Two Shot: My Best Friend

PART 1

Rudra parked his motorbike and scowled as he looked at his reflection in the mirror while taking off his helmet. It was a slow week at work and these days he was coming back home early. Much too early.

There were no new missions. No new threats at the border. No unrest. Just peace and calm. Of course, he loved peace. Inspite of the fact that he was an army man, he actually did not want to put his country in danger for some kind of perverse adrenalin rush. But now that he was a married man, living with a family, he was expected to be at home when there was a slow day. Bummer! If he hung out with the other officers at the army club, drinking, there were perennially a few eyebrows raised.

"Major Ranawat, what are you doing getting smashed with us bachelors, go and spend time with your beautiful wife."

His beautiful wife

His scowl deepened as he walked into the house thinking of his beautiful wife. His beautiful wife who was clearly the spawn of Satan. Okay, that was a tad harsh. Very harsh. She was a nice person. Altogether too nice. And that right there was Rudra's problem. Not that she had the most enticing of hips that swayed ever so gently as she danced all around him, clearly meant to tease. Not her full, too kissable lips that trembled every time he spoke to her in a gruff tone usually saying something utterly mundane like, pass me the daal. Not her eyes, that widened to the size of a large planet when they accidentally brushed past each other, which seemed unavoidable inspite of the fact that they lived in a significantly large house. No, none of those were the problem. In fact, those were good things. He was pretty certain that he was now really close to being awarded sainthood. His problem was her random acts of kindness. She was affectionate to everyone around, his family that he himself had a tough time accepting, but she not so much. She always stood up for her Maithili Jija. Was the ever so indulgent sister to Sunehri. Loved his father in that fierce way that only a daughter could. She was even nice to his aunt Mohini Kaki-sa, who was probably the true spawn of Satan. And to him, she was nothing but nice. In the way that she stayed out of his way reading his mood. In the way that she diffused tension between him and Mohini Kaki-sa or Sumer. In the way she did all those wife-like things like she was some kind of elf, efficient but always invisible. His uniform always ironed and ready, his shoes polished, his lunch dabba packed with wholesome yet tasty food, a cup of chai when he returned, a painkiller with a glass of warm milk on the side table when he had a long day at work. She was always there, without being there. And most importantly, she never got back to him on any of the harsh words that he had felt compelled to throw her way for the first few months after their wedding. No, his beautiful wife, was ever gracious and always calm. He had concluded after months of trying to break her, that she was a true Gandhian. The one who believed that if someone slaps you on one cheek, you offer the other one. God, he hated her.

He entered his room and looked around cautiously. Bet she was around somewhere. She always was. Usually with a fabric in her hand and a needle and thread pulling away at it furiously, creating something elaborate and beautiful. On occasion, when Paro would step out he would pick up her elaborate embroidered work-in-progress project and examine what she was working on. He was no connoisseur of art, but even he could recognise that the girl had an uncommon talent looking at the criss-cross of threads, the use of bold colours that one would normally not imagine to go together, but which she made to seem beautiful nonetheless. The designs too were not the usual, they were never the symmetrical and common flowers. They were always some kind of wildflowers, beautiful, unyielding and hard to describe. Just like her. Oh stop it, Rudra. Next you will be writing ridiculous poetry for her.

Thank god she was not in the room. At least he could get changed out of his uniform to casual clothes in peace. Each time he peeled off his shirt to reveal his, what he imagined without a hint of immodesty his well-toned body she would look at him accusingly. Turn her eyes into Jupiter or Venus, or whichever was the biggest planet. She would look at him like she had been tempted to ravage him because of his skin show. He laughed at himself. It was part wishful thinking and part his fragile male ego if he imagined that his beautiful and reluctant wife harboured any kind of desire for him. No. After the months that he spent driving her away and create a deep wedge between them, he should be glad that she didn't smother him with a pillow while they slept in the night. Oh the sleeping arrangements. Sigh. They shared a bed every night. Initially it was the mice, but now it had just become one of their many unspoken agreements. She slept rather primly on the edge of the bed and he spent much of the night sleepless worrying that she would one day fall down. She was so fragile, he was certain that inspite of the fact that the fall would be no more then a feet, she was likely to break a few bones. Okay, he had to be honest, the possibility of her broken bones were not the reason for his sleepless night. Oh well, sainthood was his.

He had changed and stepped into the hallway to see where everyone was. Not because he felt affection for them, but it was more desirable to allow his family to piss him off than thinking about all his frustrations and unrequited passion towards his wife. He found the hallway empty. Where was everyone? And where was she? Maybe they had gone to the bazaar or the temple. He felt his dark mood reappear again. Bet she deliberately had decided to leave home because she had been noticing that he been coming home early all of this week. She could see it in the questioning look on her face each time she handed him a cup of chai this week. The look that seemed to say, must you come back so early, why don't you work until late like all good husbands.

Oh never mind. He could make a cup of chai. He had been doing that for years now. Making chai, cooking himself the staple of burnt rotis and undercooked aloo subzi. He didn't need a woman to wait over him. In fact, just the opposite was true. Except that she was a good cook. A great cook. Bet she did it deliberately, just to drive him insane. Enslave him with her cooking. Maybe she would make him enormously fat with all the great food and the army would put him in charge of the canteens or something as he would no longer be fit to serve as a soldier. Or maybe she was slowly poisoning him. The sneaky thing.

He didn't need her, he could make himself a cup of chai. Thank you very much. Now where had she kept the tea leaves. She had probably deliberately switched its place so that he would not find it. Okay Rudra boy, stop with the persecution complex already, it must be in one of the cupboards around. He opened all the cupboards with some feeling and of course, the bottle with the tea leaves had to be in the last one that he opened. He scooped out a generous spoonful and added it in the boiling water, he watched the colour spread, slowly at first and then the liquor turning almost black, just like his mood. Just as he was getting ready to strain the tea into a cup he heard a knock at the door. He looked around, waiting for her or someone else to emerge from behind one of the pillars and get the door, but nobody did. Cursing under his breath he walked up to the door to open it. He was pretty sure it was the family returning from their evening out. But it wasn't.

"Is Parvati Ranawat at home? There is a speed-post for her."

What was a mailman doing this late in the evening, he wondered. This immediately made him suspicious. He was always suspicious of everyone when it came to his wife. Her hobby was to get into trouble and his was to rescue her. Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi. Stop it, Rudra, no need to start thinking of cheesy Bollywood movies now. What had she done to him?

"Why are you delivering mail so late? Are you from the post-office?"

"Haan sir. I came in the morning, both yesterday and today as well. But there was nobody home. I live close by, so I thought I will drop it today on my way back home. Is Parvati Ranawat home?"

Satisfied somewhat with the explanation, he took the letter from the mailman, signed and shut the door. So she was Parvati Ranwat now? She was happy to take the family's name, but not his. Oh whatever, like he cared.

But now his curiosity was piqued. Who had sent Paro a letter? Inspite of not wanting to, he scanned the envelope in his hand for some evidence. It was a brown envelope, with Parvati's name and address written in hand, that too very neatly. The stamp said that the letter had come from Jaipur, but there was no sender's name and address. It was heavy, probably at least five or six pages inside. Well, he didn't care who it was from or what it had. No sir, he didn't.

But where was she?

"Paro, are you home?"

He decided to check the house if she was around. Now that he thought about it, there was something strange about the fact that the front door had been open and nobody was home. He decided to go check the terrace, sometimes Maithili and Paro sat there, chit chatting and giggling about God only knows what. As he climbed up the stairs he noticed that the door leading to the terrace was open. So, they were there.

"Paro, why have you left the front door open?"

He set foot on the terrace and noticed her. She was sitting by the huge water tank, curled up and taking as little space as possible. That was Paro, ever considerate, always making herself smaller than what she was and than what was needed. She was wearing a white lehanga, the one with colourful parrots on them, her hair neatly braided, looking every bit the child-woman that she was. The white lehenga that she wore was his favourite. Made her seem so pure,calm, virginal and elusive. The colourful birds flying away suggesting whimsy. This was the perfect metaphor for her and the contradictions that was Paro. Wait a second. He now had a favourite lehenga of Paro's? Rudra boy, you are dangerously close to regressing into a hormonal teen.

Normally ever attuned to his every move, Paro did not notice him as he stood there admir.. watching his wife. He soon realised why, as he noticed that she had her face buried in a book. After you marry, one discovers several things about your spouse, many of which will surprise you, make you think of them anew and eventually lead you to fall deeper in love with them. He had discovered many things about Paro after they married, one of it was her love for reading. He had initially been surprised that his barely educated wife was a reader. He then felt ashamed for having judged her and neatly slotting her into some kind of stereotypical village belle who just liked to sew and cook. No, there was more to her and Paro liked reading. Correction, she loved it. She would devour a book as if her life depended on it. Of course the more he thought about it, he realised that this was not really such a surprise. After all, she was a loner and a dreamer. Of course books and faraway fictional lands would be the best form of escapism for such a person. Her love for books in many ways pleased him, because he loved to read too. They were his best friends too. Normally impatient and quick to dismiss people in the real world, he felt nothing but infinite patience for fictional characters. In his slightly fanciful moments, when he allowed himself to dream of the future and it was not always bleak, he imagined that Paro and he would someday share a house that had many bookshelves. And over cups of chai they would argue and fight over motivations of fictional characters. But he would banish these thoughts as quickly as they surfaced. His life was no perfect movie. It would never be. His life was about failed relationships and abandonment. And nothing was ever going to change that.

One would assume that a girl like Paro, the ever so gentle, Gandhigiri practising sort would love to read poetry about nature, the sun, moon and the stars. Or she would get lost in the world of classic love stories full of pathos, angst, redemption and the ultimate triumph of true love. But here too Paro pulled a surprise. She loved to read crime fiction, pulp fiction novels. Books with unimaginative titles like, Khooni Ka Kissa, Din Mein Murder, or like the one she was reading now - Neelam Jasoos. Why would a girl who spent most of her life waking up to nightmares read about scary tales, he was unsure. But that was his Paro, far more mysterious than any of the novels that she loved to read.

"I hope when the house gets robbed, Neelam Jasoos can be called to solve the case."

She immediately got up, looked at him startled and dropped down the book nervously. He mentally kicked himself. Why did he have to do that to her every time? Why couldn't he begin more conversationally and then subject her to his brand of sarcasm. For someone who was endlessly calm, there were times when Paro would get so flustered that it was hard to understand.

"I am sorry. You are back?"

"As you can see."

"I am sorry I didn't hear the door. When did you come?"

"A while ago. You didn't hear the door because the door was open and nobody seems to be there."

"But Sunehri and Sumer are home. Jija, Kakusa and Kakisa have gone to the bazaar."

"Nobody is home. The door was open."

"I am sorry. Shall I make you some chai."

"No. I made a cup for myself."

"Oh. I am sorry."

"Will you stop saying I am sorry?"

"I am sorry, I will stop.. I mean.."

"Let us go down, it is getting dark."

She picked up the book and as she walked past him her braid which evidently defied the laws of physics brushed his face ever so gently. The minx.

Once they reached the hallway, sure enough both Sumer and Sunehri had magically appeared, both of them fighting over the last remaining ladoo in a dabba. Paro gave him an accusing look as she darted her head towards Sumer and Sunehri, as if to say, what is wrong with you husband, there are people in the house. He scowled at her. Meanwhile Paro went and played interlocutor between her sister-in-law and brother-in-law, promising to make them more ladoos and broke the fight between them. Look at her, someone just award her the Miss Congeniality title already.

After dinner he went back to his room and saw the letter that he had forgotten about, that he had kept on his desk. He waited for Paro to return after cleaning the kitchen. And sure enough, she did in just a few minutes, the tinkle of her payals announcing her arrival. She had a rose in her hand, Maithili had got her one from the bazaar knowing how much Paro loved flowers. She picked up her copy of Neelam Jasoos and placed the rose carefully inside it. Trust Paro to read cheesy pulp novels and use them to press flowers to be preserved for posterity.

"There was a letter for you. That is why I came looking for you in the terrace."

She took the letter from his hand and her face did not betray anything - no joy, no sadness, no anticipation, nothing.

"Oh. Thanks."

She placed the letter also inside the book and kept the book inside her cupboard as she got ready to sleep. No longer able to contain himself, he had to ask her.

"You are not opening the letter?"

"I will read it tomorrow morning."

"Who is it from?"

"Sorry?"

"I mean, it might be important, why don't you open it."

"Oh it is nothing."

"It was very heavy for nothing."

"Sorry?"

"Stop saying sorry."

"Oh yeah, I am.. I mean it is just a letter from.. my friend."

"Your friend from Birpur?"

"No.. my friend is in.. Jaipur."

"Who is this friend? Does friend have a name?"

"Yeah.. my friend's name is..umm.. Anandi."

"Anandi?"

By now Paro had pulled the blanket over herself, as if to signal that she was done with the conversation. Fine. But something was not adding up, he wasn't sure what. Of course, he didn't expect her to tell him all about her life. They didn't have that kind of relationship. At best, they had an uneasy truce of sorts. A time-out. He lay down on the bed and picked his end of the blanket, their usual tiny tug of war war before they slept each night. But today she seemed more yielding, letting him take the giant share of the blanket.

"Anandi.. was my best friend from a young age.. she was married off when we were young and she went away from Birpur."

Okay. That did sound plausible. But still there were so many questions. Where was she during the day that the mailman had to return. Didn't she mention at some point that Bindi was her best friend? Why did Anandi write her address in English when she knew that Paro didn't read English. How did she have the address to this place? That means Paro must have written to her. Why did Anandi send a letter via speed post and not ordinary mail. God, so many questions. Maybe he will ask Aman to investigate this. They were after all having a slow week at work. But first he needed answers to a few more questions, so he turned towards her, even as she was probably ready to fall away from the edge of the bed. When he did turn he realised that Paro was sleeping right in the middle of the bed. Her face, a heartbeat away from his. Her soft, beautiful body so close that it would be impossible for them to not accidentally touch each other. Her face glowed in the light of the night lamp, making her seem even more attractive than normal. Her bambi eyes staring at him and a faint smile on her face. And in that moment, Major Rudra Pratap Ranawat forgot all the questions he wanted answers for. God, he hated her.

PART 2

"Why are you not going to work today?"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Paro realised that it sounded a tad rude and she covered her mouth with her palm. A bit futile given that the words had been spoken out loud already. Why would she say something like that? She, who was ever so careful with words, never wanting to hurt anyone, not even people she did not care about. And most certainly not her husband whom she loved. Plus, she knew it better than anyone how devoted her husband was to his work. It was his first and probably only true love. Oh well. One of these days, she would be second. A distant second. Or third. Or tenth. Or somewhere on that list. But today was not going to be that day. Certainly not if the fierce scowl that he threw her way was anything to go by.

"Why are you angry now?"

"Well, I am not angry."

"But you look very angry."

"Must be my face."

"Your face is perfectly fine... I mean...I didn't mean it like that."

"Like what?"

Dammit! Major Saab was right. Sometimes such utter nonsense escaped from her mouth that she really needed to learn when to shut up. The last thing the her husband was going to approve of is for his wife to turn into some kind of giddy teenage fangirl. But his scowl had now been replaced by something else, something that looked dangerously close to a smile. Like the slightest hint of it. No, Major Rudra Pratap Ranwat of the perfectly fine face fame did not smile. That would be pedestrian. But there were times when he would let his guard down and a slightly amused glint reached his eyes. There was the slightest of crinkle in the corner of his mouth. Something that would be noticeable only to a very devoted fangirl like her, you know, whose hobby was her husband's face. But these smiling moments were rare and that is what made it such a beautiful thing. Like it had happened last night when she babbled on about... Anandi. Oh dear, she couldn't think about that now. One problem at a time.

"So why aren't you going to work today?"

Yes, we were back to the same place. Because while she was quite attuned to and actually something of a pro at handling an angry Rudra, the thawed, amused, mildly flirtatious version of his was downright terrifying. And she wasn't feeling remotely imaginative on the direction to steer this conversation.

"You really want me out of the house, don't you?"

"What? No. I didn't mean it like that.. I mean, it is your house. You can do as you please."

"Is today, I-didn't-mean-it-like-that-day?"

"I was only asking so that I could pack your lunch dabba."

"You don't need to pack my dabba today. In fact, I don't want you to cook today. We will be going out."

Wait. What was up with the universe today? First, he won't go to work. Second, he is being all calm. Third, he is kind of flirting with her. Four, he wants to take her out. Surely she was understanding this all wrong. Maybe he was using we' as a royal I, like the good Rajputs do. Yes, that had to be it. When he said we, he actually meant I. But perhaps she ought to confirm, after all today was I-didn't-mean-it-like-that-day.

"Who is this we you are talking about?"

"Anandi and I, of course."

"What?"

"C'mon, Paro, you are brighter than that. I meant the two of us will go out. Paro and Rudra will go out. We will leave in an hour. Get ready."

"Oh."

"Oh indeed."

And saying this, he left her in the hallway, befuddled beyond measure. He was up to something, but she was unsure what. The last time he had behaved in an uncharacteristically affectionate way was when they were both drunk at Colonel Singh's anniversary bash. But that was a lifetime ago. Since then much water under the bridge had happened and in one of their many unspoken understandings, neither of them brought up the Jaipur episode again. The only moment of awkwardness was when Geetanjali Ma'm had sent a frame with a photograph of the two of them dancing at at the party. Aman had handed it over to them when he had come home for dinner.

You guys make a lovely couple, he had said with an amused look, as Major Saab and she squirmed under his gaze. Thankfully nobody else in the family had been around to witness this awkwardness. Else Maithili Jeeja and Sunehri would have teased her for life. Rudra had kept the frame on the side of their bed and the next morning it was gone. She didn't question him about it and he didn't say a word. Instead, he had thrown her a look in the morning that said, if we don't talk about the elephant in the room, it means that it does not exist. Yes, she had silently agreed. That was the cornerstone of their marriage; telepathic conversations. But today, her senses were not keeping up and she was unable to read what her husband was getting at. Oh well, she had better get Sunehri's dabba packed and then get ready for her outing.

As if reading her mind, Sunehri just walked into the hallway. She was wearing the same clothes that she had been wearing last evening, it looked as if she had no intention of going to college today.

"Sunehri, what shall I pack for lunch? Why are you not yet ready?"

"Bhabhi-sa, today is Rajasthan Day, no? It is a holiday for everyone. So, you don't need to pack my dabba and I am going out with my friends, so need for lunch either."

Oh, so that is why he didn't go to the office. He could have just told her that. So, now that there was no dabba to pack for Sunehri, she might as well get dressed.

"Bhabhi-sa what are you going to cook?"

"But you said you were going out with your friends? Major Saab is taking me out, so no cooking today. Should I make something?"

"Oh my god!!!!!"

The calmness of the hallway was shattered by Sunehri's sudden squealing and she began to wonder what had gotten into her sister-in-law. She loved the girl, but sometimes her incorrigible excitement was exhausting. Though she was not that that much younger, Paro felt as if there was a generation gap between them.

"Is everything okay, Sunehri?"

"Rudra Bhai-sa is taking you out on a date. Oooh, this is so exciting."

"Date?"

"What Bhabhi-sa, Rudra Bhai-sa is such a romantic and you don't seem excited at all. Wear something pretty"

And saying this, Sunehri too walked away, leaving Paro even more worried about this proposed outing with her husband.

Surely Rudra was not suddenly feeling the beginnings of some kind of romantic affection for his wife. Come on, Paro, get real. Just because he was no longer saying nasty things to her as frequently as before, it needn't mean that his opinion about her or their relationship had changed. She had made her feelings towards him amply clear on far too many number of times than she would care to think about, but he did not reciprocate her feelings. This was not romance, there was something else afoot.

Maybe Rudra had fallen down from the bed last night and had sustained a head injury. Preposterous as it seemed, last night had been strange. Her husband was a hogger, normally he spread himself on the bed, his arms spread like he would fly away and would sleep right in the middle. Once she had learnt about this, she took extra care not to eat into his space. She already knew that he had accepted her into his life only with reluctance, she didn't want him to feel that she was hogging their shared physical space too now. Though this was something which was rather difficult to do. It is like if you are extra careful that something should not happen, there was a pretty good chance that it will happen. So they were always colliding into each other, he grabbing her shoulders and giving her support and her hands automatically holding on to his chest to steady herself. Then there were the instances when their fingers would accidentally touch during dinner, usually when she would pass the curry or the daal. It was these little intimate gestures that left her feeling all flustered. Something happened inside her gut, a feeling she couldn't explain. At times she would start humming, kuch kuch hota hai inside her head and a giggle would escape her mouth. This giggle would die a premature death when he would glare at her. But because of this giddy, unexplained feeling she always ensured that when they slept in the night, she maintained a semblance of distance from him. Especially since there were times in the beginning of their marriage when he had accused her of deliberately engineering closeness between them. Though she didn't think about those times now, deep down she still harboured the hurt. So she slept on the edge and he in the middle. But last night in a momentary lapse, flustered by the Spanish Inquisition that he was subjecting her to, she had slept in the middle. And he rejected her, like always, as he slept perched on the edge of the bed like his life depended on it. Oh well. Yes, it was possible that he had fallen off the bed and had sustained some kind of injury. It was the only explanation for his odd behaviour. God, what was she to do now?

When she walked into the bedroom she found him sitting on the chair, a book in hand, his attention entirely on it. Rudra loved books. In fact, she would never even be his second love. Best case scenario, she would be at fourth; after BSD, Books and Bapusa. She loved reading too, so it was nice that her husband shared this interest. But while they both loved reading, and the uncomplicated nature of fictional universes, the kind of material they loved was vastly different. He loved the classics, books with deep meaning and where characters did the kind of things that ensured that their lives were a whirlpool of ever increasing sadness. They were stories of great loves and even greater heartbreaks. But those kind of stories were not for her. Her favourite books were crime novels, with a linear story, where it was easy to predict the murderer. After the many books that she had read, she knew that it was always the one who was the least likely to have done the crime who was guilty. And even given this predictability, it always satisfied her when it happened. She was a simple girl and she did not care for pathos and trick endings. Which is why she liked crime novels, they were not exactly happy endings, but everything was explained. She liked that. She slept well in the night, because there was closure. Which was more than what she could say about her life? Sometimes she would sit down and evaluate her life with Rudra and examine their relationship.

Did he still hate her? How much did her hate her? Hate her enough to perhaps murder her one day in a fit of rage. Perhaps her life would turn out like those of many women in the novels she read who were killed by their husbands. Did he want her to leave his life? He used to say that a lot when they were married initially, but nowadays he did not. Did it mean that he did not want her to leave? Had he got used to her? Oh well, she would think about it some other time, now she needed to get ready for her date. Date. This can't be good.

As she tossed things around in her almirah, she stole a glance at Rudra. He was still focussed on the book. The book was called Rann Ki Ret Par Rakth Ki Dastaan, it sounded really deep and frightfully boring. So what was she two wear? She was not the shallow sort, but still she did not want to embarrass her husband. They seldom appeared together in public and she assumed this was both because they did not share a normal relationship and also because he was embarrassed of her. Of course, she understood this. He was a decorated officer and she a village girl who hadn't even got a chance to complete her schooling. They were so incompatible, something that hit her in full force when they travelled together to Jaipur. She did not even understand how to operate a set of room keys. Little wonder that the two sophisticated ladies had called her a 'gawaar'. Of course, Rudra had tried to let her down as gently as he could, but today without the alcohol perhaps he wouldn't feel as charitable. It would be better if she checked with him, lest they have yet another awkward encounter.

"Major Saab, what should I wear?"

Hmmm, he mumbled distracted, and looked up at her only after he carefully placed a bookmark inside his book.

"What?"

"I asked, what should I wear?"

"Umm. Clothes."

He looked so bored as he spoke with her, she almost felt her eyes well up. When will she ever learn? So much for Sunehri's squealing about the romantic intentions of her brother.

"Thanks. That was helpful."

"Now why are you getting mad? Wear anything. You look ... the same no matter what you wear."

What was that supposed to mean? Good same? Bad same? I really don't care same? This telepathic conversations were not really working today. She decided to throw a scowl in his direction and picked up a blue lehenga, the same one she had worn the very first time they had met. Would he remember? Of course not. He is Major Rudra Pratap Ranawat, not like he would have a favourite lehenga of his wife.She stepped away from the cupboard and started walking in the direction of the bathroom when he stopped her.

"Paro, I.. umm."

Now what was making Rudra mumble awkwardly. He was a man of few words, but he usually was not tongue tied around her.

"What is it?"

"That book you were reading last evening... Neelam Jasoos.. can I see that?"

Not in a million years would she have guessed that. She opened the almirah again and handed over the book to him. She couldn't help but allow a tiny smile to escape her face. This might be the first time that her husband had expressed some interest in anything that had to do with her. A warm feeling took over her at that moment.

"Here, take Anandi's letter. You still have not read it, have you?"

She snatched the letter from him and stuffed it hurriedly between her lehangas. Way to go, Paro, if that did not make him suspicious, then God knows what would.

"Why do you look so nervous? You have been behaving so strange about this letter."

"I am not nervous. I am not behaving strangely. You are the one who is being way too curious about the letter."

"Please, I am not. I don't care about your silly letter and your silly best friend. Anyway you get ready, I need to speak with Aman. I will be waiting for you at the verandah."

Once he left the room, she took out the letter and considered what to do with it. She would read it when she was back. She couldn't handle failure now. She was going out with her husband, for the first time, with no agenda at all. She needed no distractions. No dent on her confidence. The letter would have to just wait.

Now why did she not want to tell her husband about the contents of the letter? It was not some deep, dark secret that she could not share with him. But something had made her hold back. He was so volatile and hard to predict that she wasn't sure what would set him off. So, she had concocted the first lie that came to her mind and manufactured an imaginary friend for herself - Anandi.

Her uninspired moment was to do with a television show that she watched some years ago along with Thakurayin Ma-sa. She didn't watch the show everyday, but some afternoons when Rani Thakurayin would teach her how to sew or make a dish, she would get to watch it as it played in the background. This was the first and only TV show she had watched and she was endlessly fascinated by it. Life kept throwing one problem after the other in Anandi's direction and she always came out the winner. That too without being anything less than nice. Of course, it was fiction. But that did not make her triumph any less joyous. Anandi was her hero. She amusedly realised that Anandi and she had something in common. They both married unworthy men to begin with and then married men named after Bholenath. This sudden epiphany made her feel less guilty about lying. Yes, that Anandi was her friend was not entirely a lie.

The only troubling thing was that Rudra had seemed just a little fixated on this issue. She wondered why? Was it curiosity or suspicion? Most likely suspicion. He did not trust her. Not even a little. She had no idea on how to win his trust. God knows that she had tried and always failed. Maybe she could tell him the truth, that would help. Would he be proud of her? Would he mock her? Could she handle more rejection and his derision? No. One problem at a time. Right now she should get ready for the date. The guillotine. Or whatever it was.

**

They were at one of those roadside dhabas that pompously called itself Hawa Mahal Dhaba. There was nothing Hawa Mahal like about it. It was somewhere on the highway that one took from Chandangarh to Jaipur. The place was small, with about a dozen tables, most of which were empty. As they walked in, a few men looked at them curiously. Rudra had immediately grabbed her rather clammy palms and steered her towards one of the tables in the corner. She was glad for the warmth of his hands. No matter how unfathomable their relationship was and how many unresolved issues were there between them, he had always through small gestures showed that not all of his feelings towards her were that of loathing. In fact, more often than not he was downright nice to her, leading to a whole lot of very confused thoughts in her mind.

"Why are you not eating your food?"

"I am eating."

"Okay. Just by staring at it. Must be a new way of eating."

"You know, what? You really prove that you have a double relationship with Mohini Kaki-sa. Both of you are just the same. Saying hurtful things and doing hurtful stuff."

Now, why did she say that? Even she knew that was not true. Mohini Kaki-sa was the work of the devil and her husband, well he was a nice person behind a gruff exterior. She had seen through this contradiction of his a long time ago, so why this sudden outburst and need to hurt him. Though it was unlikely that he was hurt by anything she said, but that did not give her permission to be mean to him.

"Listen Rudra, I am sorry. I did not mean it.."

"... Like that? I know."

"I didn't mean to say hurtful things to you.. I am sorry."

"Hmm."

"What does that mean? Won't you forgive me?"

"I will forgive you on one condition."

Oh God, no. The last time she had wanted him to forgive her he wanted her to marry Sumer. Though that had been a tough moment in her life, in hindsight it turned out alright as it pushed her to confront her own feelings about Rudra.

"What do I have to do?"

"You sound positively terrified. Don't you trust me?"

"I do."

And just as the words slipped out of her mouth, she knew it was the truth. Plain and simple. She had always had nothing but an implicit trust in him. Even in the days of her captivity, when she didn't trust his belief about Tejawat being in the wrong, she felt safe with him. Inspite of their less than pleasant run ins, she a shy village girl did not feel unsafe with this strange man. She trusted him to protect her. Once the truth of Tejawat's deceit was out, the initial kinship she had felt for Rudra inspite of them being on opposite sides transformed into something deeper. Something that made it difficult for her to imagine a life of hers that was separate from him. She loved him. And she trusted him.

"Listen, Rudra, I must tell you about the letter that came yesterday."

"No."

"What?"

"You don't have to tell me about.. Anandi. You are allowed to have your thoughts and your secrets, you know."

"But Anandi is actually.."

"I am sure she is a lovely person and very beautiful.."

"How did you know?"

"Just a guess."

Was it strange that she was now feeling just a little jealous of her best friend who was mostly a figment of her imagination and some writer somewhere. What did he mean that Anandi was beautiful. And didn't he hate beautiful women?

"But you hate beautiful women."

"No, I don't."

"But you told me that you could not.. that because I was.. oh well, it is okay. Anandi is not even that beautiful."

He shrugged at that, but there was an amused look on his face. He was so maddening. Tonight she would make sure that she hogged the bed too so that he would really fall off. Would serve him right. Besides all these weeks she had risked her bones, it is time he did.

"So what do I need to do?"

"Just eat your food, please, instead of just looking at it."

***

"So Bhabhi-sa, how was your date? Where did Rudra Bhai-sa take you? How did you go? Did Rudra Bhai-sa buy you a gift?"

There was never an end to Sunehri's questions. She had come to give her sister-in-law a glass of milk before she went to sleep.

"It was fine."

"Fine. That is all."

It had been more than fine. In fact, Paro was feeling almost as giddy with happiness as Sunehri was. She had never imagined that there would come a day when Rudra and she could have a conversation without any animosity, undercurrents of tension, without behaving as if either of them was engaged in some kind of battle. On occasion Rudra had opened up to her about some of his old hurts, but there was very little about his life she knew beyond that. Mundane things. Happy things. Like how he loved to play cricket and unsurprisingly got into minor battles with boys on the street with whom he played. He had let that slip when they were on the second round of butter naans. It was an innocuous piece of information, but one that gave her glimpse into the little boy that he once was. Not the one whom she met in a bus many years ago. Or how they both realised about how differently they felt about... brinjals.

"It is the king of vegetables, don't you see, that is why it has a crown," she had pronounced smugly.

"Are you mad? It is as if someone pushed a nail through it. It is disgusting," he had snorted.

Yes, it had been a good day. Barring that somewhat wistful look in his eyes when they discussed Anandi.

"Good night, Sunehri."

***

When she returned to her room, Rudra was already asleep. He was using her copy of Neelam Jasoos as a pillow, evidently the book had put him off to sleep. Oh well. She was not even going to attempt to read his Rann Ki Reth nonsense. She walked towards the almirah and pulled out the letter snucked between her lehengas. It said Parvati Ranawat, she could read that thanks to Sunehri, who was helping her learn English. She could now read a few words here and there. Not enough to tell Major Saab about it though.

Bholenath, let there be good news this time, please.

After sending out this prayer, she ripped open the letter and familiar words greeted her - for the sixth time. We are sorry. They liked her idea for the novel, but they did not publish crime novels. Did she write love stories? Readers liked love stories. Also, they preferred publishing novels in English than in Hindi. Her name sounded like a woman, why then was she writing crime novels.

The last bit always amused her. Like why was she Parvati, fighting her intrinsic femininity by doing something macho as writing a crime novel. Which was strange because God knows that women were more than capable of murderous rage. Why then can't they write about them?

She placed this letter in her little plastic bag of rejection notes. Was it a joke that a village girl, who until recently wrote nothing more than letters and who probably knew only ten percent of words of this language was being foolish enough to want to write a novel? Maybe it was, if the six notes were anything to go by. But she was going to keep trying. Like her best friend Anandi.

When she came to the bed she noticed that her husband was neither hogging the bed, nor was he perched on the edge. In fact, he seemed to have drawn an invisible, yet fair line across the middle of the bed. Like a good boy, he kept to one side and inviting her to take the other side. She did just that, no longer feeling coy or like she was intruding. She stared at his face for a while, letting her fingers to very gently caress the scar on his forehead. But even in sound sleep, his reflexes were alert and he grabbed her palm and pulled her closer to him.

Perhaps things were not so bleak. One day things would be alright between them. They may even become friends. She would name their first born Anandi, even if he didn't approve. As her eyes began to shut a last thought crossed her mind, what if they did not have any daughters and there were only sons, like him, scowling boys who hated losing in street cricket. Oh one problem at a time, she thought and drifted into wonderland.

***

Very well written...waiting for part 2

very nice and so believable! I can actually see Major Saab moving around grumbling to himself! Waiting for Ballika Vadhu meets RR 😊

Beautiful... i liked the inner voice of our rudy boy.

Loved 1st part; Rudra's frustration. :) of course, it's all Paro's doing. Now who is Anandi, from BV?

-Sona

Lol! Love this! Poor Rudra. He is going crazy huh?😃

aweeesome!!! Waiting for the next part.

Nice one. I can so imagine a grumpy Rudra walking around with a scowl on his face because of the bewakoof ladki whom he hates 😆 Ooh Anandi! Splendid. What can she not fix?!