Chapter 2
[MEMBERSONLY]
[NOCOPY]
Hi Friends...
I am back, as promised, with Part 2 of this Fic. This will now definitely be a 4S (and possibly 5S), as a lot of the story is yet to unfold.
I'm really rather nervous about this. I have no real guideline to go by from the present serial plot; as this Fic is set entirely in an Alternate reality, with Sanskaar's memory loss.
Please do let me know what you thought. Your comments and likes mean a tremendous lot to me, as they let me know how I'm doing; and motivate me to write more.
I sincerely hope this would meet your expectations.
I have some commitments to run over the weekend, so Part 3 would come out sometime in the course of next week.
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[NOCOPY]
Hi Friends...
I am back, as promised, with Part 2 of this Fic. This will now definitely be a 4S (and possibly 5S), as a lot of the story is yet to unfold.
I'm really rather nervous about this. I have no real guideline to go by from the present serial plot; as this Fic is set entirely in an Alternate reality, with Sanskaar's memory loss.
Please do let me know what you thought. Your comments and likes mean a tremendous lot to me, as they let me know how I'm doing; and motivate me to write more.
I sincerely hope this would meet your expectations.
I have some commitments to run over the weekend, so Part 3 would come out sometime in the course of next week. <><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Of Remembered Hate and Forgotten Love
It was an almost universally accepted truism, that Sanskaar Ram Prasad Maheshwari was possessed of awesome good looks. In fact, a man with his incredible handsomeness could well be excused for
staring at himself with narcissistic zeal in a mirror. Which made the fact that he hardly ever glanced perfunctorily at his reflection, even more of an attraction.
When beautiful women were the ones to send lingering second glances his way as he walked by, when most other men instinctively stood straighter, in an almost frantic attempt to add to their stature in his imposing presence; many people had wondered, what that one single feature was, which so impressed them about Sanskaar Maheshwari.
Most confined their analysis to his physical attributes---of which, certainly, there were a lot to admire. His thick mane of black brown hair, a few tousled locks usually falling rakishly across his broad forehead; a crisply maintained 5 pm shadow lending a touch of impishness to his otherwise sombre face; his classically handsome, Grecian profile, with his straight nose, majestic eyebrows, lashes that were thick and long, fringing his fascinating brown eyes.
But if one were to look deeper, one would have registered that the true marvel of Sanskaar's countenance, was not just the fact that it was so beautifully fashioned by the Creator; but also its startling symmetry and cohesion, despite its contradictory elements.
The purposeful, determined lines of his thick eyebrows, for instance, were theoretically at least, at odds with his forehead and temples, more befitting an artist or a poet. The granite firm lines of his jaw and chin, and his sharply chiseled cheekbones, clashed and yet miraculously melded with the sweetness and sensitivity about his sculptured mouth, so often curved in a vivid, dazzling smile. The look of commanding intellect, of brilliant perspicacity that he possessed; was somehow enhanced by his air of vibrant boyishness and enthusiasm.
It was a face with classically handsome features, but ostensibly at war within itself. The look of harmony and wonderful cohesion that was produced despite this (or was it because of this?), was owing to Sanskaar's force of will, and depth of character. It was this trait, perhaps, that subconsciously unknown to most, was the most attractive in this powerful, intriguing man.
A look at Sanskaar's eyes would have sufficed to get a measure of his iron will---mesmerizing molten chocolate orbs flecked with gold, unforgettably intense, blazing with a honey warmth, and yet filled with a steely purpose.
It was that look of utter, blazing concentration that shone from Sanskaar Maheshwari's commanding eyes the next morning, as he sat, deceptively calm and quiet in his hospital room; allowing the cascade of forgotten memories to flow back into his healing psyche.
When he had yet been an unnamed, unidentified man, undergoing his treatment at the hospital, his doctor had assured him that one day, with luck and with proper therapy, this would happen--- the gaps in his mind would fill in, and details of people, places, occasions, events--- they would all come streaming back in.
The memories would then be reabsorbed into his mind, to be recreated into a complete mirror, re-forming the jagged shards of his earlier hazy recollections into a coherent pattern.
And now, as the erstwhile broken shards of his memories re-formed, their jagged edges pierced his psyche, in places that he fully expected to still hurt, and hurt badly. But he was puzzled, nevertheless, that one particular bitter, vengeful memory bled him rather less, than it ought to have.
It was almost like seeing the totality of his life flashing right before his eyes, in a hyper sped up reel of images. Even cherished memories of his early childhood, which, despite his formidable intellect, he might not have been able to recall under normal circumstances.
His closed his glowing eyes momentarily, as the images became too bright, like overexposed camera shots wavering in the vision of his mind's eye. The lights behind his closed lids now seemed to pulse in brilliant explosions of color. Contrary to his hazy, indistinct recollections of the past weeks, the images now were so bright, they almost seared his consciousness----all except for that one compelling, clear image which had always been in his mind---which now remained just the same as it always had.
He saw himself as a young lad, playing raucous games of hide and seek with his cousin Lakshya, concealing himself behind ornately carved and gilded pillars, or racing across the cool inlaid marble floors of their home, with its intricate patterns of lotus blossoms etched in opal, lapis lazuli, cat's eye and tourmaline...
Then he saw himself standing atop the terrace of their home. He was gazing enthralled as the limpid full moon rose slowly above him, as if pulled on an invisible chariot, forging a creamy path through the deep violet of the sky overhead. The light illuminated the few wisps of clouds lying in the moon's path, tinging their edges with indigo. His Papa and Bade Papa were standing by him, and so were his cousins, Adarsh and Lakshya, and his kid sister, Uttara. The men were eagerly pointing out the constellations to their children, laughing at the boys as they scrambled to get first rights on the telescope the fathers had rigged up on their terrace. It was a night made for star gazing, the sequin-silver points of light like the glowing embers of a fire, or perhaps a bushelful of diamonds strewn cross the cosmos, illuminating the atramentous curtain of the heavens...
And then he saw himself as a young teenager, in the amber glow of the languidly rising sun, listening with rapt attention to his badi ma's and mom's morning arti, eyes diligently shut, palms folded together, lips moving in tune to the prayer. The golden fingers of the slowly rising sun painted creamy tendrils across the inky palette of the dawn sky, coloring it with streaks of light pinks and peaches, slowly brightening to rose, bergamot, tangerine and vermilion...
These warm, familiar memories ought to have filled him with comfort, with remembered sweetness. And they did, albeit momentarily, and very ephemerally. For overlying the tranquility and joy of these recollections, was the bitter, corrosive one of hatred, betrayal and deceit, which his very own family had inflicted on him. They had stolen Kavita from him, his college friend and sweetheart, whom he had dared to love despite the difference in their communities...
Sanskaar wanted to feel that bitter vindictiveness, that all consuming rage, which he sensed had kept him sane and functioning, in the years after Kavita had been taken from him. But now, he encountered the first inexplicable lacuna which would trouble him for days, like a niggling unease he could not quite put a finger on.
For his fury and thirst for vendetta seemed to have dulled. Try as he might to whip himself up, recollecting Kavita's inert, supine form as he wept over her body; that one, constant image that had stayed with him from the time he recovered consciousness, kept sliding into his mind. Sanskaar was frustrated, furious even, with himself. He wanted to recall Kavita, all the sweet moments they had spent together, the youthful promises of fidelity and affection which they made to each other. But each time he tried, the compelling image of Her exquisitely lovely face and form, intruded into his mind's eye. This particular memory did not blind or burn him as his other jaggedly re-forming ones did. It remained constant, unvarying, as it always had. Sanskaar was...puzzled. He did not like things which he could not fathom...and this particular memory defeated his every attempt to understand it, explain it away.
To add to his perturbation, he had started developing a sense that this young woman was, after all, not as unknown to him as he had previously thought. Lurking at the back of his mind, waiting to be drawn out into the light of his recovering memories, he sensed that he knew who she was. She was, in some way, linked to his family...now if only he could figure out how...
That question bothered him, filling him with a vague restlessness---why had she shot at him? He had earlier, when his recovery process was on, been briefed by the doctor on what his list of injuries were. He had been found severely concussed, battered and bruised, with three broken ribs, a hairline fracture on his right foot below the ankle, and a dislocated left elbow. But a bullet wound had not been among his list of injuries.
Sanskaar now wondered, had he somehow leaped into the flooded river, in a daring attempt to evade being shot? That might well be, but it was highly irritating to not be able to recall, what enmity lay between him and this oddly fascinating woman, that she would try to shoot at him...
Typical of Sanskaar, he decided to compartmentalize. He was not making any headway recollecting anything further about Her, so he now started taking stock of his other recollections. It was immediately apparent to him that there was a clear gap in his memory, though his retrograde amnesia had lifted, to a large degree. It was now July of 2016, and the last train of continuous memories he had, ended somewhere around April of 2015. There was a near 15 month black hole, as far as his memories were concerned.
Sanskaar now proceeded to furiously concentrate on the very last things he remembered of the 2nd Quarter of the previous year. He had been devising brilliantly imaginative but Machiavellian plans, using his firm of Karma & Co., to bankrupt Maheshwari and Sons, and shatter his Bade Papa's arrogance and hubris. That overweening vanity and narrow mindedness, that had so wrecked Sanskaar's own life. And yes, there was something else, too, that was slowly coming back to him now. Through the completely reliable and discreet private investigators he had put on the job, Sanskaar had come to know about Lakshya's engagement, his subsequent cavalier breaking up of that betrothal, and the fact that he had then become infatuated with his erstwhile intended's half sister, no less. He had wanted to ensure that Lakshya never got to marry the woman he loved---why should he, when he had stabbed Sanskaar in the back? He had always considered Lucky to be his brother, best friend and confidante---but he had betrayed him, and set in motion the chain of events that had wrenched Kavita from his side.
And there Sanskaar stopped, a sense of utter shock and inexplicable dismay washing over him. For he had, with a sudden burst of clarity, just realized who She was. His hands suddenly and oddly clammy with sweat, and his mind reeling with the implications of his recollection, Sanskaar wondered: was this why She had wanted to shoot him? He remembered now, his meticulously staged plans to re enter his family's life, to blight Lakshya and Bade Papa's happiness, just as they had done to him. His plans to separate Lakshya for good, from the woman he had supposedly fallen in love with. Sanskaar remembered planning the charade of his imbecility...but there his brain halted. Try ferociously as he might, he could not remember a thing more.
How he had put his plan into action, what had transpired after that---it was all a blank slate, which no amount of probing could fill. Had he succeeded in separating Her from Lucky? Was that the reason for that grim resolve in Her eyes as she crouched, pistol in hand? Sanskaar did not quite know why, but he felt a queer aversion, a tight fist clamping around his heart, at the thought of Her with his cousin.
Sanskaar decided, very reluctantly, to bide his time for now. He remembered what his good doctor had advised him: that the harder he chased his memories, the faster they would withdraw, the less his own mind would respond to his beck and call. Better by far, to let things lie, ignore the yawning gaps in his recollections, and to gently cajole the missing memories to flow back on their own.
And in the meantime, he shrugged those disturbing thoughts of Her, to the back of his mind. He would deal with that later----first, he needed to find out what had transpired in the intervening year and a quarter of his life, whether he had succeeded in his plans, and to what degree---For he would not rest until he was avenged.
He had obviously lost his mobile in the flooded Hooghly from whence he had been rescued, and he knew that calls from the hospital were both monitored and recorded. He did not want to leave any trace of calls he made to his right hand man, Nakul Mehta, or to his reliable private investigators--Dipankar and Tapan Bakshi, great-grandsons and inheritors of the mantle of the legendary Satyanweshi, Byomkesh Bakshi himself. Sanskaar decided to bide his time, return home, and confabulate with these men from the privacy and security of his apartment. But before that, he would need to re- enter Maheshwari house, to scope out the lay of the land, and to see their reactions for himself.
Sanskaar believed in one motto above all others: Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win*. He went about planning his tactics with impeccable zeal, for he knew very well, failing to prepare, was preparing to fail. **
Sanskaar knew he had a couple of days left at the hospital---he had just informed his overjoyed care givers that he had recovered the bulk of his memory, and now knew who he was, where he belonged to. He added a smiling stipulation that they were not to call his family and inform them; he wanted to go personally to surprise them himself. It had not been difficult to convince the good doctor and the entire medical team attending to him, in thrall of him as they were, that his motive was to see the sublime joy on the faces of his family, when they saw him alive. The procedures for running his final medical tests and preparing for his discharge from hospital, were now in full swing.
And so, in the meantime, Sanskaar pored through all the papers and other business magazines that he could, trying to find some word of what was happening in the world of the Maheshwaris. It was in this perusal, that he received a massive jolt later that day. Tucked into one of the inner pages of the Business Standard as well as the Economic Times, covering the latest happenings in the world of high industry, finance and business, was a snippet on one of the acquisitions being done by the erstwhile Maheshwari and Sons. Only, it was now termed Maheshwari, Karma and Sons. Sanskaar's blood boiled, his eyes going hazy with a momentary outburst of sheer rage, as he saw the photos of a solemn looking Durga Prasad, Adarsh and Lakshya Maheshwari; before his eyes softened at the sight of the rather emotional looking Ram Prasad too, standing by their side. So his Bade Papa and cousins had stolen his firm too, had they? The fruit of his blood, toil, sweat and tears---his very own baby, which he had built from scratch, with indomitable will, during the time they had cast him out into the wilderness. Oh, he would make them pay, and pay dearly at that. They would bleed, a thousand times over, for the cuts they had inflicted on him, both 6 years previously, and what they must have caused to happen to him now.
Sanskaar was staggered, it must be admitted, at this revelation that his firm had apparently been merged with Maheshwari & Sons. He had absolutely no recollection of how this could have happened. But this setback to his plans, though serious, was not insurmountable. Sanskaar had taken the precaution of setting up other shell companies and SPVs too, both for tax planning purposes, as well as to better aid him in his plans to bring Maheshwari & Sons down to its knees. He knew that he had also built up a considerable land bank and other assets, including bank deposits, in his personal name. It would take a lot of planning, involve him going right back to the drawing board, as it were. But he would use his assets to plot the takeover of Maheshwari, Karma and Sons. He would plan his moves with ruthless precision, and snatch control from right under their smug noses. And then, he would rest, his anguish and loss avenged at last.
The next day dawned bright and clear, not a cloud to mar the cerulean perfection of the morning sky. Sanskaar had requested the doctor to come with him, in order to explain to his loving family, the circumstances of his recovery. Upon Sanskaar's seemingly innocuous and cunningly nonchalant suggestion, his doctor had also resolved to tell the Maheshwaris about his missing memories of the past year or so, and the fact that they should take very good care, not to push his mind too much in that regard. And that, thought Sanskaar with a grim half smile to himself, would give him time and opportunity to observe their individual reactions. Oh, he would so enjoy being the cat amongst the pigeons, watching, waiting, and deciding on whom to pounce, with lethal, feline grace...
At the end of a rather long and bumpy road journey, which the good doctor dozed through, but Sanskaar sat through ramrod straight-- alert, contemplative and wide eyed; they reached the neighborhood of Maheshwari House.
Sanskaar opened the gates and stepped in---and it cannot be denied that he felt a thrill going down his spine, making the hair on his arms stand on end. This was the moment, he thought. The prodigal son returns...
This being a Saturday, the entire family appeared to be in the Grand front Hall. Sanskaar observed, cynically, that they seemed rather sombre and grave, the usual chatter and light conversation he remembered on such occasions, being completely absent. The first person to see him was his Mom. Sujata stood stock still for a long moment, convinced that she was hallucinating. Her Chora was back, standing right before her... And then, with a gasping, keening cry, she ran towards Sanskaar, sobbing in earnest as she embraced him tight. Annapurna and Uttara, also weeping, ran over to throw their arms around him, too.
Sanskaar, despite himself, felt enveloped in their love and warmth. Over their shoulders, he saw his Papa come towards him, tears rolling unashamedly down his cheeks, as he clasped his beloved son tightly in his arms. The human soul is built to endure a tremendous deal, certainly a lot more than the flesh can. But one thing it simply cannot endure unscathed, cannot ever fully recover from, is the loss of a child. It is against the very fabric of our being, that a parent should linger on, in pain and anguish, to see their child pass away before them. Ram and Sujata, and to a large degree, Annapurna too, had now endured this fate twice over...and Sanskaar felt a keen stab of pain, seeing the almost ecstatic joy on their faces.
He hugged them tight, and Uttara too, smiling genuinely and looking at them with tremendous love in his eyes. And then---in a flash, his smile turned into a stiff grimace, and he felt his palms involuntarily bunching into tight fists, as the other male members of the family came into view.
While his Adarsh Bhaiyya, reservedly affectionate as usual, contented himself with smiling warmly at him and clasping his shoulder; Durga Prasad and Lakshya warmly embraced him, both having tears coursing down their faces as well. Sanskaar forced himself to smile at them, the rictus of his forced grin almost making his cheeks ache.
With Lakshya especially, his reactions went through the whole gamut of warring emotions. He had been his kid bro, his best friend and closest confidante. Despite himself, Sanskaar could not help the swell of brotherly affection from entering his heart---before the memory of Lakshya's craven betrayal filled him with loathing and disdain.
He suddenly felt a prickle of unease, the hair on his neck rising, as he felt someone watching him, evaluating him. He looked sideways to see two women gazing at him. The elder of the two looked mildly interested, but otherwise largely unaffected by the poignantly emotional scene unfolding in front of her. This was, Sanskaar knew from the photos he remembered seeing in the past, Parineeta Bhabhi, Adarsh Bhaiyya's wife. But it was the other, younger woman whose scrutiny he had sensed. She seemed to be looking at him with a considerable degree of affection and regard in her eyes; but there was a lot of wary contemplation, too--even as she moved protectively closer to Lakshya. Had she seen that look of utter hatred crossing his eyes when he looked at Lucky? Sanskaar pondered silently. It struck him, suddenly, who this woman was; this was the girl Lucky had got engaged to, and then walked out on. Her half sister. So she had married Lakshya finally, had she? His plan must have worked after all...and before Sanskaar could shove the unwelcome thought away, a vague feeling of relief enveloped him, that after all, Lucky hadn't married Her. It was only because he did not want to see Lakshya happily married to the woman he loved, whispered Sanskaar furiously to himself. Yes indeed, that was precisely what it was...
Sanskaar took a deep breath to steady himself, and looked about the Hall, wondering uneasily why he felt the family was incomplete, that there was still Somebody vital, to encounter. He had completely missed the fact that Ragini had already sped upstairs, but came back to earth with a flash, when he heard Annapurna and Sujata excitedly exclaiming that Swara would be so besides herself with joy, she had always known, with every fibre of her being, that Sanskaar was still alive...
Swara? Thought Sanskaar, distractedly, rubbing his chest in an unconscious gesture, even as his heart pounded. Why should she be glad he had returned? Hadn't she done her best to eliminate him, in the first place? In alliance with his Bade Papa and Lucky, perhaps?
His musings were cut short by a blur of red and gold dashing precipitately down the winding staircase, to throw herself right into his arms. It was Her--- petite, slender, and dashing towards him with outstretched arms. She had such a blazing look of adoration on her face, that it seemed to him as if an ethereal light shone from it, lighting her up from within. She had taken Sanskaar's breath away long before she crashed right into him, making him stagger back with the force of her embrace, despite his considerably larger and stronger frame.
This was to be his enduring memory of the second time he met Swara for the "first time"---the most beautiful person he had ever seen or ever would, like a princess from the tales of old, fashioned from ivory and gold, brocade and jet. As she sobbed in a near delirious ecstasy of relief against his chest, her arms tight around his neck; Sanskaar idly pondered why he could not just wrench her away and fling her from him. She was the person who had shot at him, for God's sake! But he found, to his considerable disquiet, that his muscles absolutely refused to cooperate.
Muscle memory...his therapists had told him, where the body and subconscious knew what was familiar to them, even while the conscious psyche did not. And for the life of him, Sanskaar Ram Prasad Maheshwari could not help himself from loosely clasping his arms around Swara's waist, and then tightening his hold. His head now matched the forceful pounding in his heart, as he rested his face almost involuntarily on Swara's shoulder. A ghost of a memory now entered his still healing psyche, of his having collapsed insensate on her shoulders, desperately seeking solace, even as she looked on at him with shocked eyes...
The doctor who had come with Sanskaar, now cleared this throat and started explaining to the family, the circumstances in which Sanskaar was found, the steps towards his recovery and his current status. Ragini looked at her sister, tears clouding her vision. Finally, the long weeks of pain, anguish and desolation were over. Swara's unwavering resolve and unshakable faith in her love, had won through after all. But something troubled her, something about the look in Sanskaar's eyes...His reactions, somehow, seemed a bit off. This did not seem like the Sanskaar who had fallen off the cliff, those weeks ago. The look on his face when Lakshya had embraced him...Ragini realized, with a chill of mortal fear, that this looked like the Sanskaar who had entered their lives like a storm, more than a year ago. With whom she had allied in the most nefarious fashion, before he had seen the light, been completely redeemed by her sister's goodness and warmth, long before Ragini herself had. But now, Ragini had the queerest sensation, that he had slipped back into the dark once more...
Ragini knew better than to voice her doubts. It would shatter Swara's already bruised heart asunder, and would deeply hurt Lakshya too. But as she watched her sister hold on to Sanskaar tight, sobbing her chant of absolute love for him, Ragini had her epiphany. She owed Swara and Sanskaar----not just once, but many times over. She had plotted and connived against them even when they had not been doing anything against her; the bitter taste of her remorse was still acid on her tongue. And now, it looked like her sister really needed help. Her beloved husband had returned, when almost everyone but herself, had given him up for dead. But whether this was the same husband, in mind at least, who had been wrenched apart from her, was debatable. Swara was ever trusting, simple and naive, believing implicitly in light and goodness. Much like the glorious Princesses of the tales of yore. But, thought Ragini with a wry, self deprecating smile to herself, every Princess needed a Fairy Godmother too, didn't she? One who knew all the spells and potions there were, and didn't mind playing a bit dirty if it was needed to even the odds?
Ragini's eyes softened as she watched Sanskaar tighten his embrace around Swara. There was indeed love there...the genuine, eternal, resilient kind. But she, Ragini, was going to keep a wary eye out, nevertheless...
To Be Continued...
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Footnotes and References
1) * Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win: Is a quote by Sun Tzu.
2) **: Is a modified version of the quote by Benjamin Fanklin: "By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail".
3) Sanskaar's trusted and discreet private investigators, Dipankar and Tapan Bakshi---are figments of my imagination.
I have portrayed them (with all humility and deep respect), as Great Grandsons of the
legendary character Byomkesh Bakshi, the immortal fictional detective
created by the author Sharadindu Bandyopadhyay. The Byomkesh Bakshi
series of detective novels is sometimes termed India's answer to Sir
Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes.
Byomkesh Bakhsi's title of Satyanweshi (the seeker of the truth), seemed particularly appropriate in the context of this 4S, as Sanskaar is, after all, on a quest for the truth of what had happened in his life.
When beautiful women were the ones to send lingering second glances his way as he walked by, when most other men instinctively stood straighter, in an almost frantic attempt to add to their stature in his imposing presence; many people had wondered, what that one single feature was, which so impressed them about Sanskaar Maheshwari.
Most confined their analysis to his physical attributes---of which, certainly, there were a lot to admire. His thick mane of black brown hair, a few tousled locks usually falling rakishly across his broad forehead; a crisply maintained 5 pm shadow lending a touch of impishness to his otherwise sombre face; his classically handsome, Grecian profile, with his straight nose, majestic eyebrows, lashes that were thick and long, fringing his fascinating brown eyes.
But if one were to look deeper, one would have registered that the true marvel of Sanskaar's countenance, was not just the fact that it was so beautifully fashioned by the Creator; but also its startling symmetry and cohesion, despite its contradictory elements.
The purposeful, determined lines of his thick eyebrows, for instance, were theoretically at least, at odds with his forehead and temples, more befitting an artist or a poet. The granite firm lines of his jaw and chin, and his sharply chiseled cheekbones, clashed and yet miraculously melded with the sweetness and sensitivity about his sculptured mouth, so often curved in a vivid, dazzling smile. The look of commanding intellect, of brilliant perspicacity that he possessed; was somehow enhanced by his air of vibrant boyishness and enthusiasm.
It was a face with classically handsome features, but ostensibly at war within itself. The look of harmony and wonderful cohesion that was produced despite this (or was it because of this?), was owing to Sanskaar's force of will, and depth of character. It was this trait, perhaps, that subconsciously unknown to most, was the most attractive in this powerful, intriguing man.
A look at Sanskaar's eyes would have sufficed to get a measure of his iron will---mesmerizing molten chocolate orbs flecked with gold, unforgettably intense, blazing with a honey warmth, and yet filled with a steely purpose.
It was that look of utter, blazing concentration that shone from Sanskaar Maheshwari's commanding eyes the next morning, as he sat, deceptively calm and quiet in his hospital room; allowing the cascade of forgotten memories to flow back into his healing psyche.
When he had yet been an unnamed, unidentified man, undergoing his treatment at the hospital, his doctor had assured him that one day, with luck and with proper therapy, this would happen--- the gaps in his mind would fill in, and details of people, places, occasions, events--- they would all come streaming back in.
The memories would then be reabsorbed into his mind, to be recreated into a complete mirror, re-forming the jagged shards of his earlier hazy recollections into a coherent pattern.
And now, as the erstwhile broken shards of his memories re-formed, their jagged edges pierced his psyche, in places that he fully expected to still hurt, and hurt badly. But he was puzzled, nevertheless, that one particular bitter, vengeful memory bled him rather less, than it ought to have.
It was almost like seeing the totality of his life flashing right before his eyes, in a hyper sped up reel of images. Even cherished memories of his early childhood, which, despite his formidable intellect, he might not have been able to recall under normal circumstances.
His closed his glowing eyes momentarily, as the images became too bright, like overexposed camera shots wavering in the vision of his mind's eye. The lights behind his closed lids now seemed to pulse in brilliant explosions of color. Contrary to his hazy, indistinct recollections of the past weeks, the images now were so bright, they almost seared his consciousness----all except for that one compelling, clear image which had always been in his mind---which now remained just the same as it always had.
He saw himself as a young lad, playing raucous games of hide and seek with his cousin Lakshya, concealing himself behind ornately carved and gilded pillars, or racing across the cool inlaid marble floors of their home, with its intricate patterns of lotus blossoms etched in opal, lapis lazuli, cat's eye and tourmaline...
Then he saw himself standing atop the terrace of their home. He was gazing enthralled as the limpid full moon rose slowly above him, as if pulled on an invisible chariot, forging a creamy path through the deep violet of the sky overhead. The light illuminated the few wisps of clouds lying in the moon's path, tinging their edges with indigo. His Papa and Bade Papa were standing by him, and so were his cousins, Adarsh and Lakshya, and his kid sister, Uttara. The men were eagerly pointing out the constellations to their children, laughing at the boys as they scrambled to get first rights on the telescope the fathers had rigged up on their terrace. It was a night made for star gazing, the sequin-silver points of light like the glowing embers of a fire, or perhaps a bushelful of diamonds strewn cross the cosmos, illuminating the atramentous curtain of the heavens...
And then he saw himself as a young teenager, in the amber glow of the languidly rising sun, listening with rapt attention to his badi ma's and mom's morning arti, eyes diligently shut, palms folded together, lips moving in tune to the prayer. The golden fingers of the slowly rising sun painted creamy tendrils across the inky palette of the dawn sky, coloring it with streaks of light pinks and peaches, slowly brightening to rose, bergamot, tangerine and vermilion...
These warm, familiar memories ought to have filled him with comfort, with remembered sweetness. And they did, albeit momentarily, and very ephemerally. For overlying the tranquility and joy of these recollections, was the bitter, corrosive one of hatred, betrayal and deceit, which his very own family had inflicted on him. They had stolen Kavita from him, his college friend and sweetheart, whom he had dared to love despite the difference in their communities...
Sanskaar wanted to feel that bitter vindictiveness, that all consuming rage, which he sensed had kept him sane and functioning, in the years after Kavita had been taken from him. But now, he encountered the first inexplicable lacuna which would trouble him for days, like a niggling unease he could not quite put a finger on.
For his fury and thirst for vendetta seemed to have dulled. Try as he might to whip himself up, recollecting Kavita's inert, supine form as he wept over her body; that one, constant image that had stayed with him from the time he recovered consciousness, kept sliding into his mind. Sanskaar was frustrated, furious even, with himself. He wanted to recall Kavita, all the sweet moments they had spent together, the youthful promises of fidelity and affection which they made to each other. But each time he tried, the compelling image of Her exquisitely lovely face and form, intruded into his mind's eye. This particular memory did not blind or burn him as his other jaggedly re-forming ones did. It remained constant, unvarying, as it always had. Sanskaar was...puzzled. He did not like things which he could not fathom...and this particular memory defeated his every attempt to understand it, explain it away.
To add to his perturbation, he had started developing a sense that this young woman was, after all, not as unknown to him as he had previously thought. Lurking at the back of his mind, waiting to be drawn out into the light of his recovering memories, he sensed that he knew who she was. She was, in some way, linked to his family...now if only he could figure out how...
That question bothered him, filling him with a vague restlessness---why had she shot at him? He had earlier, when his recovery process was on, been briefed by the doctor on what his list of injuries were. He had been found severely concussed, battered and bruised, with three broken ribs, a hairline fracture on his right foot below the ankle, and a dislocated left elbow. But a bullet wound had not been among his list of injuries.
Sanskaar now wondered, had he somehow leaped into the flooded river, in a daring attempt to evade being shot? That might well be, but it was highly irritating to not be able to recall, what enmity lay between him and this oddly fascinating woman, that she would try to shoot at him...
Typical of Sanskaar, he decided to compartmentalize. He was not making any headway recollecting anything further about Her, so he now started taking stock of his other recollections. It was immediately apparent to him that there was a clear gap in his memory, though his retrograde amnesia had lifted, to a large degree. It was now July of 2016, and the last train of continuous memories he had, ended somewhere around April of 2015. There was a near 15 month black hole, as far as his memories were concerned.
Sanskaar now proceeded to furiously concentrate on the very last things he remembered of the 2nd Quarter of the previous year. He had been devising brilliantly imaginative but Machiavellian plans, using his firm of Karma & Co., to bankrupt Maheshwari and Sons, and shatter his Bade Papa's arrogance and hubris. That overweening vanity and narrow mindedness, that had so wrecked Sanskaar's own life. And yes, there was something else, too, that was slowly coming back to him now. Through the completely reliable and discreet private investigators he had put on the job, Sanskaar had come to know about Lakshya's engagement, his subsequent cavalier breaking up of that betrothal, and the fact that he had then become infatuated with his erstwhile intended's half sister, no less. He had wanted to ensure that Lakshya never got to marry the woman he loved---why should he, when he had stabbed Sanskaar in the back? He had always considered Lucky to be his brother, best friend and confidante---but he had betrayed him, and set in motion the chain of events that had wrenched Kavita from his side.
And there Sanskaar stopped, a sense of utter shock and inexplicable dismay washing over him. For he had, with a sudden burst of clarity, just realized who She was. His hands suddenly and oddly clammy with sweat, and his mind reeling with the implications of his recollection, Sanskaar wondered: was this why She had wanted to shoot him? He remembered now, his meticulously staged plans to re enter his family's life, to blight Lakshya and Bade Papa's happiness, just as they had done to him. His plans to separate Lakshya for good, from the woman he had supposedly fallen in love with. Sanskaar remembered planning the charade of his imbecility...but there his brain halted. Try ferociously as he might, he could not remember a thing more.
How he had put his plan into action, what had transpired after that---it was all a blank slate, which no amount of probing could fill. Had he succeeded in separating Her from Lucky? Was that the reason for that grim resolve in Her eyes as she crouched, pistol in hand? Sanskaar did not quite know why, but he felt a queer aversion, a tight fist clamping around his heart, at the thought of Her with his cousin.
Sanskaar decided, very reluctantly, to bide his time for now. He remembered what his good doctor had advised him: that the harder he chased his memories, the faster they would withdraw, the less his own mind would respond to his beck and call. Better by far, to let things lie, ignore the yawning gaps in his recollections, and to gently cajole the missing memories to flow back on their own.
And in the meantime, he shrugged those disturbing thoughts of Her, to the back of his mind. He would deal with that later----first, he needed to find out what had transpired in the intervening year and a quarter of his life, whether he had succeeded in his plans, and to what degree---For he would not rest until he was avenged.
He had obviously lost his mobile in the flooded Hooghly from whence he had been rescued, and he knew that calls from the hospital were both monitored and recorded. He did not want to leave any trace of calls he made to his right hand man, Nakul Mehta, or to his reliable private investigators--Dipankar and Tapan Bakshi, great-grandsons and inheritors of the mantle of the legendary Satyanweshi, Byomkesh Bakshi himself. Sanskaar decided to bide his time, return home, and confabulate with these men from the privacy and security of his apartment. But before that, he would need to re- enter Maheshwari house, to scope out the lay of the land, and to see their reactions for himself.
Sanskaar believed in one motto above all others: Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win*. He went about planning his tactics with impeccable zeal, for he knew very well, failing to prepare, was preparing to fail. **
Sanskaar knew he had a couple of days left at the hospital---he had just informed his overjoyed care givers that he had recovered the bulk of his memory, and now knew who he was, where he belonged to. He added a smiling stipulation that they were not to call his family and inform them; he wanted to go personally to surprise them himself. It had not been difficult to convince the good doctor and the entire medical team attending to him, in thrall of him as they were, that his motive was to see the sublime joy on the faces of his family, when they saw him alive. The procedures for running his final medical tests and preparing for his discharge from hospital, were now in full swing.
And so, in the meantime, Sanskaar pored through all the papers and other business magazines that he could, trying to find some word of what was happening in the world of the Maheshwaris. It was in this perusal, that he received a massive jolt later that day. Tucked into one of the inner pages of the Business Standard as well as the Economic Times, covering the latest happenings in the world of high industry, finance and business, was a snippet on one of the acquisitions being done by the erstwhile Maheshwari and Sons. Only, it was now termed Maheshwari, Karma and Sons. Sanskaar's blood boiled, his eyes going hazy with a momentary outburst of sheer rage, as he saw the photos of a solemn looking Durga Prasad, Adarsh and Lakshya Maheshwari; before his eyes softened at the sight of the rather emotional looking Ram Prasad too, standing by their side. So his Bade Papa and cousins had stolen his firm too, had they? The fruit of his blood, toil, sweat and tears---his very own baby, which he had built from scratch, with indomitable will, during the time they had cast him out into the wilderness. Oh, he would make them pay, and pay dearly at that. They would bleed, a thousand times over, for the cuts they had inflicted on him, both 6 years previously, and what they must have caused to happen to him now.
Sanskaar was staggered, it must be admitted, at this revelation that his firm had apparently been merged with Maheshwari & Sons. He had absolutely no recollection of how this could have happened. But this setback to his plans, though serious, was not insurmountable. Sanskaar had taken the precaution of setting up other shell companies and SPVs too, both for tax planning purposes, as well as to better aid him in his plans to bring Maheshwari & Sons down to its knees. He knew that he had also built up a considerable land bank and other assets, including bank deposits, in his personal name. It would take a lot of planning, involve him going right back to the drawing board, as it were. But he would use his assets to plot the takeover of Maheshwari, Karma and Sons. He would plan his moves with ruthless precision, and snatch control from right under their smug noses. And then, he would rest, his anguish and loss avenged at last.
The next day dawned bright and clear, not a cloud to mar the cerulean perfection of the morning sky. Sanskaar had requested the doctor to come with him, in order to explain to his loving family, the circumstances of his recovery. Upon Sanskaar's seemingly innocuous and cunningly nonchalant suggestion, his doctor had also resolved to tell the Maheshwaris about his missing memories of the past year or so, and the fact that they should take very good care, not to push his mind too much in that regard. And that, thought Sanskaar with a grim half smile to himself, would give him time and opportunity to observe their individual reactions. Oh, he would so enjoy being the cat amongst the pigeons, watching, waiting, and deciding on whom to pounce, with lethal, feline grace...
At the end of a rather long and bumpy road journey, which the good doctor dozed through, but Sanskaar sat through ramrod straight-- alert, contemplative and wide eyed; they reached the neighborhood of Maheshwari House.
Sanskaar opened the gates and stepped in---and it cannot be denied that he felt a thrill going down his spine, making the hair on his arms stand on end. This was the moment, he thought. The prodigal son returns...
This being a Saturday, the entire family appeared to be in the Grand front Hall. Sanskaar observed, cynically, that they seemed rather sombre and grave, the usual chatter and light conversation he remembered on such occasions, being completely absent. The first person to see him was his Mom. Sujata stood stock still for a long moment, convinced that she was hallucinating. Her Chora was back, standing right before her... And then, with a gasping, keening cry, she ran towards Sanskaar, sobbing in earnest as she embraced him tight. Annapurna and Uttara, also weeping, ran over to throw their arms around him, too.
Sanskaar, despite himself, felt enveloped in their love and warmth. Over their shoulders, he saw his Papa come towards him, tears rolling unashamedly down his cheeks, as he clasped his beloved son tightly in his arms. The human soul is built to endure a tremendous deal, certainly a lot more than the flesh can. But one thing it simply cannot endure unscathed, cannot ever fully recover from, is the loss of a child. It is against the very fabric of our being, that a parent should linger on, in pain and anguish, to see their child pass away before them. Ram and Sujata, and to a large degree, Annapurna too, had now endured this fate twice over...and Sanskaar felt a keen stab of pain, seeing the almost ecstatic joy on their faces.
He hugged them tight, and Uttara too, smiling genuinely and looking at them with tremendous love in his eyes. And then---in a flash, his smile turned into a stiff grimace, and he felt his palms involuntarily bunching into tight fists, as the other male members of the family came into view.
While his Adarsh Bhaiyya, reservedly affectionate as usual, contented himself with smiling warmly at him and clasping his shoulder; Durga Prasad and Lakshya warmly embraced him, both having tears coursing down their faces as well. Sanskaar forced himself to smile at them, the rictus of his forced grin almost making his cheeks ache.
With Lakshya especially, his reactions went through the whole gamut of warring emotions. He had been his kid bro, his best friend and closest confidante. Despite himself, Sanskaar could not help the swell of brotherly affection from entering his heart---before the memory of Lakshya's craven betrayal filled him with loathing and disdain.
He suddenly felt a prickle of unease, the hair on his neck rising, as he felt someone watching him, evaluating him. He looked sideways to see two women gazing at him. The elder of the two looked mildly interested, but otherwise largely unaffected by the poignantly emotional scene unfolding in front of her. This was, Sanskaar knew from the photos he remembered seeing in the past, Parineeta Bhabhi, Adarsh Bhaiyya's wife. But it was the other, younger woman whose scrutiny he had sensed. She seemed to be looking at him with a considerable degree of affection and regard in her eyes; but there was a lot of wary contemplation, too--even as she moved protectively closer to Lakshya. Had she seen that look of utter hatred crossing his eyes when he looked at Lucky? Sanskaar pondered silently. It struck him, suddenly, who this woman was; this was the girl Lucky had got engaged to, and then walked out on. Her half sister. So she had married Lakshya finally, had she? His plan must have worked after all...and before Sanskaar could shove the unwelcome thought away, a vague feeling of relief enveloped him, that after all, Lucky hadn't married Her. It was only because he did not want to see Lakshya happily married to the woman he loved, whispered Sanskaar furiously to himself. Yes indeed, that was precisely what it was...
Sanskaar took a deep breath to steady himself, and looked about the Hall, wondering uneasily why he felt the family was incomplete, that there was still Somebody vital, to encounter. He had completely missed the fact that Ragini had already sped upstairs, but came back to earth with a flash, when he heard Annapurna and Sujata excitedly exclaiming that Swara would be so besides herself with joy, she had always known, with every fibre of her being, that Sanskaar was still alive...
Swara? Thought Sanskaar, distractedly, rubbing his chest in an unconscious gesture, even as his heart pounded. Why should she be glad he had returned? Hadn't she done her best to eliminate him, in the first place? In alliance with his Bade Papa and Lucky, perhaps?
His musings were cut short by a blur of red and gold dashing precipitately down the winding staircase, to throw herself right into his arms. It was Her--- petite, slender, and dashing towards him with outstretched arms. She had such a blazing look of adoration on her face, that it seemed to him as if an ethereal light shone from it, lighting her up from within. She had taken Sanskaar's breath away long before she crashed right into him, making him stagger back with the force of her embrace, despite his considerably larger and stronger frame.
This was to be his enduring memory of the second time he met Swara for the "first time"---the most beautiful person he had ever seen or ever would, like a princess from the tales of old, fashioned from ivory and gold, brocade and jet. As she sobbed in a near delirious ecstasy of relief against his chest, her arms tight around his neck; Sanskaar idly pondered why he could not just wrench her away and fling her from him. She was the person who had shot at him, for God's sake! But he found, to his considerable disquiet, that his muscles absolutely refused to cooperate.
Muscle memory...his therapists had told him, where the body and subconscious knew what was familiar to them, even while the conscious psyche did not. And for the life of him, Sanskaar Ram Prasad Maheshwari could not help himself from loosely clasping his arms around Swara's waist, and then tightening his hold. His head now matched the forceful pounding in his heart, as he rested his face almost involuntarily on Swara's shoulder. A ghost of a memory now entered his still healing psyche, of his having collapsed insensate on her shoulders, desperately seeking solace, even as she looked on at him with shocked eyes...
The doctor who had come with Sanskaar, now cleared this throat and started explaining to the family, the circumstances in which Sanskaar was found, the steps towards his recovery and his current status. Ragini looked at her sister, tears clouding her vision. Finally, the long weeks of pain, anguish and desolation were over. Swara's unwavering resolve and unshakable faith in her love, had won through after all. But something troubled her, something about the look in Sanskaar's eyes...His reactions, somehow, seemed a bit off. This did not seem like the Sanskaar who had fallen off the cliff, those weeks ago. The look on his face when Lakshya had embraced him...Ragini realized, with a chill of mortal fear, that this looked like the Sanskaar who had entered their lives like a storm, more than a year ago. With whom she had allied in the most nefarious fashion, before he had seen the light, been completely redeemed by her sister's goodness and warmth, long before Ragini herself had. But now, Ragini had the queerest sensation, that he had slipped back into the dark once more...
Ragini knew better than to voice her doubts. It would shatter Swara's already bruised heart asunder, and would deeply hurt Lakshya too. But as she watched her sister hold on to Sanskaar tight, sobbing her chant of absolute love for him, Ragini had her epiphany. She owed Swara and Sanskaar----not just once, but many times over. She had plotted and connived against them even when they had not been doing anything against her; the bitter taste of her remorse was still acid on her tongue. And now, it looked like her sister really needed help. Her beloved husband had returned, when almost everyone but herself, had given him up for dead. But whether this was the same husband, in mind at least, who had been wrenched apart from her, was debatable. Swara was ever trusting, simple and naive, believing implicitly in light and goodness. Much like the glorious Princesses of the tales of yore. But, thought Ragini with a wry, self deprecating smile to herself, every Princess needed a Fairy Godmother too, didn't she? One who knew all the spells and potions there were, and didn't mind playing a bit dirty if it was needed to even the odds?
Ragini's eyes softened as she watched Sanskaar tighten his embrace around Swara. There was indeed love there...the genuine, eternal, resilient kind. But she, Ragini, was going to keep a wary eye out, nevertheless...
To Be Continued...
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Footnotes and References
1) * Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win: Is a quote by Sun Tzu.
2) **: Is a modified version of the quote by Benjamin Fanklin: "By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail".
3) Sanskaar's trusted and discreet private investigators, Dipankar and Tapan Bakshi---are figments of my imagination.
I have portrayed them (with all humility and deep respect), as Great Grandsons of the
legendary character Byomkesh Bakshi, the immortal fictional detective
created by the author Sharadindu Bandyopadhyay. The Byomkesh Bakshi
series of detective novels is sometimes termed India's answer to Sir
Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes. Byomkesh Bakhsi's title of Satyanweshi (the seeker of the truth), seemed particularly appropriate in the context of this 4S, as Sanskaar is, after all, on a quest for the truth of what had happened in his life.
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