FF: -Chandni- by Jalebi Jane EPISODE 1-14 Rest at JalebiJane.com - Page 17

IT CAN NO LONGER BE AVOIDED. I am now forced to bore you, Sisters. So far I have managed to avoid going into the dull dry details of what it means to be Mahant. But at some point I knew I would have to speak of this historic institution, as the concept of Mahantship stands central to this narrative.

I mentioned earlier that the Mahantship of Allahabad was unique in our nation. It appeared more than a century ago when the Maharajah erected a glorious temple to the worship of our Lord Shiva. So splendid was it that it attracted devotees from far and wide. It became a major stop on the pilgrimage route.

And soon a vast fortune had amassed.

This fortune---like every fortune---became a responsibility. The Maharajah's Cleric could handle the religious duties, but to manage the finances required a special mind. So the Maharajah appointed his most trusted friend, a brilliant mathematician named Devay Kayeshta. We now know him as the first Mahant of Allahabad.

Yes, Sisters, this ancient Devay was our Devay's forefather and namesake.

And Allahabad owes him a great deal because not only did he separate the secular role of the Mahant from the ecclesiastical duties of the Cleric, he directed the temple funds into worthy institutions. He founded the Allahabad University. [It is no coincidence that this University houses the earliest and most prominent mathematics department in our nation.] His son, the next Mahant, focused on developing hospitals. And his grandson, a skilled architect, redesigned the City on the Le Corbusier model.

By the time Devay's father came to hold the post, the Mahantship of Allahabad had become both a strong political entity and a great philanthropic venture.

But as women we have another reason to thank the first Mahant. He was both a humanist and a feminist. During his command, he changed the constitution to reflect that the Mahantship must be a coupled position. That the first-born---whether son or daughter---would inherit and rule with his or her spouse. His words were: The Mahant and Mahantni of Allahabad governed with each other and for each other.

MANY OF YOU HAVE WRITTEN TO ASK why Advay could not march into Allahabad, announce that he was Devay Kayeshta, heir of the previous Mahant, and take over the Mahantship. To illustrate why, I must go back sixteen years ago.

Before Devay's family was wiped out, his parents---the Mahant and Mahantni---were disgraced before the Cleric, the Disciples, the Congregation and the entire City of Allahabad. The accusation was that the Mahant embezzled the Treasury and the Mahantni practiced witchcraft. False proof was presented. They were convicted. And the Mahantship was removed from them and awarded to the highest disciple and his wife, Yash and Indrani Vashishth.

In that history-shifting moment, the Kayeshta lineage ended. The Vashishth one began. Devay ceased to be heir; Chandni became heiress.

Yes, if Devay could prove his suspicions that the Vashishths had framed his parents---that their disgrace had been unjust---then perhaps a case could be made for the Kayeshta heir to be automatically reinstated.

However, there was no such proof. Indeed, Arnav Singh Raizada had engaged all his many resources in seeking evidence. And still failed. Only one path remained open to Devay to reclaim his family's legacy: the subversive path. Advay had to marry Chandni, the established heiress, in order to become the Mahant. And once in that position, he would administer his own brand of justice.

I HAVE NOT TOLD YOU MUCH ABOUT Shikha Vashishth, the product of Indrani's first marriage. She was like most nineteen-year-old girls. Inconsistent in her moods. Active when it suited. Headstrong without sense. Fickle with her affections.

Indeed, she was fickle in all things. Just ask Veer!

Veer was never quite sure where he stood with her. They broke up and made up at least once a fortnight. Partly because of the stress of carrying on a secret relationship; but, mostly because she was by nature wild and tempestuous. Fortunately Veer had just the right unruffled disposition to deal with it all. He adored her, and I must say that Shikha did not always deserve it.

However, she did deserve our admiration. She had always been fiercely devoted to Chandni. And had become especially protective of her since the abduction last year. If Chandni needed anything, Shikha put everything aside to provide it.

Like this morning.

It was imperative Indrani attend a meeting with the Congregation elders at the temple. Yet it was equally important that someone make arrangements for alternate lodging. So this task fell to Chandni. And as Chandni never went out alone, she asked Shikha to accompany her. Shikha agreed. Not only would she never refuse Chandni, but as she and Veer were currently broken-up, she had little else to amuse her.

The girls' attention was on each other as they entered the Broker's Office. Shikha was fretting because she had forgotten her phone in the car. The Driver had dropped them outside the Brokerage and sped away before she realized it.

Chandni was teasing her. "To be without your phone for one whole hour! How ever will you endure it?"

Shikha would not be humoured out of her loss. She gave a pretty pout and turned away---then gasped!

"Look, Di!" Shikha whispered, with a nudge.

Chandni looked.

Seated opposite the Broker at the desk was Advay Singh Raizada. They were poring over the details of a document. A document which proclaimed itself by its bulk and stamp as the title deed to Mahant Mansion. There could be no mistake: He was here to finalize the purchase.

It was impossible that Advay could have heard Shikha's whisper; however, almost at the same time, he lifted his eyes and met Chandni's directly. As though he expected to see her.

And upon seeing her, he drew tall to his feet.

The Broker, though confused by this act of unexpected deference, also left his chair, and offered his namaskars.

Chandni acknowledged the Broker's greeting with pressed palms---as her body shivered at a flash memory of Advay's searing lips. She bit into her bottom lip as a visceral response.

And saw that Advay's eyes caught the movement.

She stammered out, addressing the Broker, "Excuse our interruption. We'll wait until you are free." Taking Shikha's hand, she led her to an empty desk at the opposite end of the room. As far as she could recollect from her previous visits, it was the desk of the Broker's assistant. As he was nowhere in sight, she thought it would be acceptable to wait there. She seated herself so her back was to Advay.

But though she could not see him, she could hear him. She heard him say [to the Broker, presumably], " I can review this while you attend to the Misses Vashishths."

No!

She didn't want him in the office while she discussed their family matter with the Broker. And nor did she desire this favour. She wanted nothing of him.

She turned her head, and spoke, coldly, "Thank you, Mr Raizada, but we have come without an appointment. You were here first. We can wait. Please attend to your business."

The subtext of this last sentence was: Please stay out of our business.

"I wasn't brought up to keep a lady waiting," he replied.

That he should gloat of his good manners, after his conduct towards her yesterday, was laughable. She turned away from him, a twin sign of refusal and dismissal.

But fortune was not on Chandni's side today.

All this talk of keeping ladies waiting and how he was brought up triggered Shikha's latent curiosity of Advay's identity. She accused, in a sweet-innocent voice, "Yet you kept us waiting, Mr Raizada. Oh! Sorry. I should call you Dr Raizada, right? Or do you prefer Professor? What is the correct form? I never know."

"Try Advay," he replied, with a frown. "But when did I keep the two of you waiting? I'm certain I would not forget an appointment with the Vashishth sisters."

"You make us sound like the Kardashians," Shikha laughed. "We came to meet you at your hotel yesterday evening. Di knocked at your door for ages. When you didn't answer, she returned downstairs and we left. But the Receptionist assured me that you were in your room. Why did you not answer? Did you not hear her knock?"

Oh, do not imagine for one moment, Sisters, that Chandni did not attempt to interrupt this dialogue. She glared at Shikha, but Shikha was a runaway train. And once that train left the station, nothing could halt it. All Chandni could do was wait in mute horror, her eyes upon her folded hands. She listened in painful agony for Advay to call her out. To reveal to Shikha that he had answered the door. That he and Chandni had met. And then for Shikha to turn to her, right here in this office, and demand why she had not said so. Why she had lied!

Chandni braced.

But she only heard Advay state: "I'm sorry I missed your visit."

Relief!

Chandni met his gaze. His brow lifted to silently question. And she replied with an imperceptible shake of her head. And thus, Sisters, this man and this woman entered into their first agreement. Agreements of privacy and discretion between lovers are not novel---but here we witness an agreement between rivals.

"Was there something particular you came to discuss?" Advay continued.

Shikha moved nearer to him, brushing past Chandni, and said in a friendly manner, "Will you promise not to laugh---?"

Chandni knew her sister well enough to know that this banter was also an act; Shikha was preparing a trap---and Advay did not know this. And for the space of a second, Chandni pitied him.

Yes, pitied.

His volatile response yesterday had told Chandni that whatever he suffered from, whatever had agitated him, it was strongly felt. She tensed for Shikha's assault---

"---Di has a theory that you cannot be a mathematics professor. She says you don't seem intelligent enough. I disagree. I said you seemed a total geek. You probably even have a tweed coat. So we placed a small bet. And came over to your hotel to see who was right."

The Broker [who had been remarkably silent throughout] expostulated at this statement.

But his words were drowned by Advay's laugh.

To Chandni's ears it appeared a genuine laugh. But how could he laugh? He knew what Shikha did not: That they had met; that they had an emotionally-charged exchange; that it was not to prove a mere bet that she had entered his hotel suite.

"Well, let's settle the matter right now. What should I do---?" Advay continued in the same humorous spirit, tilting his head, "---Perform some demanding calculus?"

Shikha pretended to muse on the subject, one finger resting on her cheek, then said, "You must have some personal ID that you present at the University to prove that you teach there---"

"Shikha---" Chandni attempted another interruption.

But Advay had already removed his wallet from him case, and placed three pieces of identification in Shikha's hands for verification. London School of Economics. Institute of Quantitative Finance. Faculty Club. All stated his name. His qualifications. His profession. And showed his photograph.

Chandni had been wrong about him. And now she wondered how she had even reached the conclusion that he had been a fraud. She had had absolutely no proof, except what her heart had insisted.

As Shikha examined the cards, Advay added insult to injury, addressing Chandni, "I hope the wager did not exact too high a cost."

His innuendo irked. She couldn't determine whom she was more furious with. Herself for having entered his hotel room on an unfounded theory. Shikha for forcing the matter and exposing them to this ridicule.

Or Advay Singh Raizada for being who he said he was.

When the disappointed Shikha returned the cards to him, Advay took his seat. By then picking up the deed and focusing his attention on it, it indicated to the Broker that he should attend to the girls.

IT WAS NO SMALL FEAT TO FOCUS on the matter which had brought them to the Brokerage with Advay nearby, but Chandni somehow managed. Indeed, it was not only that his proximity disturbed her concentration, it was the shame of having to speak of her family's financial distress in his presence. Fortunately, she did not have to mention numbers. Better than any other in the City of Allahabad, the Broker knew exactly what sort of accommodation the Vashishths could afford. And not afford.

Within half an hour, they had created a very short list of possible apartments. Chandni had preferred one which had a small garden, but the Broker was not confident whether it would be available within their budget.

"Could you please try?" she begged, softly. "Baba's sad health has left him with only one pleasure. It is to sit in the garden outside his room."

The Broker promised, "I'll do my best, of course---"

"We know that our next home cannot be anything compared to the Mansion," Chandni continued. "But Baba's not to blame for that. His condition is dependent on maintaining a daily routine and familiar surroundings. If we can make the new space appear as much like his bedroom and garden, then the move will take a lesser toll on him."

Shikha joined in with her own plea. "Yes, leaving the Mansion will be so difficult on him. Please see what can be done."

Chandni added, in a lowered voice, "If we must pay a bit extra to acquire the garden apartment, then we will find a way. I have some kangans left to me by my mother. It will be enough to bridge payments for at least the first year---"

"No, Di---!" protested Shikha.

Chandni hushed her by placing a soft hand on hers, and continued addressing the Broker, "I'll bring them tomorrow, and would consider it a tremendous favour if you do not mention the matter to Mamma. She has so much to worry about---"

Her words were cut short as Advay rose, his chair scraping back, speaking of sudden impatience.

They all turned to look at him with some surprise.

Chandni sensed his anger. She had so recently experienced his rage, and she realized that she could now recognize the clues. His hands were curled into fists. His brow dark. His mouth firm. His eyes implacable.

"I'm ready to sign," he announced.

The Broker abandoned the girls without a word, scurrying back to the larger desk. Chandni watched as Advay leaned over the desk and scrawled his signature across the relevant pages with a confident hand. The Broker followed with his signature and a large stamp pad to notarize.

But suddenly the Broker paused. "My assistant is out. I'll just go next door to find someone to witness the documents."

He was almost out the door when Advay stopped him with the statement: "Miss Vashishth can witness the purchase. Right, Chandni?"

Chandni looked at the Broker and back at Advay, her mouth parted to protest. That he should expect her to witness the document which took her own home was ludicrous. Absurd.

The Broker was sensitive enough to see the awkwardness. But he was also aware that in the current economy, pleasing a son of the Raizadas was more prudent than pleasing a daughter of the Vashishths; so he gave a begging smile to persuade Chandni.

And as Chandni had just been begging him for his influence with acquiring a garden apartment, she realized she could not refuse.

She moved to stand opposite Advay, and silently extended her hand for the pen in his hand.

Dropping her eyes to the deed, she asked, "Where?"

He indicated.

Her eyes stung from unshed tears, yet she signed and wrote out her full name under each signature. Chandni Yash Narayan Vashishth. Again and again. In each line where his finger pointed.

When the task was complete, she straightened, and returned his pen. He took the pen, but in the same motion, he caught her wrist to bring her closer. His thumb pressed against her pulse. They were positioned in such a way---the Broker still at the door; Shikha at the other end of the room---that this action went unwitnessed.

He spoke, low into her ear, "I'm sorry. For last night. I over-reacted. You see, I'm adopted. I lost it when you said I stole my name."

Adopted!

In that moment, the words she had carelessly flung at him rushed back to her mind. 'Pretender. Nothing of your own. No family to speak of. You stole the Raizada name because it garners respect. Had you come on your own merit nobody would have looked twice---'

Why-oh-why had she gone on in that insensitive and cruel manner? She had known nothing of him. His situation. His family. How awful!

Overcome with shame and regret her eyes teared.

A teardrop landed on his arm.

He pulled back as though it had scalded him.

Chandni stepped away at the same moment, and moved to leave the office. Her sister followed. They were almost out the door---when her eyes were drawn back to the man still standing at the desk.

His eyes remained on her.

"Congratulations, Mr Raizada, on your new home," Chandni said, "I know that you and your family will be as happy at Mahant Mansion as we have been."

And without waiting for acknowledgement, she and Shikha descended the stairs into the street. Fortunately the Driver had already arrived and was waiting for them. They climbed into the car. And as soon as he shut the door, Chandni openly wept.

Shikha assumed that Chandni wept for the loss of their Mansion. So she too buried her face into Chandni's shoulder and cried with her sister in solidarity.