FF: -Chandni- by Jalebi Jane EPISODE 1-14 Rest at JalebiJane.com - Page 12

EPISODE 7: FLED

YOU KNOW OUR HEROINE WELL ENOUGH to know that she believed every impulse of feeling ought to be guided by reason; and every exertion ought to always be in proportion to what was required.* Had it then been necessary to dash out in the late evening, scooter across the dark city, arrive at a very public place, and announce to the world that the two respectable daughters of the Mahant wished to surprise a man in his hotel room?

When one puts it in that way, even I begin to feel a twinge of concern. My own youthful misadventures are amongst my most favourite memories; however, this escapade was potentially dangerous. Remember, Sisters---nobody really knew who this man was. Or what he was capable of! In fact, it was that very mystery of his identity which had brought the girls to his hotel.

Just as Shikha reached up to knock on the door, Chandni experienced another bout of hesitation. It was more severe than the one she had felt earlier in the lobby. Moreover, it was now coupled with faint nausea. She caught Shikha's wrist to prevent her---too late!---

The knuckles landed on the wood panel. Rap-rap-rap.

Chandni drew in a sharp breath and straightened her spine in quick preparation. Her mind racing to form the words she would be obliged to speak once the man answered the door.

But that man did not answer.

Shikha rapped at the door again. This time with more force.

The door remained shut.

It was with mingled relief [and some strange regret] that Chandni took Shikha's hand and whispered, "Let's go. His not answering is a sign from the Lord that it was a mistake for us to come here."

This might be true; the Lord speaks in mysterious ways. However, as I have mentioned previously, once Indrani's daughter seized upon an idea, she was dogged in her determination. Shikha flung off Chandni's hand and said, "Wait here, Di---I'll run down to the lobby and call the suite on the house phone."

She sprinted away before Chandni could stop her. Turning this way and that, Chandni hesitated. To remain here? To follow her sister?

But before she had resolved on what to do---the door opened.

For the sight which follows, let me prepare you, my young tender Sisters, with caution: It was a man. In a state of near undress and extreme dampness. As though the knocking had lifted him directly out of the shower and plopped him at the door. A towel---of moderate size---was slung low on his hips covering all his essential male geography. However, this did not lessen the awakening impact of Chandni's first encounter with true manly beauty.

Yes, the man who called himself Advay Singh Raizada was indeed beautiful. Formed---or shall I say, carved---in the shape of everything a man ought to be. Wide shoulders, narrow waist, arms suggesting ready, capable strength---and a flat, taut belly which disappeared enticingly somewhere beneath the towel. His dewy-dampy skin only enhanced this lithe masculine form.

Oh, I don't wish to suggest that Chandni's eyes travelled leisurely along these details as I have just now done with my words. No---she took all this in in one full encompassing thunderous moment. And in this same moment she enjoyed double gratification---because she was right! Clearly this speciman was not a professor of mathematics. Men who looked like this spent their days wrestling tigers, racing cheetahs---not fractioning binomials and fractalling geometry.

Advay, it seems, was no less impacted. Because his eyes widened with surprise when he saw Chandni. Although he recovered very quickly and a veil of confidence dropped over that amber gaze.

Chandni now took a step back, away from him, as a failed attempt to minimize the intimacy of the situation. But as she did so, he stepped nearer, over the threshold, so he was halfway in the corridor.

It was not necessary to say so because it was quite obvious; yet, she asked, "Were you er---er---in the shower?---I'm so sorry for disturbing you. I'll go. We can speak tomorrow."

She was turning away, when he said, "It must have been important to bring you here at this hour." Without waiting for a reply, he stepped aside, and ushered her into the room.

It was done in such a gallant manner, like a tuxedoed gentleman showing a debutante to the ballroom, that Chandni couldn't help but smile inwardly at the irony of that manner and this figure clad in a fluffy white towel.

She hesitated, glancing up and down the corridor.

Advay must have read and understood her concern because he said, "It would be more compromising to be seen standing here together in this state."

She agreed, and quickly stepped within. He shut the door. [In hindsight, it might have been more prudent for a Heroine to remain in the hall until he returned dressed, but we mustn't be too fastidious and old-ladyish.]

Indeed, he was gentleman enough to recognize the situation, for as soon as he shut the door, he excused himself. "Please make yourself comfortable," he said, indicating the sofa. "I'll just dress." And then he was gone into the adjoining room.

Her eyes slyly followed his departure. And they found that his strongly-muscled back completed the picture of what she had established of his front.

Then her sight took in the room. It was as luxurious as expected. As one saw in glamorous films and glossy magazines. Though she had enjoyed an affluent lifestyle, Chandni had never been inside a hotel room. Very rarely did the Mahantship travel, and on those occasions when they did, they were hosted by peerage families in their own homes.

She ignored Advay's invitation to make herself comfortable. She was here on a task which did not warrant comfort. And somehow she felt that if she sat, it would make the situation more intimate than it already was. Instead she moved around the room.

Beyond the lounge was an expansive dining table, strewn with newspapers, an open map of Allahabad and a coffee service. And by the wall of windows, facing outward, was a desk---where a stack of books and an open laptop rested. She moved to take in the glittery night view. But it increased her anxiety. The darkness. The hour. Even the height above the city. She turned away from the window and glanced at the books on the desk. If she was hoping to discover something of him by his taste in reading, she was disappointed. A fat Russian novel. A biography of Nehru. A collection of Churchill's speeches. A volume of poetry. His reading material was too eclectic to point to any one profession.

Nevertheless, her disappointment was crowned by a small triumph. Here was not a single book on economics, finance or mathematics. Here was all romance and history. Proof positive! No self-respecting mathematics professsor read poetry.

She picked up the volume and turned to a random page.

"Some people kiss as if they were eating watermelon."*

Chandni pivoted.

Advay had returned to the room. Now dressed. The white towel replaced by a white kurta-pajama.

How long had he been observing her?

He indicated the book in her hand, and repeated his words with a smile: "A line from that book, 'Some people kiss as if they were eating watermelon'."

Chandni returned the book to the desk without comment. To hear the word 'kiss' in a room in which they were the sole inhabitants was disturbing. Where was that Shikha-girl? She was not afraid of him, but she was anxious about the situation, and her sister's presence in the room would have lent some support.

"But I suspect you are not here to discuss poetry. Did you leave something unsaid on the terrace? Did you think of some more clever words of abuse to heap on me?" Advay said, in a teasing manner.

He was clearly enjoying himself, Sisters. And why would he not? Only hours ago she had set him down in no uncertain language. Told him that she had no interest in him as a person, as a man, as a suitor. Yet, here she was! Oh, any man would extract some satisfaction from this.

He continued, in the same humorous pitch, "It is such a spur to one's genius, such an opening for wit, to have a suitor to reject. One may be continually abusive without saying anything just; but be careful---Chandni of Allahabad---one cannot be always laughing at a man without now and then stumbling on something to like."*

This teasing-toying manner felt even more intimate than the word 'kiss'---and that Advay thought it was appropriate to play with her as though they were long-established friends triggered something in her. A spark of irritation. Nervousness flew out, and hostility entered. She lifted her chin and stated without preamble: "I know you are not who you say you are."

There was a frozen second in which neither spoke. She because she waited for his expected denial. He because---?

He eventually responded: "Who am I?"

It was clearly a rhetorical game to avoid speaking the truth. So she said, "I know you are not Advay Singh Raizada."

He repeated: "Who am I, Chandni?" His tone was deep. Low. Heavy with emotion.

Chandni realized then that he was under the impression that she knew his true identity. Of course, she only knew who he was not. That he was not Advay Singh Raizada. So she cleverly evaded the question: "I wish to hear it from your lips. And to hear why you intend to purchase Mahant Mansion."

He turned away and walked to the bar which lined one wall.

She followed him, not wishing to break the impetus. She leaned an elbow on the bar counter, and faced him.

He would not meet her eyes. He poured a glass of sparkling water for her, and then for himself. Lifting his glass, he asked, "How did you know?" His eyes were on the floor. His voice was unsteady. He appeared truly disturbed, Sisters.

"I couldn't say," she replied truthfully, with a shrug. Adding, "It was more a sensation. A sensation of something discordant."

His throat made a sound. Of disbelief. Of distaste. She couldn't tell. He took a sip of water.

She left her glass untouched. She waited for him to elaborate. When he did not, she demanded, "I asked why you came to Allahabad. Why you want our house. You owe me a reply."

At this his head snapped up, and his eyes fired back. "I owe you!?"

She didn't understand his strong response to her choice of words, so she accused, "By not answering my questions, you only corroborate your guilt."

"What guilt?" he asked, in a tone heavy with scorn. "Really? Do tell. What exactly am I guilty of?"

Chandni gave a derisive laugh to show her incredulity that he should ask such a question. "You entered this city under false pretense. You presented yourself with a false identity. Only criminals adopt false names."

"The accusation of criminality does not suit your lips, Chandni," he countered. "Look at your own family before you throw that word around. Your father, your step-mother---they are no better than highway dacoits."

If it was his intention to inflame her, he found that button. Chandni could endure---she had endured!---all insults, all humiliation, but when someone attacked those she cherished more than her own life, she lost all self-governance.

"Who are you to speak of my family, you---you---you Imposter!" she cried. Lifting her glass, she threatened feebly, "Do you want another shower?"

"You're threatening me with a glass of water?" he gave an unattractive laugh. "How long do I have to wait for you to grow up, Chandni? If you want to fight then fight like a woman, not a brainless child who speaks without thinking, without sense!"

These words were challenging enough, Sisters, but then he had the audacity to touch her. He punctuated his words by reaching out with his finger to tap her temple, to underline his insult that she was without sense. It unleashed everything that was red-hot and vibrantly alive in Chandni. She did not even stop to consider that they had drifted far-far beyond the subject at hand. Nor did she stop to wonder why was he insulting her family? Why was he questioning her maturity? Why was he challenging her sense?

Instead she stepped into his space; she was high on her toes, only inches from his face and she said, "How dare you speak to me in this way!? You have no right! You don't know me. You don't know anything about my life. At least I live it honestly. With integrity. You are just an actor. A bad actor! A pretender. With nothing of your own. No family to speak of. You stole the Raizada name because it garners respect in our nation. Had you come to Allahabad on your own merit nobody would have looked twice---"

Her diatribe could have gone on in this unthinking wild way for a few more sentences because she was lost in full attack mode---

---But it was aborted by his suddenly grabbing her shoulders in a violent manner. "You faithless bitch!" he growled.

Chandni struggled against his grip. "Unhand me! You savage animal!" she hissed back in rage. When she could not claw his fingers off her shoulders, she pushed with all her might against his chest.

He did not move; he seemed deaf to her pleas. She saw madness in his eyes, and real fear made her knees buckle. But his grip was such that it held her up. He brought her even closer to his face. So close that she could not look at both his eyes at the same time.

"Why! Why!" he gritted out. Each 'why' punctuated with a shake. Her head wobbled back, but just before that she saw tears fly from his eyes. Her lips parted with horror and shock---what in Lord's name had she unleashed!?---and then his mouth came crashing down on hers.

It was not a kiss, Sisters.

It was a mauling.

And it ended almost immediately.

He lifted his head. His eyes now lucid again. And then his hands dropped from her as though he just realized how he had her. What he had done.

Thus free, Chandni did not hesitate one moment. She ran to the door. Her dupatta fell, but she didn't know nor care. Her fingers tore open the door and she was through it, as she ran for her life down the long corridor of The Ritz Allahabad.

^{*Adapted from Jane Austen's -Pride And Prejudice-, Saadat Hasan Manto}

EPISODE 8: REVIEWED

IT WOULD BE MANY WEEKS BEFORE our Heroine would comprehend the full history behind the outrageous incident which took place between Advay and herself that evening at The Ritz. However, she would never-ever understand why she kept the incident a secret. No, Sisters---Chandni never disclosed to anyone what happened in that hotel suite. And in the days to come when she would be questioned on the events of that evening, she would be unable to explain why her first and only instinct had been to keep that meeting private.

When she returned to the lobby, she found Shikha at the elevator doors. She drew her immediately out of the hotel. Though she knew that Advay would not dare to follow her, she wanted to place as much distance as possible between herself and that man.

When Shikha asked that most obvious question, Chandni shockingly spoke an outright lie. She said, "I didn't meet him. He didn't answer the door."

Having once spoken that falsehood, it made her a stranger to her beloved sister. From this point onwards, their relationship was altered. Indeed, with that lie, she became alone forever. By not disclosing what had happened, she distanced herself from her sole confidante, Shikha---and unwittingly entered into an unspoken pact with the villian; the man who called himself Advay Singh Raizada.

And despite all expectations, the tumult of her mind was so great from the evening that from actual weakness* she fell into deep sleep not long after her head hit the pillow. The last thing she remembered of that night was Shikha's whispered voice from the adjacent pillow: "What do we do next? Share our suspicions with Mamma?"

Chandni's reply had been: "No. We do nothing. We put all that aside and focus on our own situation. Pay our debts. Leave the Mansion. Administer to our congregation."

And when this was again discussed between the two sisters early the next morning, their decision was upheld. We do nothing.

What did it matter what the real identity was of the man buying Mahant Mansion? The reality of the Vashishths was unalterable: Their Mahantship was in crisis and their parishioners were in turmoil. Chandni and Shikha agreed to turn all their energy to their current dire state.

But I would be a False Narrator and Chandni would be a Strange Heroine if I said that she put the events of the previous evening out of her mind. No, the memory stayed on her like a weight. While she served breakfast to her father, while she discussed the day's agenda with her mother---Advay was fully alive in Chandni's consciousness. Their fateful meeting played out in her mind again and again, growing more perplexing with each review.

The puzzlement was no longer about discovering his real identity; it was about what his demeanour had been. His rage. His passion. His tears. His woeful cry: Why! Why! It echoed in her mind. He must truly be a disturbed individual, she thought. And this stoked Chandni's empathy. Having suffered herself, she felt for every creature who suffered. Yet---yet!---his other avatar---that of the swaggering, teasing, provoking lover---conflicted so sharply with what she had witnessed in the hotel. What had happened there were the actions of a madman, but every instinct told her that he was not mad. He was clever. He was methodical. He was shrewd. Perhaps even evil! And thus Chandni continued: alternating between despising him and pitying him.

This uncertainty would have continued, perhaps forever, had an unfortunate coincidence not brought Advay and Chandni face-to-face later that same morning.

^{*Adapted from Jane Austen's -Pride And Prejudice-}

Originally posted by: 2filmy

I have a small question
Why did she lie to Shikha and hide all this ?