FF: -Chandni- by Jalebi Jane EPISODE 1-14 Rest at JalebiJane.com - Page 5

EVEN WHEN TRAGEDY HAS NOT TOUCHED IT returning to our childhood is always bittersweet. Imagine then, Sisters, what it did to this man's heart---whose young life had been shattered by such violence---to be in Allahabad again, this place of his parents' assassination. What had this past week wrought upon him? To stand before the family who had displaced his lineage, traceable to the original Mahant. To stand before the girl who had broken a boy's faith, so irrevocably that he had never again given his heart.

My heart belongs to another. My heart belongs to another.

Chandni's words echoed in Advay's ear. While in his other ear was the incessant drone of the Broker who misread Advay's silence as doubts regarding the purchase of Mahant Mansion. He was listing ad nauseam every virtue of that property, great and small---expounding, itemizing, detailing---until finally Advay snapped.

"Dekho, I know the house. I know it intimately. So this pitch is unnecessary. I said I'll be purchasing the house. And I will! I came to Allahabad with that very intention---" and then becoming aware that his temper had caused him to reveal more than he wished, he interrupted himself and addressed the driver, "---Pull over here."

The Broker, in confusion, protested. "But---but---Sir! We're still a fair distance from your hotel. And as you wish to complete the buy, we can finalize the paperwork this evening. I have the deeds here with me. Let's return to your hotel and---"

However, Advay had already stepped out of the car. He leaned forward and spoke through the open window. "I never sign anything after sunset. It's inauspicious. I'll see you at your office tomorrow morning at half-nine." And without waiting for the Broker's reply, he turned and crossed the street.

It was a significant walk to the hotel, but Advay welcomed the exercise. And almost immediately the cool evening breeze began to soothe his vexed spirit. The river promenade---which had once been the favourite Sunday destination for his family---triggered pleasant memories. There was much to think about, such as the debacle this evening, but for this moment he would rather be wistful than self-reproachful. Indeed, he was a stranger to self-reproach.

No---I'm not suggesting that before us was a man-without-fault. Advay Singh Raizada had faults enough, I assure you. But he was not one of those who looked back powerlessly with pity. He always looked back with determination to amend.

Or in this case---avenge.

Yet there was no denying that the terrace scene was cause for some self-reproach. He had x'ed when he ought to have y'ed. His entire plan hinged upon marrying the Mahant's heir, and tonight he had succeeded in pushing her away. He should have presented himself as an earnest suitor, in tender increments---but what had he done!---he had been insolent and aggressive. Unwanted familiarity. This is how Chandni had characterized his conduct.

And she was absolutely right.

However, in the man's defence, I would like to say this: Advay was ill-suited for the role he had cast himself in. He was simply not the lover-type; he had no talent for that sort of thing. He had never even had a girlfriend. Had he entered that maidan, he would have certainly learnt to cajole and coax. Had he actively dated, he would have been able to draw from experience when he spoke to Chandni. She had called his language filmi nonsense. And she was half-right. It was nonsense but it had come from novels.

Technically speaking, it was bookish nonsense.

Moreover, even the most accomplished charmer would have found it difficult to woo the girl responsible for his family's demise. To make verbal love to a woman one despised required a degree of artfulness he had grossly underestimated.

Or was it that he had underestimated how much he hated Chandni Vashishth?

For sixteen years had brought no abatement to the sensations she aroused in him. Indeed, every encounter with her this week had only deepened his antipathy. That she had not recognized him ought to have pleased him, right? [As the success of his plan depended on anonymity.] But when Chandni had failed to see traces of the former boy in Advay's face, his resentment had heightened. He received it as further proof of her faithlessness.

Of course, the reverse was not true.

He would have been able to distinguish Chandni from a throng of a million worshippers at Kumbh Mela itself---for Chandni remained Chandni. Her face had fulfilled every promise of youth. He had once adored that face, the sparkle in her eyes, the animations of her mouth---he had devoted hours to teasing her just so he would be rewarded with her delightful expressions---and all that vivacity was still there.

Indeed, it was more. Because now those same gifts of allurement belonged to a woman. Thus all the more captivating.

What injustice! Her reckless lie had unleashed unspeakable tragedy yet Nature had allowed her to grow into a woman of open, abundant beauty.

That beauty was responsible for this evening's fiasco. Each time he came before her, no matter his degree of self-command, the past spilled into the present. He was catapulted into history. He would briefly forget and recall a sweet fragment---but then reality would crudely interrupt that memory. Yes, his conduct was aggressive but that is because his thoughts towards her were aggressive. Today he had even called her a witch. He was fortunate that his scheme had not unravelled on that point alone.

And now there was another obstacle. Not only did he have to remediate lost ground with her, but he had to divert her from her lover.

My heart belongs to another.

Before arriving in Allahabad, Advay had carefully mapped out every aspect of his plan to court and marry her, yet he had never stopped to ask the central question: Was Chandni free to marry? He had kept himself apprised of the Vashishths from a distance, so he knew that she was still unmarried and at home. But he had never considered that she was otherwise attached.

But why should it surprise him that she was spoken for? In the eyes of the world, Chandni Vashishth had every advantage. In the common parlance, she was an excellent catch. Charming. Accomplished. Pious. Beautiful. Heir to the Mahantship of Allahabad. [And until very recently, solvent.] There would be no shortage of suitors at her door. He now wondered what sort of man had won her---

---Oh, who cares?!

As far as he was concerned, where her heart belonged or did not belong was nothing to him. His task was to separate them. The passion with which she had spoken earlier told him it would be a challenge, but nothing was insurmountable when he had so much at stake. He would marry Chandni. And thereafter, it would only be a short legal step to secure the Mahantship to himself and thus reclaim his family legacy.

These thoughts had carried him all the way to the old bridge. His steps now slowed. The lanterns on the parapet burned brightly. How narrow the bridge appeared to him now. How short the distance from one bank to the other. He recalled how it had felt such an achievement to run from end-to-end without stopping. He could hear his father's shahbash still. He had been that kind of a father. Always urging him in these tests, physical and intellectual---and always ready to commend every effort warmly.

"Professor Raizada!"

This call interrupted Advay's nostalgia. He turned to find a young man approaching. It was that same exuberant youth who had assisted him in keeping the Shiv idol upright.

"Bro!" completed his greeting, as he extended his arm for a fist bump.

Advay had no choice but to meet the fist with his. He muttered a cool "hello' followed by a nod to indicate "goodbye' and turned to continue on his way. But a question crossed his mind. He pivoted back.

"How do you know that I teach?" Advay asked.

"Ever heard of Google?" came the smart retort.

"I never shared my name with you," was Advay's rejoinder.

The young man grinned widely. "My friends call me Veerlock." At Advay's frown, he expanded, "On account of my name being Veer. Sherlock? Veerlock? Get it?"

He really was exceedingly charming, Sisters. But this fact was entirely lost on Advay.

When Veer saw that Advay was waiting for more of an explanation, he detailed, "I see you at Starbeans every morning with a cup marked ASR. So I ask myself: What's he drinking? Americano-Strong-Roast? Arabica-Single Origin-Roast? Affogato-Skinny-Robusto? I don't care what it is. He's cool; I'm cool; I want to drink what he's drinking. So yesterday I order an ASR and Ratna laughs at me. Not cool! She tells me those are your initials. So I bet her two cinema tickets on who would be the first to discover what ASR stood for---"

It was all becoming clear now. The girl behind the counter---Ratna, presumably---had asked Advay this morning what ASR meant. She had enquired in such a sweet way that Advay had indulged her. "---So you tricked her into finding out my name. Then googled me. For what purpose?"

"Curiosity," Veer shrugged.

"You should get a real job, Veerlock," Advay advised, pronouncing the moniker with undisguised scorn.

Veer was offended. "Hey! Don't be that way, Bro. I have a job. Curiosity is my job. I'm a freelance journalist. Ever heard of Slate? Ever heard of Salon?"

"Of course," Advay said, reluctant respect creeping into his reply.

"Well, you'll see my byline appear there some day. For now you can find me on the Allahabad Insider. Check it out. If it's not on the A'bad Insider, it's not worth knowing about."

There was such earnest pride in Veer's claim that Advay could really not mock it. He gave another nod, this one more warm, and turned away---

---But, once again, Advay stopped in his tracks. Someone who claimed to know Allahabad inside-out. Someone skilled at indirectly extracting information. This was the man who could discover the identity of Chandni's lover.

Turning back to face Veer, Advay said, "When I said that you should get a job---what I meant was that I have a job for you. If you are as curious as you say, I'll see you at Starbeans tomorrow at eight."