Differences Between Us :: Arshi FF [COMPLETED] - Page 27

He Devi Maiyya! Raksha karna!

They crossed the gateway only for Khushi to be filled with an admiration she could not describe. This was not a house. Not even a freaking mansion. This was downright a palace, as it's name suggested! Its architecture reminded her of the Red Fort of Delhi, the Taj Mahal of Agra and the palaces of Rajasthan. Man! It must have been really old!

Was it possible that Arnav Singh Raizada descended from royalty? How else could he have such an abode? And Mamiji had confirmed it was an ancestral Raizada residence, from generations and generations before.

Well, seeing this display of grandeur, she could no longer blame his pride, whether he really had it or not...

The memory of him brought a violent jerk to her heart. She felt like someone had pierced her heart with a hook, then dragged it down abruptly, for it to shatter against the hard floor. Had she not prejudiced him, had she not been so stupid earlier, had she tried to know him better, maybe, maybe she would have known he was not such a bad person after all...

Maybe she would have realised, that no matter what, no matter how he was, she had fallen, equally, irreversibly in love with him...

Maybe, she would have accepted his proposal back then...

Maybe, she would have been married to him, she would have been the mistress of this heart-wrenchingly handsome palace, welcoming her uncle and aunt...

But there was nothing she could change, could she? She could not go look for him, could she? By now, he must have again immersed himself in the same old loathing for her. And she wouldn't blame him if he did. She had treated him so badly, she had insulted him in the worst way possible. She had never tried to know about his side of the story. She had made up her own conclusions. How would she ever face him?

Perhaps her love for him was destined to suffocate and die in her heart...

Amidst the stormy brooding, she had never realised, they were already inside. Khushi looked up to find her aunt in the arms of a bony lady clad in a tea green tissue saree filled with a myriad of cerulean blue motifs. From what she understood, Lataji was Mamiji's childhood friend and she now managed the Sheesh Mahal, especially since the death of the former master as the new one happened to be home painstaking rarely.

Was he home now? No. Lataji informed Mamaji, who had wanted to meet the young Raizada, that he should be in Bangalore for business and Khushi's heart was stuck there in the middle of joy and disillusion. Her mind, sensible, was rejoicing. He was not there, so that meant she would not have to be embarrassed before him.

But her treacherous heart told another story. She felt it, heard it, thud so hard at the disappointment that he was not there. She followed the three older people inside, almost blindly. The next time, she lifted her eyes consciously, she was thrown into a dark vortex of rich mahogany, beckoning her, sucking her in, staring straight back at her. Her breath got caught in her throat, tangled into a messy knot. Those eyes seemed so alive... but they were not...

"Handsome, hain ha?" (Handsome, Isn't he?)

Khushi jumped at the question. Lataji was also gazing at the larger that life image of a much younger Arnav, most probably in his mid-teens. She nodded numbly, turning to stare back at that magnetic gaze.

"Arnav Bitwa hamesha se aise hi the!" Lata added, sensing Khushi's inflating interest and led her ahead. The walls were filled with photographs. The younger girl stood there in awe, dumb-struck, devouring all the images at once initially, before she got a hold on herself and took them in one by one, not even knowing when she had been left alone there... (Arnav Had always been this way!)

She studied the different stages of his life, her breaths unsteady. Him, as a chubby, red-faced baby of barely a month. She near laughed. Imagining the mighty Arnav Singh Raizada as a vulnerable little bundle was utterly impossible. From nowhere, a song had glided in through the open window to itch her tongue. But she could not bring herself to sing it out loud. So, she just let it flow through her being, inside her mind, as he brought wave after wave of explosions in her heart...

||

Main vaari jaavaan
Main vaari jaavaan
Saathon ki hoya ek sur re
Main vaari jaavaan
Main vaari jaavaan
Dil to hoyo majboor
Main vaari jaavaan
Main vaari jaavaan...

||

The one where he sat on a rocking horse, flashing a wide, bright but toothless grin at the camera. Seriously? Arnav Singh Raizada? And this happy? Khushi smiled at the adorable toddler before moving on.

In another one, he was sitting by his sister and smirking at the rakhi she had tied to him. Then, he was playing football, at roughly ten years old. Around sixteen years old and it was basketball he was taking down. Eighteen maybe? A guitar.

Early twenties, she guessed, there was a major change of decor. He was no longer in India. Abroad. Studying? He was always surrounded by people, always smiling. And she felt a tiny prickle of jealousy. Both because she had never seen him really smile that way and because in all those photos, he was surrounded by pretty blondes, brunettes and red-heads who always seemed to be hanging off his neck. Girlfriends? She shrugged. Arnav Singh Raizada had no dearth of girls, so what? She shouldn't care!

And that reminded her. Not so long ago, she had heard faint rumours about his being engaged already...

She started at someone clearing her voice behind her. Khushi turned instantly to see a woman, possibly older than her, with a gentle smile playing on her lips. Something was oddly familiar about her... The eyes? Of course yes! She had seen the same face in these photographs, only it had been younger. She was Anjali Raizada, Arnav's sister.

"Aap?" the woman chimed shyly. (You are?)

Khushi opened her mouth, not really knowing what to say.

"Hum Anjali Raizada hain, aur aap?" his sister helped. (I'm Anjali Raizada, and you?)

"Khushi... Khushi Kumaari Gupta..." she mumbled. Who nearly became your sister-in-law, a stupid voice boomed in her now empty head.

Lata, Manohar and Manorama appeared just then and the presentations were made. Anjali proposed Khushi a walk in the garden, which was accepted with a smile. The girls talked as they went out in the expansive grounds of Sheesh Mahal. It was fascinating even in winter. There were no flowers but the topiaries were magnificent. And it was there that Khushi learnt another thing about Arnav Singh Raizada; he loved gardening. It was the place where he spent most of his time if ever he was home. Suddenly, Anjali gasped. A ball of fluffy creamy, white bounced behind a rosebush.

"Happy Singh!" Anjali yelped. "Maaf kijiye, Khushiji. Humein aapko chhod ke jaana padega! Voh kya hai na, humaara ek khargosh hai, Happy Singh! Pata nahin kaise chhut gaya aur garden mein agaya. Hum usse jaldi pakadte hain aura apse milte hain. Varna voh saara bageecha kharaab kardega aur Bhai ko gussa aayega! Aap chaliye, hum aate hain." (... Forgive me, Khushiji. I have to go! I have a rabbit, Happy Singh! I don't knw how but he got loose and he's in the garden. I have to catch him fast then meet you. Else he'll destroy the garden and my brother will be angry. You go, I'll follow.)

Khushi beamed politely as Anjali skittered back before she moved on, admiring the beauty that surrounded her. Her feet crunched the sand walkway beneath, providing a strangely relaxing sound to her ears. At one moment, she let her gaze fall to the ground, observing the pale golden glow of the powder-thin grains of sand. She had a saree of that colour, she remembered, which she had not worn yet. She'd had to find a day for it soon...

When she lifted her eyes, she felt herself being propelled into a meadow of the darkest coffee and dark chocolate ever. This time again, like a vacuum, it pulled her, the magnetism stronger than ever, almost sweeping her off her feet...

Only this time, it was no image...

This time, it was Arnav Singh Raizada himself...

"Darvaaza kholo, moorkhon!" (Open the door, fools!)

A servant rushed to open the door.

"Maaf kijiye, maalkin." (Forgive me, mistress.)

"Vaapas kaam pe jaao! Baacheet mein vakt zaaya mat karo!" (Go back to work! Don't watse time speaking!)

The servant nodded, scared of his mistress' severe tone.

"Suno!" (Listen!)

"Ji, maalkin?" (Yes, mistress.)

"Tumhaare maalik kahaan hain?" (Where is your master?)

"Study mein, maalkin!" (In the study, mistress.)

"Achha. Moorkh! Khare-khare munh kya dekh rahe ho? Jaao, apna kaam karo!" (Fine. Fool! Why are you still standing here? Go, do your work!)

The woman snapped. She threw a dripping umbrella and coat at the maid who had come to stand beside her, without even bothering to look at her. She ran up the stairs to her husband's study, clutching her wet Dartmouth green chiffon saree in excitement. She entered the room panting.

"Suniye!" she squealed. (Listen!)

The man barely looked up from his paperwork. "Kya hai? Itna kyun chilla rahi ho? Aaj to kuchh ziaada hi gussa nikaal rahi thi Gopi par. Maajra kya hai?" (What is it? Why are you shouting so? Today you are venting too much anger on Gopi. What's the matter?)

She walked up to the desk highly flustered and slammed her palms on the beech wood surface. "Aap to kuchh karenge nahin, na? Issi liye! Aapko apni betiyon ki zaraa sib hi fikar hai ke nahin? Shaadi ki umr ghat rahi hai, au baap ghar par maze se baitha hai!" (You won't do anything, will you? That's why! Do you even care for your daughters? They're of marriageable age, and their father is sitting enjoyably at home!)

"Maze se?" he finally raised his gaze to his wife who had turned red in anger. "Madam! Agar main ghar par baithe business ko nahin sambhaal raha hota, to aakpe saare kharche-" (Enjoyably? Madam! If I had not been looking after the business from home, how do you think your expenses-)

"Ab bas bhi kijye aur hamaari baat suniye!" (Stop now, and listen to me!)

"Haan, ab to sach karva hi hoga!" (Yeah, the truth is bitter.)

"Bas! Sar mein dard ho raha hain. Aap suneinge ke nahin?" (Enough! My head is aching. Will you listen?)

"Sunaaiye." (Tell me.)

Her expression changed at his words. She had that maniac look that always succeeded to scare him because that meant she had an idea. And his wife's ideas were usually disastrous...

"Voh aagaya hai!" (He has come!)