Um, this chapter has some serious plot-progress happening, so I'd be grateful for your thoughts on this...especially as I have this feeling that instead of psychological I merely sound...psycho :P
There's also a snippet below, if you don't mind spoilers :)
And some people asked me this - um, last time (7th July 2013), I posted a 'Story so far' and below that, the actual update. Hope that clears up the confusion. Link to previous chapter : https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/fan-fictions/3000604/a-series-of-most-fortunate-eventspt11-p115-note121
*Part 11*
*A tale of when the right things happen at the right time*
***
"The body knows things a long time before the mind catches up to them. I was wondering what my body knew that I didn't." - The Secret Life of Bees, Sue Monk Kidd
***
Khushi fiddled with the key-ring in the meagre light creeping up to her doorstep from the lane beyond, so chagrined she could not bring herself to look up.
The intermittent metallic jingle was enough to give away the nervous shaking of her hands.
'Um I - I can manage -' the words wilted in her mouth, tasting out-of-place and inappropriate, and Khushi swallowed them down with a grimace before starting again, 'I mean to say - thank you for dropping me home - and dropping off my aunts too...I think I can...um...manage from here...'
She could feel the load of his gaze on her, and she fidgeted uneasily, the bunch of keys in her hands chiming with each restless movement as once again her broken phrases trickled off awkwardly.
She just did not know what to say.
Which was ironic, considering that the entire time she had dawdled in the front hall of Shantivan, earning mildly exasperated looks from her relatives, she had counted up a rather impressive mental tally of exactly what she thought of him and his tyrannical ways -
But then he had turned up and the rant that had been twisting up her vocal chords had suddenly slackened its hold, and had somehow reduced to nothing.
Khushi had not realised it at first.
When he had returned to the hall, he had come to stand right before her, his face expressionless, unreadable and utterly devoid of any hint as to what he was thinking or feeling - and yet Khushi had sensed the change.
It had been there, right there...like a breeze picking up as it lapped at her skin. Or a familiar tune of a forgotten song, wafting to her from a distance.
Not tangible, but just as real. Just as tantalising to her senses.
It had settled between them like a secret, and when he had quietly murmured, 'Let's go,' it had almost sounded more of a request than a demand to her ears, and she had followed him mindlessly, the entire episode of their heated argument in the hallway forgotten - or inexplicably rendered inconsequential.
And now, after deliberating and agonising over it throughout the entire drive to Laxmi Nagar, Khushi still failed to understand when her ire and irritation at the man and his arrogant, bossy attitude had given way to this...this onslaught of nerves that made it impossible for her to look him in the eye, that made every inch of her skin tingle with the knowledge of his proximity, tuned in so completely to his heat and his presence that she all but forgot about everything else.
Including which key was supposed to fit the giant lock hanging from the front-door.
Gulping down her embarrassment with some difficulty, Khushi finished lamely, 'Thank you...I can...take care of things here...'
'Khushi,' the warm rumble of his baritone was as smooth as silk and she fancied she could almost feel its soft touch upon her skin; she nearly shivered. 'Are you afraid?'
Her mind was already in overdrive from the glut of sensations crowding there - his words caught her unwary, and baited her without resistance.
'What?' she mumbled blankly, for once abandoning her futile struggles with the keys and raising dumbfounded eyes to the person leaning casually against the wall by the door-frame.
His face was partly in shadow - but the dim lighting illuminated it just enough for Khushi to discern his fierily molten stare locked on to her.
Her heart tumbled downhill, speeding so fast it made her dangerously lightheaded and dizzy.
He had heaved himself off his post, approaching her with measured, leisurely strides. 'I am asking,' he murmured; every note sounded huskier than the last and Khushi blinked profusely, as though the exercise would somehow clear her befuddled brain, which was currently busy urging her to back away, 'Whether you are afraid. Don't you trust me enough to let me inside your house?'
Khushi blinked once, twice - a third time.
He was now a metre away from her, and though Khushi's eyes saw only that indecipherable, ambiguous look on his face that had often infuriated her before, she could feel something tense in the air between them, like guitar-strings too tightly wound to be strummed.
It spurred her into speech.
'Oh, no! No, no, no!' She waved out both hands in front of her, as if she wanted to bat the notion away from him - each syllable and each wave of her hands was punctuated by the clinks of her keys, 'It's not that! It's just that...' she dithered for a moment longer, and decided there was no other route to take but honesty. Trying her best to sound more reasonable than mortified, she finished, '...you must be tired...and it's so late...'
It was not odd that her argument, her reasons for not wanting to drag him along with her from Shantivan had not changed. What was odd though, was how her temperament had. She tried to rekindle some of the acerbity with which she had defiantly refused his help, but soon gave it up as a hopeless cause.
Once again though, her preoccupation with her thoughtlessly fluctuating emotions was her undoing.
And the next thing she knew, he had tilted his face so close to hers she would just have to reach up on her toes, and their noses would be touching.
Jolted by his sudden closeness, Khushi took a step backwards - or at least, attempted to. As her luck would have it though, one of her anklets decided the moment was ripe to catch onto the embroidery hemming her lehenga, her ankle snagging to the skirts, and with a small squeak-come-gasp, Khushi almost stumbled -
-but in almost the next instant was standing upright again, a firm arm belted about her waist and holding her steady.
It absently occurred to her that whatever cords had been stretched so tautly between them had slackened; relaxed.
'Be careful, Khushi,' his eyes now hovered just over her own, and Khushi's mouth went dry as she watched liquid fire stir in their depths, 'Nahi toh main samjhunga ki tumhe meri chinta ho rahi hai.'
She couldn't help her tiny gasp, nor the rounding of her eyes as she recognised those words.
Had that really been only two days ago? It could easily have been weeks, so much seemed to have come to pass, so much transformed, between then and now.
For instance, where before there had been an arrogant smirk and a provocative, almost taunting bite to his words that day, as he had advanced on her at the poolside during the mehendi function, flustering her to the end of her tether until she was vehemently denying anything coming out of his mouth - tonight, he returned those words to her again, but with a hidden laugh peeking playfully at her from his eyes, his tone harmless and teasing.
Somehow, the lighthearted humour suddenly radiating from him caught her in its throes as well, despite the intimate pose they'd inadvertently struck, chest to chest, his arm lingering at her waist, her hand grazing his shoulder. Her lip twitched with a smile almost ready to come out.
'Seriously though, Arnavji,' she reiterated, but this time without the anger or the edginess, 'I will be fine now. Buaji and Amma should be coming back soon...there's no reason for you to wait. I am...grateful to you for coming with me -' the sincerity she could hear in her own voice made heat coil up the back of her neck but she doggedly persisted, ' - but it's been a tiring day. You should get some rest.'
He regarded her for a long time then, and under the searching intensity of it, Khushi fought not to squirm or avert her eyes. This time she was determined to hold her ground.
Or rather, she would have, had she been dealing with anyone other than a person Devi Maiyya appeared to have sent to earth to thwart her.
With a quirk of lips that sent jitters somersaulting in her stomach, he schooled his expression into one of mock-seriousness as he told her, 'Well, as it happens, this happens to be my mangetar's house. If I don't get to rest here, who will? Akhir haq banta hai mera.'
The revelation that Arnav Singh Raizada actually possessed something called a sense of humour would probably continue to gobsmack her for years to come.
Bolna kya shuru kar diya, abh hume hi chup karwa dete hai.
While Khushi was still fighting to absorb what he had just said, he added lightly, with all the mischief melting out of the lines of his visage as he did, 'It's more for me than for you, Khushi. I can't leave you alone here, or I won't be getting any sleep tonight. What'll be the point of leaving, then?'
The last question was obviously rhetorical, obviously meant to be a joke, but Khushi's chest constricted anyway and left her breathless. Sugary, syrupy warmth - the kind unrivalled even by her finest batch of jalebis - chugged down her body, enveloping her in its comforting sweetness.
He was pleased. Quietly, unobtrusively pleased, but she could tell. She could tell that he liked the fact that she was worrying about him.
Just as she secretly loved the fact that he worried about her.
It was then that Khushi realised why her emotions kept randomly oscillating from one extreme to another.
Because in truth, they were not just hers anymore.
When he had come downstairs back in Shantivan, his car-keys in hand, she had seen how the errant fire in his eyes had simmered down - had gone to a steady, insistent glow instead.
Attuned as she was to him, it ought not have surprised her that she had simply adjusted to match his wavelength, without ever intending to - just as she had every single time he had gone from calm to tense, tense to playful, playful to earnest, and earnest to heartbreakingly sweet.
Somewhat dazed from her epiphany, Khushi did not think to protest when he stepped back from their unintentional embrace, nicking the keys from her hands and proceeding to pluck one out as he appraised the lock.
'And anyway,' he remarked with a trace of his trademark arrogance, smirking over his shoulder as he turned his back to her, 'from tomorrow onwards, I won't even need to ask your permission.'
"I had already let Di know that I intend to marry you, before I had even thought of dancing with you. In fact, we are supposed to be coming to your house tomorrow morning itself to ask for your hand."
So, as her mangetar busied himself with the lock, Khushi allowed herself a private, giddy little smile, and surrendered to the unpredictable courses her emotions took, complementing his.
It was still new, still too early, a bit like learning a language she'd never known before...
And though she struggled to keep up now, she knew that given time, she could become an expert at it.
***
"I must be cruel only to be kind" - Hamlet, William Shakespeare
***
NK could not recall ever feeling this conflicted before in his entire life.
It felt disturbingly as though he had leapt off a cliff and only begun considering the pros and cons afterward, when empty air howled about him and the ground swooped upwards to meet him, and there was no chance for him to break his fall and undo his actions. All he could do was fall, and fall, and keep falling, his brain filling the empty seconds by considering all the alternate possibilities, and all the possible outcomes, which now ceased to be consequence.
Was this a mistake?
He willed himself to remain stoic, digging his fingernails into his kneecaps to preserve his patience and his level-headedness.
But the disembodied voices permeated the room like a cold draft, and filled him with an intolerable queasiness.
"Isn't it enough that you, a married man, had pushed my sister to the brink of a lifetime of disgrace? My family to a lifetime of humiliation? What kind of devil are you that even after we know everything about you...you still won't leave Khushi alone?"
Across from him, beyond the little table bearing his laptop and camcorder, Anjali Di was perched on the low divan.
NK could barely stomach watching her - but as though intent upon punishing him, intent upon making him regret and rethink his decisions to death, his eyes would not let him look away.
He had never seen her - never seen anyone - look this...haunted...this devastated...before.
And all of Akash's qualms, and their grandmother's, came flocking back to him, and he could do nothing but belatedly bite his tongue, the tangy taste of blood creeping into his mouth and exacerbating his unease.
"As I have already pointed out to you Payalji...you can't prove it. You see...I have this family wrapped around my finger. They will blindly believe anything I tell them. And they will especially believe me over anything you might have to say."
And still he could not stop watching her. Studying her. Almost detachedly counting the details and storing them in his head, keeping them there to fuel his remorse later on.
He saw the tiny hands that clutched her seat to either side of her - the fingers delving so deeply into the upholstery they were sure to disfigure the cushions, the little bumps of knuckles standing sharply out.
He saw the way her shoulders quivered with each ragged, shallow-sounding breath, how her torso rocked to and fro in short staccato swings, a withered autumn leaf barely clinging to its branch, battered by winds that could easily rip her off and send her tumbling uncontrollably into nowhere.
But what caused nuggets of ice to plop into the pit of his stomach, and sent frost inching up his spine until it was so numb it hurt, were her eyes.
They were wide, unblinking, and fixed at the screen angled to her face.
He could see the play of lights dancing across those eyes.
Could see the lashes and lids twitch and jerk, as if she were fighting to close them and shut off the traumatising images feeding themselves into her - but couldn't.
Could see the haunted shadow of a nightmare you could not wake from in her dilated pupils.
There was a sick churning in his stomach, and his tendons were rigid with the need to rip that laptop away and snap it shut, even while possessing the daunting knowledge that it would be futile, that this was necessary.
"How will you prove to anyone that I ever got engaged to Khushiji? And even if you can prove...how can you stop me from getting her? I will simply blame her of seducing me, tricking me into marriage so she could help herself to the wealth of this family...and you know that they would believe me."
He had known it was going to difficult, anticipated the toll it was going to take on the people involved, and yet staunchly concluded that it was one of those things that had to be done. Weeds might be living, breathing things, but you had to rip them out before they choked the life out of everything around them. That was a fact, and that was how he had seen it all then - black, and white. Let the wedding happen, let Shyam's threats turn null and void and then they would break out the truth, because that was the only thing they could do, should do.
But now, all those practical, idealistic thoughts, all those clear lines between black and white, blurred until there was nothing but a dozen shades of grey, all tinged with a different doubt.
Is this the right decision?
Should I have tried to find Nani instead to talk to her?
Should I have tried to find Shyam first?
Should I have waited to tell her?
They were such useless thoughts now - yes, she had to find out, yes, she had to be told, on those counts his thoughts would not change...but had he been right in presuming he ought to tell her? Had it been the right decision to break this to her here, now, in this way?
Sitting here now, with the voice of the person she was besotted to simpering slander after slander, destroying everything she had believed in, crushing her illusions of love and a perfect marriage, everything had gone from conjectures to reality in one terrible instance.
And what made it worse was that in these dozen shades of grey, he did not know where he was going, and could do nothing but push forward with the hope that the path he tread led in the right direction.
But how could he tell?
"When you know that one mistake of yours and I can bring this little wedding to an end, as well as any dignity that Khushiji has- I will be her only choice- "
The answer was, the answer always had been - he couldn't.
What you can't see is more terrifying than what you can.
What if she doesn't believe this?
What if she blames the Guptas? Khushiji?
What about Akash and Bhabi? Nannav and Khushiji? Will she -?
What if she - what if she blames us?
Will she be alright? Will she even be able to think straight after watching this?
God, what if -?
The dreads and the doubts piled up one on top of the other, and his psyche began to crumble under the weight.
The screen had gone out, the video had stopped playing. NK noticed that the lamps dotted about the room cast more shadows than light - the fingers of their beams were fended off from the darkness prowling the room's fringes.
Di remained rocking back and forth, breathing irregular, pupils enlarged, stuck in a nightmare.
Except now she was shaking her head.
NK could not decide who he resented more in that moment - Shyam, for bringing this day to their lives; or himself for being the one to try and end it.
'Di,' It came out hoarse, and he had to clear his throat, the sound pulsing awkwardly in the silence, 'I - I'm so -sorry, I -'
Empty words. Meaningless. Pointless. Useless.
Di didn't react.
'I thought - it would be better you...see for yourself...instead of hearing from me...'
Nothing.
'We...we only found out today...me, and Akash and Nani...'
Nothing.
'P-Payal Bhabi told me to tell Akash everything...she didn't want to get married without him knowing - even Khushiji -'
Nothing.
'Di - if you have any idea where he is...tell me. Tell me, please - at least, once we find him, you can...talk to him yourself - judge for yourself what you want to believe -'
And as though she were glass and he had chucked a pebble at it, NK felt his voice catch as Di's trance shattered, and wide, distraught eyes finally focused on him.
***
"Ideals are dangerous things. Realities are better. They wound, but they're better." - Lady Windermere's Fan, Oscar Wilde
***
Anjali was sitting in a train - a bullet train speeding at a blinding pace, so fast that no matter how hard or how desperately she tried to catch the landmarks and the scenes and the people and the places outside her window, they were always gone and replaced by new images her fumbling mind would try to absorb, but they would be gone before she could and the cycle would start again.
At least, that's what it felt like.
A vicious cycle of desperation, a cavalcade of lightning-fast emotions and thoughts and sensations charging past her, through her, swifter than she could keep abreast with, slipping out of her hands before she could catch and comprehend, and all she could do was helplessly sit there, as she was propelled forward - or the world chased past her, leaving her behind.
She could hear words being spoken to her, but they swam in and out of her consciousness, and she could barely understand who was speaking or what was being said.
'- at least, once we find him, you can...talk to him yourself - judge for yourself what you want to believe -'
And the train, which had been showing no signs of stopping, no intention of breaking out of its circuit, went crashing into a wall, smashing in upon itself with terrible force-
And everything she had been trying to outrun slammed into her.
Judge for yourself what you want to believe...
What you want to believe...
Believe...
She was crying then, she knew. Her sight glossed over and grew cloudy, and she could taste salt seeping into the corners of her mouth.
Because there was no need for her to judge what she believed.
She already knew.
What made it terrible was that she was not supposed to.
She had tried not to. She had wanted, so badly, not to. She was not supposed to believe, she wouldn't - and yet, as her eyes imbibed the images flashed across the luminescent screen, and her ears drank in the sugary-sweet words souring as they reached her - they plugged all the holes where her doubts would be, should be, and yet...and yet...
A low, pained whimper gurgled in her throat, her mouth opened in a silent scream, and the next thing she knew there were two warm arms draping about her shoulders and she blindly fell into their cloister, knowing all the while that nothing could shield her now.
She was not supposed to believe it. She was not supposed to believe any of it. She loved him. Wasn't love supposed to be unconditional? Wasn't love supposed to all-enduring? Undefeatable? Blind?
Then how could it be so easy to believe?
His face flashed behind her eyes but it did not belong to her husband - it was a stranger wearing her husband's face, because her husband never looked like that.
Hideous with its malice, with its cruelty.
"You see...I have this family wrapped around my finger. They will blindly believe anything I tell them. And they will especially believe me over anything you might have to say."
His voice echoed in her ears but they did not belong to her husband either - a stranger, an imposter stealing his gentle cadences and corroding it with acid.
Bitter and cold, cloying and oily.
"How will you prove to anyone that I ever got engaged to Khushiji? And even if you can prove...how can you stop me from getting her?"
She did not want to believe but she did and it killed her inside.
She loved him. She was supposed to trust him. She was supposed to have absolute faith in him.
She didn't even know if she was the betrayer or the betrayed.
A low, mournful voice was chanting cajolements in her ear. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Di, I'm so, so sorry...'
So was she. So was she, but she was not supposed to be. She was not supposed to be this weak. She loved him, didn't she?
'I love him,' the words left her mouth, but they sounded so fickle - as though she were trying to tell herself rather than anyone else, 'I love him.'
The owner of the arms, holding her steady as the world was tossed into chaos, asked her sadly, 'But do you trust him?'
The answer she wanted to give rose readily up her throat - and then got stuck at her tonsils, and smothered her.
She couldn't say it. She couldn't say 'yes'.
A heartbreaking, wounded moan resounded through the room and Anjali realised it had come from her.
NK Bhai held her tightly in his supporting embrace, and told her softly, sorrowfully, 'You can't love someone you can't trust, Di. I'm...so sorry.'
So was she. So was she.
Snippet of Part 12:
***
"If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people."
-Virginia Woolf
***
Arnav decided he owed Di more than simple gratitude.
If he was here right now, collar loosened , one arm carelessly cast over the back of the wicker-couch he reclined in, possessive stare lingering where Khushi had darted into the kitchen to make him a cup of tea despite his repeated claims not to need one - he owed a large part of it to Di, and her advice.
The advice that had given him the courage and the inclination to confess his feelings to Khushi...
...and the advice she had imparted to him before he had left.
"When you can't understand what she's thinking...try and put yourself in her place."
To be cared for, for no other reason than having someone who cared...it was a wonderful feeling. Euphoric, actually. Unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Somewhere between excitement and contentment.
Somehow like home.
It flushed him from tip to toe in an encompassing warmth, insulated for once within the shell of his body than reliant on what existed around him.
Except for her, of course.
As though summoned by his thoughts, she rushed out of the kitchen at that precise moment, skilfully balancing a teacup in one hand as she came - the dupatta of her lehenga knotted at her hip, her hair pulled up into a hasty bun, and the anxious little frown crumpling her forehead.
Thank you so much for your likes and comments! You guys keep this story moving forward and make me so eager to continue :)
I'd love to hear your thoughts...on how convincing they or the situations were, etc. Next chapter will be crucial for both ArHi and NK-Anji...I'll try to have it done by tomorrow.
I reserve all rights over this work of fiction and request that no one reproduce/copy/modify it elsewhere and/or claim credit
Edited by -doe-eyes- - 12 years ago
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