Pride (20/4) | OS Series: Peccatum | UPDATED- Page 19 | COMPLETE - Page 2

Mohini had been denied everything as a child. Overshadowed by Mala, her parents had never showered their love upon her, instead giving everything to the more beautiful, more dutiful daughter.

With her full face and stern, harsh eyes, she lacked the soft grace that Mala had. She was brash, outspoken, and too quick to anger. She would never get a husband, the people said.

So when Dilsher came for Mala, asking for her hand with the desperation of a starving man, Mohini was married off to his younger brother without a second thought. Like a buy one, get one free deal, their parents were so desperate to rid themselves of the caustic girl that they no less begged their older daughter's family to allow their younger one in as well.

Her wedding was held on the same day as Mala. She didn't need a separate wedding, they said- she didn't need to be the center of attention.

Mala was a radiant bride, the shining jewelry their parents had bestowed upon her glinting under the light of the flames. Dilsher looked adoringly at her, his eyes awash with pure love for his new bride. Praise rained down on the couple, wishing them a happy, prosperous future with numerous children running around their adorned feet.

But it was not like that for Mohini. Her jewels were dull, not newly polished like Mala's. Her sari was her mother's wedding sari, because they didn't want to spend the money for both of their daughters. Her husband, while kind eyed, did not hold affection for her. It was almost as if he feared her in a way, sitting as far as possible without drawing suspicion.

The women would bless her hesitantly, tell her that she would be well cared for. She was never blessed with children, or with eternal happiness. She was told she would be taken care of.

Her jealousy only grew when Mala conceived before her, turning from a blushing newlywed into a resplendent mother. Mohini took to tying her hair back in a severe bun, a giant, red bindi plastered right between her powerful eyes. She seethed in jealousy, desperate to have her own children before Mala. Alas, her wish would not be fulfilled. While she conceived mere months after Mala, Samrat was born three months after the wailing Rudra came into the world.

She wanted it. She wanted it all, everything Mala had been endowed with. She was desperate for the wealth Mala had at her fingertips, with the older brother as her loving, caring husband. She wanted the house to be hers, to have the servants address her as the mistress. She needed it.

She would yell and screech at Danveer, calling him worthless for staying with his brother. You never work hard, you never do anything for me, she would cry. He would only sit there stoically, a quiet knowledge in his eyes as he heard her screams.

She knew she was misguided. Danveer worked harder than anyone, and they were self dependent. They paid for half the house, for half the maintenance, despite Dilsher's objections. Danveer, while he adored his brother, would not live off of him. But the house, was still Dilsher and Mala's.

Samrat was a quiet baby, never curious and always gentle. He was restrained, and never curious. He simply lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling silently. Rudra, however, was different.

Rudra was like Mala, taking the center of everyone's attention wherever he went. His loud cries could be heard when his mother would deny him his favorite sweets. He crawled everywhere, learning to walk and talk months before Samrat even attempted a crawl.

He was precocious and temperamental, known for throwing his toys at the servants that swarmed the house. He would question every order, refusing to follow them unless he had a reason. He would pull pranks, lighting Diwali fireworks on random days and running around the house pulling clothes off the lines.

Everyday, he would refuse to drink milk, throwing the steel tumbler against the wall whenever Mala would attempt to bring it to him. She would gently coax him, bribing him with sweets and threatening that she wouldn't come back if he threw it.

One day, Mala fulfilled that threat. She went out to buy vegetables, and she never came back. Rudra, who had refused to drink his milk at breakfast that morning, was distraught. His mother was the only person he would listen to, and without her, he grew angry and withdrawn.

While Mohini missed her sister- sort of- she was immensely relieved. No longer would she be compared to her, the perfect wife, mother and daughter-in-law. Mala had ruined her reputation by running away, allowing the rumors to fly.

"Did you hear? Mala ran away!"

"That's what happens when you're so beautiful."

"Poor Dilsher. The man can't even walk properly."

"Her sister must be like that too. After all, blood is thicker than water. Who knows when she'll leave Danveer?"

The comments against her own person hurt. Mohini wasn't Mala, and she intended to show them that. She may have been unhappy with Danveer, who was much too wimpy for her taste, but she wouldn't leave him. She would be different.

She was thrilled when Dilsher took Rudra and left, going far, far away from the haveli. The house she had dreamed of, with her three young children and a husband she could control, was finally all hers. She finally was the mistress of her own domain. She was no longer Mohini, the sister of Mala. She was Mohini- the owner of the huge haveli on the corner.

But then, as all luck must, it ran out. Rudra was back with Dilsher, and this time, he had a girl with him. A girl so beautiful, so much like Mala. She shone wherever she went, her innocence permeating from every pore of her body. Mohini hated her upon sight. The girl had already won over Danveer, the emotional bas***d, with her sweetness, and it wouldn't be long before she would win the entire household.

From the minute Rudra took the slap intended for that dratted woman, Mohini knew she was in trouble. Rudra was not sacrificial, unless it came to his colleagues. If he had protected her once, he would be there for her forever. That was just the kind of person Rudra was.

This meant only one thing. Her nephew and that girl, the one that resembled her hated sister so much, would end up married. If they got married, she would never get the house. Her dreams of growing old with grandchildren surrounding her, of living a life better than Mala ever would have, would be shattered.

So Mohini planned. She recruited Sumer and some random girl to burn Dilsher, to slaughter him. Rudra would be devastated. As much as he pretended to hate his father, Mohini knew that Dilsher was all Rudra had. She framed the girl for murder, and she would have the house when Rudra left to get revenge.

The house and the money would be hers. It was a perfectly respectable plan.

And it worked. Rudra believed her instantly, too torn by the near loss of his father to think rationally. The girl had played right into her hands by running away with the traitor Thakur, severing the bond of trust that she had seen between her nephew and the girl. Mohini had achieved what she desired. She would have it all.

But greed kills a person, and it would kill Mohini too. The girl was stubborn and insistent, and she came back. She was shrewd, and she knew not to trust Mohini. She won over her weak willed daughter-in-law and her bumbling daughter with ease, convincing them of her innocence in the matter. Her wide, doe eyes and her softness won her allies, and she knew she had won the battle.

But not all was lost. Rudra still believed in her guilt. He wouldn't go near her, would he?

When Rudra stumbled in, his eyes red from the alcohol and with that girl's name on his lips, Mohini knew she had lost the battle for good. She watched in horror as her carefully laid plans backfired, as Rudra made eight horrible vows and took the girl as his wife, shattering the chair to fuel the fire further.

He hated her now. But Mohini knew the hate would disappear. It would transform, become another animal entirely. The girl, like Mala before her, would overwhelm him with love and affection, breaking down his temperamental exterior and making her own place in his heart.

Mohini's heart plummeted as she realized her greed had left her penniless. If she had only accepted what she had, accepted her nephew and brother-in-law with open arms, she would not have suffered this fate.

But alas, she would have to succumb to the deadly poison of greed in order to save her skin. She knew Rudra was close. He was too precocious, too smart- he would realize that she had attempted to murder his father.

She would have to stop him. He and that girl would have to be separated. She needed the house, she needed the money. She needed to be better than Mala. She needed it all.