aback by her attack, and she went on fiercely, her pent up feelings spilling out.

“Since the day you walked into that office, and into my life again, did you once – even once -  ask me, Khushi, how are you? How is Manish? Are you happy with Manish? Are you all right? Once, even once? And when I tried to tell you, the very first day, you shut me up, saying you weren't interested in my private life any more, we had only a business relationship now. You didn't want to hear anything about me at all. You didn't even want to talk to me like a normal human being, like a colleague, let alone like a person you had once known, and, so you say, loved.”

“I did love you,” Arnav said, defensively. “I loved you, and I knew you loved me, and yet you married Manish. I was so hurt, so shattered, that I couldn't bear to see you with him. I left town and went away, I didn't call you both after that, only because I loved you so much that I felt I would kill Manish if I saw him with you. And he was my friend. Can you wonder that I was hurt? I was deprived of my friend and my love at the same stroke. Even when I saw you again, I was still filled with that jealousy.  I still loved you. I didn't want to hear you take his name. I didn't want to hear about him and your life together.” 

“You didn't love me,” Khushi said fiercely. He stared at her, and she looked back at him, suddenly fearless. She put her cup down and faced him.

“No, Arnav, you didn't love me. Is this what you call love? Is love only about possession? About jealousy, about hurt? If you really had loved me, you would have understood my feelings, understood why I did what I did. But you didn't even try to understand. You – who knew me better than anyone else, to whom I had told my innermost thoughts, shared all my secrets … you didn’t understand me at all. No, you didn't love me. Neither you, nor Manish loved me.”

He looked at her stunned, and she turned away and continued bleakly.

“For both of you, it was just a matter of ego. You were the leader in college, the guy who always did the best, was the most popular. So you had to have all the girls falling into your arms. Which they were, all but me. And Manish – well, you heard him in the hospital. You heard exactly why he wanted to marry me. The girl he had known from a tiny tot, who had always followed him around, had hero-worshipped him and his parents - she was his property, how dared you look at her? He would even marry me if he had to, to stop you from getting me. The tussle was between the two of you, and it was me who suffered, because I was in love with one, and so beholden to the other that I could not follow my heart.”

She turned around again and looked at him directly. “He knew I was in love with you, he had always known. Before I myself knew it, he did, and he couldn’t accept that I could look at anybody other than him, especially when he needed me. So he told his parents he wanted to marry me, because he knew it was what they had always wanted. That was enough. He knew I could never go against what his parents wanted, because of what they had done for me. And, you also, Arnav, you were the same. All the years we were together in college, you never expressed your feelings. Only when he wanted me, you suddenly realized you did as well. You wanted me only because he did, and you had to have the satisfaction of taking me from him. You did not love me, Arnav. It was your possessiveness as well – your best friend, and Manish taking her? It was your ego that had to have me.”

“No!” said Arnav, his face pale, and he got up and came to her. Khushi shrank away from him, and he didn't try to touch her. His voice became pleading.

“I did love you. Khushi, I did. Oh, I agree it was not a mature love. It was the love of an immature boy, and love at that age is selfish. But it was love, Khushi, it was my love for you that drove me away when you married him, and then …when I saw you again, then…”

“And then what?” asked Khushi, bitterly. “When you saw me again four months ago in the office, it became a mature love, did it? Such a mature and deep love that you had to cut me to bits every time you spoke to me, that you had to pull me down and criticize me for every move I made or ever had made in the past? You made life a living hell for me, the office, my only sanctuary, a torture chamber. Is this your mature love? What is it now, Arnav? Because if what you have done to me over the last months, is love, then I don't want it, thank you very much!”            

“No,” he said, in a low voice, not looking at her. “What I have done with you, the way I've behaved, is despicable. I know it, and I've hated myself for doing what I did, for talking to you the way I did, for behaving the way I did, but I couldn't help it. Whenever I saw your face, in the office, you seemed to be followed by an invisible Manish, and I would visualize you going back home to him, to his arms, and I couldn't take it, Khushi. Why do you think that never once in these months, did I ask you about Manish, about how he is, family, anything? I still could not bear it, couldn't bear to hear you speak his name, any more than I could bear it four years ago. You say my love was selfish then? Maybe it was, but then, in that respect, it hasn't changed. I still couldn't bear the thought of you with him, even if you were blissfully happy.”

“This is not love, Arnav,” Khushi spoke bitterly. “If this is, this is not what I want. This is possessiveness. Love is what I saw today between two sick people. They are dying, and still their concern is for each other. That is love, true love.”

She looked at him again, directly.

“That's what I want, and this time, I will not settle for less. I made the mistake once of marrying without love. I will never do it again. It brings too much unhappiness. I can't deal with that again. I’d rather be alone for the rest of my life than go through …” she stopped, swallowing, her throat aching with unshed tears, her mind awash with memories.

Arnav was silent for a while. He watched the emotions playing across her face, glowing red and orange in the flickering light of the fireplace, and he fought to control his own feelings, the urge to take her in his arms, hold her, comfort her – four years too late, he thought bitterly … or maybe four months … the longest four months of his life. He looked at her again.

“Will you at least tell me what happened? How did all this happen? When did Manish come here? Khushi …” urgently, “… Khushi, I need to know. Please. How did it start … when did it start? Tell me?”

She looked at him, and then nodded. He moved away to sit to one side on the large sofa. She turned away from him, and stared into the fireplace again.

“I knew one side of the story till now,” she said in a low voice. “Today I heard the other side. There may be gaps … I’m trying to put it together still.”

He nodded briefly. Khushi was quiet again, gathering her thoughts.

“Did you know that Manish had started taking drugs in college?” she asked abruptly.

Arnav stared at her uncomprehending for a long moment, then gave a low whistle, and banged his hand against his head.

“So that was it! What a fool I was!”

She turned around incredulously, accusingly. “You knew?”

“I didn't, but I should have guessed. Those mood swings in the final year! Those bouts of sudden grandiosity, and then the bouts of depression. Sunny, Neil and I talked about it so many times. He seemed to have changed completely. We couldn't figure out what was the matter with him!”

“The matter with him was drugs,” said Khushi bitterly. “He started taking them in final year. Initially it was like everybody else, to stay awake to study, then they stopped working, so he went on to stronger ones… oh, the usual story. He had money, and his suppliers found out he would pay almost anything. Plus that recklessness that was always in him – he wanted to try out more and more, and he felt he was in control all along. Then Baba announced that Manish would work with him in the firm after he qualified, and Manish was nervous. He was always scared of Baba, and now he would have to work directly with him, and Baba would find out Manish had pretty much wasted his time in college. Manish never wanted to be an architect in the first place, and he never wanted to work with Baba. I don’t know which came first – it was a chicken and egg situation. So Manish decided he would get me to work with him, counting on me to cover his weakness at work from Baba. And then he realised that I …” Khushi stumbled slightly, and went on without looking at Arnav, “that I …”

“That you and I had become close,” Arnav completed for her, and Khushi nodded imperceptibly.

“He got worried … if we … got together, then I would go off to Mumbai with you. How would he face Baba, and how would he manage to work with Baba. He got more and more scared, and as a result, he started getting deeper and deeper into his drugs. And in that state, he got the brilliant idea that he would marry me, we would work together, and his problems would be permanently solved. For that, he had to separate you from me, but that was simple. He knew his mother loved me … and that I couldn’t deny her anything. Besides, I was his friend first, he had known me most of our lives … he had more claim on me. I had no business being with anyone else if he needed me. His mind was twisted by the drugs … so was his reasoning. So he told his parents that he wanted to marry me.”

Khushi looked at Arnav.

“He told me all this on our wedding night,” she said evenly, and heard Arnav’s quick intake of breath.

But he didn’t say anything. He kept looking at her steadily, his expression hard to fathom. She took a deep breath and went on.

“But things didn’t work out quite the way he thought. He got through the exams somehow when he was not really hooked very badly, but soon after our marriage, it got worse. The drugs killed his…performance, his manhood, and he couldn't take that. He started taking more and more. They would pep him up, so he felt strong, and masculine, but in bed…,” she stumbled slightly, and did not look at Arnav, “… it was a different story. His work started suffering, and Baba got mad at him. That made him more tense and scared of Baba, and things just got worse. At home, too, he was unhappy. He knew I didn't love him, he knew I had loved you, and though initially he tried to make it up to me, I think somewhere he started feeling the guilt that he had separated us. So there were pressures both at work and at home, and that drove him deeper into drugs. He felt a failure, both as a husband and as a son.  About six months after our wedding, I realized that there was something terribly wrong, but the damage was done, and he had gone too far to come back on his own.”

She turned to look into the fireplace again, her face bleak at the memories of those nightmarish days.

“Then the nightmare started. He would disappear for days and weeks on end, and we wouldn't have a clue where he was. After about seven or eight months, we managed to drag him to a psychiatrist, and got him admitted to a rehabilitation centre. He ran away from there and disappeared again. Again and again he came back, we took him to the doctors, and the rehab centres, and again he ran away. Whenever he ran out of money, he would come back. Then he started signing the company checks to get money. Baba stopped his signing powers. He stole Mummy's jewellery, and mine, from our lockers – he went to the banks and picked them up, and they obviously didn't stop him. He was a signatory to all the lockers and before we realized what he was doing, he had taken everything.”       

Arnav was listening in horror. But Khushi wasn't through. She went relentlessly on, as though, by telling him, she could relieve some of her own pain.

“Two years ago,” she said, “he came back home in a desperate mood. He had gotten involved with a big gang dealing in drugs, and had started working with them. But he made a mess of things, and owed them a huge amount of money, due to a consignment he had somehow…lost. Whether he lost it, or sold it or used it himself with his ‘friends’, I don't know.”

“How much money?” asked Arnav. Khushi told him. Arnav whistled in shock.

“Baba didn't have that kind of money,” Khushi said, bitterly. “The business had gone down, because we weren't able to give it any attention, and we'd sold a lot of assets to pay for all his treatment. So Baba sold the house, gave him that money on the firm understanding that it was the last time. For a year, we lived in the house they had given my uncle – my uncle had gone back to his village. Manish went for two days, he told us, to repay the money … and he disappeared, and didn't come back again. He gave the slip to the company accountant who had gone with him. That was the last straw for the firm. Word started getting around, and the clients dried up. We had no income, and by last year, we were in really bad shape. The firm had no work, baba's health had gone down, and we didn't know how to find the money even for his medicines and treatment. Whatever little money was there, went in trying to locate Manish … with no result.”

She stopped, as though remembering, and the pain, the despair of the time gone by, was in her voice. Then she shook her head slightly, and continued, not looking at Arnav. He was listening intently to her, straining to catch every word.

“A year ago, Baba got a letter from some people, a threatening letter, again for some money that Manish owed them. We had nothing left except goodwill.  Baba sold his business due to that good will, and got the money to pay those people off. The day after the papers were signed, Baba had a stroke, which left him how he is today. We knew the doctor who runs the nursing home, and Mr. Suri was an old friend of the family. They both urged us to leave and come to Mumbai, so we did. We had nothing left to stay there for. I started working with Suri Constructions. Baba and Mummy stay at the nursing home free of charge, but we have to pay for the medicines and the treatment. Baba seems to have lost his memory of the last few years, or maybe, he doesn't want to remember. He seems to think that Manish is still working in office, and we, Mummy and I, kept up the pretence.”

She stopped, and then went on more slowly, as though speaking to herself.

“We kept up the facade till now, because there was some hope, that we would find him some day. Now what I will do, when I go back, I don't know. How will I tell them? I have to tell Mummy. Baba is beyond understanding anything. He is in a world of his own. But Mummy…her last hope…”

Khushi stopped, her voice breaking. She whispered again, “How will I tell her? What do I do?”