Arshi SS: Chiron CHAPTER 3 | UPDATED May 9| pg 25 - Page 3

Came running as soon as I saw your scrap.

The title in itself is interesting.

So Arnav is Chiron!

Would love to see how you take it further.

Will be waiting for the first chapter.

Waiting to see what you have in store.

I have close to zero knowledge of greek myths..but i am definitely going to look this one up as to be closer to chiron..

Bezabri se intezaar hai behna. ...🤗

Or maybe it's two people gazing at the sky at the same time, one finding stars and the other cosmic dust? 😛

Thank you Ruchi Di, you make every writing experience delightful with your words.

1. Convict

We watch yearly documentaries on Discovery and National Geographic channels, sympathetically glance at pictures in a magazine of a catastrophe struck South East Asia, alertly scan newspapers for a possible forecast, teach our children about how to protect themselves when tremors are sensed and yet, when seismic furry erupts, in a matter of seconds life lies scattered on roads like deciduous leaves in autumn.

Lesson, calamities strike all over the world, natural or manmade, on varying scales. They befall countries, they befall individuals but seldom do they spare us time to gather our bearings and act. The time frame in which an extended period of lull transmutes to tumult is imperceptibly fugacious.

I was no stranger to the fact, yet on a particularly humid July afternoon when a flimsy layer of moody monsoon clouds shrouded the insolent sun, I pensively realized the enormity of my winged personal calamity as merciless camera flashes and clicks and a horde of mikes were shoved at my face. Under smoky, grim skies I was hounded by media bandits and assailed by their relentless inquisitions eructed on a decibel level that surely must have scraped my tympanic membranes. It was a human cacophony, media, police officials and a few victims of it like me. On verge of being physically hurt, I wondered if I could file a case against media molestation or if such a term even existed.

To the right of the swarm, was a lush green carpet of meticulously manicured lawn lined with green hedge and sprinkled with potted plants cropped in circular patterns, in front of me, stood a sovereign and redoubtable structure of bricks and concrete. With its three facades marked with nearly a dozen white, austere pillars, the Delhi High Court rang ominous sounding bells in my ears.

On my left, displaying our cohesion was my steadfast ally and though feeble but a potential alibi, Aman. That his nerves were frazzled was a given, that his restless palpitations were terminal was expected but it was perhaps my outwardly placid demeanor that gave him grief de trop. He might have concluded that I hadn't acquainted myself fully with our predicament which was far from the truth.

I had known that I was destined to be famous someday but did I have an inkling that my claim to fame would be but a corporeal manifestation of a raging nightmare?

Navigating through a surging humanity, striding in step with us on the graveled road, the police led us to our vehicle. I was thankful that Mohan, my chauffeur was mindful enough to bring the beige Nissan Sunny, which was the cheapest car the "Ashram" owned. The press reporters' commentary was redundant as I heard one of them squeal into her microphone, the colour and name of the vehicle sent for us. Had Mohan brought any of the luxury vehicles, viewers of a popular prime time slot panel discussion this evening, would have witnessed its stature being unduly escalated to an issue of national debate.

****

I hadn't been cognizant of the extent of tranquil the air conditioned confines of a four wheeler could offer you before this date, shutting off the jarring chaos I left behind, once seated, I closed my eyes and rested my head on the backrest. Aman finally remembered to breathe. The car was enveloped in a human shield of policemen, insulating it from press.

After a fleeting period of respite I heard a knock on my side of the door. It was the inspector who had detained me earlier in the morning, I pulled down the side mirror and gestured him to speak. I could notice a marked shift in his deportment from the morning, from severe and high handed his stance now bordered on being obsequious as he spoke, "Jyotishacharya, aapko zyada takleef toh nahi hui?" (Jyotishacharya, hope you weren't troubled much during the proceedings) I was stunned for a moment before I recognized the plea in his eyes, I knew where this was going prior to when he spoke, "Darasal bitiya ki shaadi nahi hui, agar aap ek baar uski kundali dekh lete... main khud hi ashram le aunga." (My daughter hasn't found a suitable match yet, if you could consider her horoscope and suggest a remedy? I'd bring it to the ashram myself.)

Before I could respond, Aman spoke up, "Nahi sir, aap kyun pareshaan honge, hum apna banda bhej denge aapke ghar kundali laane ke liye, aapka kaam ho jayega." (Please don't bother with that sir, we'll send our man to retrieve it from you, your work should be done.)

Wincing, I bit my lip and looked away, this was against our rules, neither did our men go around on such errands nor did I ever profess to offer remedies for matrimonial ailments but I also understood why Aman was doing this, obliging Inspector Bhushan could turn him into our favor. He could be a trusted aid till this mess we found ourselves in got over. I turned towards Bhushan and begrudgingly nodded in acquiesce.

As Bhushan gratefully left my side to bark at his subordinates, Mohan adjusted the rear view mirror quipping "Mera Bharat mahaan" over the inspector's indulgence while Aman allowed himself a smoke. I might have wanted to pass a remark or two but a movement towards my left halted my speech. It was then that my eyes found her, the fifth time that day, from the gap in between the two men in uniform leaning against my car.

Of the many foibles of human mind, one is its peculiar ability to abscond from cagey vicissitudes of circumstances taking much of the conscious along. When it is in that separate domain, it casually eclipses the Amans beside you, spewing some preposterous legal advice along with puffs of combusted tobacco and fixates upon a slender frame some yards away, decked in tediously perfect black and white. Just like my mind did.

She was draped in a snow white sari, a stiff white collar around her neck, in one hand she held a red bound file and the other hand was busied holding the lapels of her advocate's gown together bringing them closer to her chest.

She walked in her bespectacled glory, her hair bunched behind her ears in a bun that evinced neglect, reminding me of the morose heroin in a certain 70s movie my mother was a fan of. Her steps were unhurried and calculated, however, much discernible to me was her acute restlessness despite her obvious attempt to hide it. Was it caution? Nay, caution seemed too mild a word to describe her gait, the woman walked with a vengeance, as if spiting the ground beneath her chappals and the air hitting her nostrils.

Another of mind's quirks is its dysfunctional clock. A few stolen moments in the mind's eye often stretch till infinity; I had my infinity there, in the cramped environs of the high court's parking, through the widening gap between the two khakhi shirts still hovering over most of my window. My eyes followed her trail, from the steps of the court building to the parking, simply observing.

It wasn't like I was taken by some dramatic onslaught of romantic feelings when I saw her, people often unfairly disregard attraction as a non emotion but in my case, it wasn't even attraction, not at least in the physical sense. Certainly not... not yet.

My lazy intent was in assimilating the flavor she imparted the air around her, an eerie charm. Her movements were sturdy despite her slight physique. Surprisingly, not once did she glance at the media circus ensuing a few meters away from her, her gaze stationed in line with the tip of her nose was dangerously resolute. If that was how she always walked, I might someday read in the local newspaper about a female lawyer run down by a speeding vehicle while crossing a road, I vaguely mused.

With that same singular focus she reached a red hatchback, parked about four meters away from us. She let go of her gown's lapels and reached for the door of the driver's side of her car and that's when I felt the signs - a thrill down my spine, an upward lurch of my heart, a throbbing nerve behind my right ear and sweat in my palms. It wasn't impulsive of me, though Aman would passionately argue that it was, in near future but I had to act on my primary instincts.

"Follow that red Brio." I said as Mohan was finally able to pull out, ignoring Aman's epiglottal grunts and ignoring a berating conscience that was pissed at this unabashed stalking.

"Wait, why?" a harried Aman demanded, tossing the cigarette butt out from the window.

"For god's sake Aman, why don't you use the ashtray?" I was getting increasingly annoyed with his civic scruples of a wolf. His question would wait.

"This place would smell like hell if I did, but that's beyond the point..."

"It already is smelling like hell."

"You won't die Arnav, and again, it's beyond..."

"No, it isn't. Side stream smoke contains more carcinogens you know, passive smoking is more harmful than..."

"Enough. Tell me why is the Brio being followed?"

"Correction. My attorney is being followed."

I couldn't help but revel in a paltry sense of victory watching Aman's nonplussed expression. After a while he uttered, "Bullshit."

"Plenty found outside, on the road." I offered with a smile.

"That was juvenile even by your standards Arnav." He grimaced, "Do you realize how sensitive our position at the moment is? One wrong move and we are finished. Over. As it is the press has made things ugly..."

"I FULLY comprehend our position Aman." I said interrupting his tirade, pursing my lips I turned to look out of the window in annoyance. I noticed Mohan following the Honda Brio diligently, keeping a safe distance from it. Questioning the master directly wasn't permitted in his rulebook, but Mohan followed orders without batting an eyelid, if he ever had misgivings about a job, his unease was awfully undetectable.

Aman however could not and ought not to be equated with Mohan was my slightly delayed realization. Turning back to him, I tried to explain, "Rathi was appointed on a very short notice and he was good only up till managing the morning crisis, now we'd need somebody more competent."

Advocate Rathi was more or less superfluous, truth being that there wasn't sufficient evidence against me to hold on to. But now as the prosecution would dig for something more substantial, we'd need a more experienced counsel. That was of course the strategy till I had found her.

"And that's exactly why we are in talks with R&R, in fact Pratap Rawat himself has offered to represent us, he's the best criminal defense lawyer in the city." Aman's hands were as animated as his mouth as he spoke enunciating the last part with an emphasis grating on my nerves.

Pratap Rawat, co-owner of the Partnership law firm Rawat&Raheja or R&R was a defense attorney with an impossibly impeccable track record, or so was the popular belief. Not that he had never lost any cases, the ratio though wasn't worth a mention. Deenanath Raheja, the second partner on the other hand was a civil defense lawyer.

"So, why would you even want to consider any random red hatchback driving pettifogger to represent you?"

"Because I don't bloody trust anything more than my intuition. And it says that the red hatchback driving "pettifogger" is the one." I said air quoting pettifogger.

I sighed, contemplating for a moment whether it was wise to share this piece of information with him and then chose to reveal.

"I've had a precognition, a pretty acute one at that."

The moments that followed were of silence overwrought. In our present state, I somewhat dreaded his reaction.

"Bullshit." He spat retrieving his pack of cigarettes. I rolled my eyes.

"It's called Extrasensory Perception." I reminded him.

The changes were minute but not nondescript, his increased edginess did not elude me. "Relax Aman."

"No. You listen Arnav, you have been taking this Jyotishacharya crap way too seriously. Keep it limited to the trade, you and I both know what our business is, your practices have zero scientific credence. We thrive on people's superstition, we don't rely on one of our own f**ked up fantasies."

Indignation began to scrape at the walls of my severely guarded temper. I rarely lost my cool, but Aman of all the people shouldn't have been saying this.

"Don't forget Aman Mehera that you have made yourself a fortune due to my f**ked up fantasies."

"And a hell lot of screwing the law." He snorted.

I threw him a warning glare reminding him of Mohan's presence. Mohan remained as nonchalant as ever. Though he was a trusted employee, some things better remained between Aman and me.

"Are you suggesting that all these years we had gambled ourselves relying plainly on my ridiculously excellent luck? That's rather wishful thinking, I wish I were that lucky."

He sighed in defeat, "I don't know Arnav, I just don't know man. Maybe you have been lucky at least in this regard. If your intuition was so reliable, why couldn't you know in advance that we were to meet this disaster?" His palm was now scratched with the material of his jeans from rubbing rigorously against his knee. I had known Aman for many years, I was aware of his medical history and also of the fact that how easily he crumbled under pressure. It had often been the bone of contention between the two of us.

"I never believed my intuitive sense to be infallible Aman. If you so fiercely doubt my judgment, why did you join me in my madness?"

Brakes were applied the very same moment adding an almost dramatic impact to my words.

A surprised "oh" escaped Aman's mouth as the car came to a halt. I saw her park her car to the side of a building and enter it not misplacing a fraction of her previously established stiffness.

"She works with them." He trilled.

I had recognized our surroundings as soon as our vehicle was pulled behind hers. I didn't have to read the bold embossed letters in Golden against the background of black granite, "R&R".

I took the liberty of smirking at Aman. He had fallen rather silent.

****

Two mugs of herbal tea and three advanced games of chess on the UCI engine later, I felt like a free man again. I had to mail the developers of the game that we needed a new version, mine had been depleted of new moves. Winning against the computer could not excite anymore.

It was at 5 in the evening that I decided it was now time to pay R&R a visit. Locking my apartment, I had only lodged myself in the driving seat of my Jaguar XF when my phone beeped with an incoming message. It was Aman's.

Don't think of a dalliance with your supposed attorney. It could be scandalous you know.

I broke into a grin.

Don't worry, my interest in her is purely platonic.

Welcome back, Mehera.

He sent me a silly, trite smiley in response. So much for calling me juvenile.

****

I pulled my vehicle about 30 minutes later, in front of the tower, second and third floor of which served as an office for R&R.

I had shaven my face, something I usually avoided and had worn a cap, for the first time in my life, I was hiding my identity, embarrassed. Embarrassed of being recognized.

Though as soon as I entered the reception area of R&R, I took off the cap.

"But that's a nice cap." I heard a female voice call behind me. I turned around to find a pretty looking receptionist. She bit her tongue, and offered a flustered apology.

"But it's so not my idea of fashion." I said offering her one of my smiles as I approached her desk ruffling my longish hair with my fingers.

"I see. Why would you wear it then?"

"Umm, difficult question."

"How can I help you Sir?" she said finally remembering her job.

"I am here to..." If I could descry her movements in chaos, it didn't even take a second in the pin drop silence of the hall. She was a mechanical breeze and a vision in warm mustard.

"to meet her." I said softly, gesturing in her direction as I saw her disappear behind a door.

"Jaya ma'am?" Spoke the receptionist looking at the now closed door. Something revolted inside me, her name was Jaya?

Shakespeare couldn't have been more wrong when he had given the world that wretched What's there in the name.' Trust an astrologer, there's a lot in it. It's a play of vibrations associated with different syllables, imagine the quanta of vibrational energy permanently identified with your existence.

"And whom should I say is here to meet her?" she asked.

"Raizada." I replied still lost in and miffed at the possible inconsistency in what the woman seemed to represent and what her name told. J was not her letter.

I heard the receptionist gasp and finally averted my eyes from the door behind which Jaya had disappeared and turned my attention to the girl. She gaped at me, regarding me from top to bottom. Subtlety was clearly not her forte. "You are Arnav Raizada?"

I was amused. People! It was inherent in us to categorize, sectionalize and label a person with attributes congruous with widely accepted stereotypes. An astrologer or Jyotishi immediately conceived in the mind an image of ethnically dressed, mostly in bi-colors, often pot-bellied men with serene expressions and a vertical vermillion strike across forehead, making unintended mockery of a science, daily, early morning on GECs and news channels.

She wasn't expecting to find a thirty-something guy sporting dark grey denim trousers and a sky blue Polo T-shirt. Had it not been for my grave situation, I would have wanted to wink at her. "Yes, I am."

"Sir, please have a seat. Mr. Rawat would like to have a word with you. In fact he left for your place some half an hour ago, should be back at any time."

"But I intended to have a word with... your Jaya Ma'am."

"Oh, sorry sir, I was informed that Rawat Sir was your counsel."

And it was back. That one nagging doubt, though my instincts rarely failed but I didn't know for sure yet, did she even practice criminal law?

"But isn't she a criminal counsel too?" I played.

"That she certainly is. Associate attorney Gupta has been with R&R from past two years." She added, "I'd ask for your case file to be transferred to her, you can wait in her room Sir. It's second from the right, this way." She said maintaining her well practiced spurious smile throughout. Picking up the intercom on her desk, she instructed one Rajat person for file transfer.

"Thanks." I said relieved at the swift action.

I had but taken ten steps when I heard her gush out on her phone in a hushed yet much audible voice, "Hello Dimple? I saw him... that sex racket wala Swami" I stilled, so did the sound of my breaths. "no, not on TV silly, for real. God, just look at him."

It was one thing to wake up on an odd morning to find that you were neck deep into dirt, another to face an asinine media rubbing that dirt on your face. But it took it to an all together different level of ignominy to hear people discuss your dirt behind your back. Dimple's friend hadn't even bothered about me still being in the same room as her and very much in earshot.

I clenched my fists and gulped down the bitter pill of reality feeling jabs in my spleen till it bled.

Charges such as these weren't unheard of in our line of business, taking a deep breath, I reminded myself. Life was never easy, if it was for some, I wasn't one of them. I had never been.

****

My legs had a nervous energy and it had nothing to do with the events of the day. As I approached her room, the shifts in air were more conspicuous than ever. Hair on my arms pricked in response.

"Physical sciences have rapidly advanced, but aren't they still quite young?" I had once asked Him.

"Young and naive." He had responded with a chuckle.

The things I perceived could not be calculated using the known principles of physics. Hell, you could not even measure fear, excitement, pain, pleasure, happiness, anger or any other known sensations using physical sciences; what I felt was far subtle than those.

I knocked twice before entering and I saw her for the first time, this close. Close enough to finally be able to make out her features clearly. I exhaled slowly feeling relief wash over me, I hadn't realized I had been so restless.

She looked up from her computer screen and briefly nodded at me, she had even smiled, had I not been so intently gazing at her, I would have missed it. Her lips were thin and she had a smile that would disappear before you could be lucky enough to have a glimpse of it.

"I am Arnav Singh Raizada." I gave the much perfunctory introduction.

"Hmm." Was all she did returning her gaze to the screen, most probably reading my case.

I bit into the side of my cheek to stop a chuckle from rolling out. She could make even an antsy Aman seem like a friendly person.

I was allowed to have a seat, rather I took the chair and she did not object. I studied her face again. She had a small nose with a piercing but no nose ring or stud. In fact she did not wear any ornaments apart from a bracelet in her left wrist, if that thing could be called a bracelet. It was the kind of thing little girls play with, tiny bands made of colourful beads. Pink and orange beads in a black string around her tiny wrist gave her an endearing innocence.

Her eyes like almost everything about her were cold and resolute, ironically they reminded me of warm honey which was precisely the colour of her iris. She had beautiful eyes, if not for the contraception of hideously old fashioned frame of her glasses whose rim touched her cheek bones. And this was the precise reason why she reminded me of Jaya Bhaduri in Kora Kagaz, I recalled the movie's name like an epiphany. Maybe she too had an estranged husband.

Her hair was untidily bunched in a bun similar to how I had seen her earlier that day, the only difference from then and now was her sari. It was a plain mustard coloured cotton sari with a brown border.

I also noticed another thing, she wasn't slender, she was frail.

When ultimately she was done fixating on her screen, her compelling gaze shifted to me. The look she gave me was so exceptionally scornful that had I not been so lost observing her, I would have withered in my seat.

"No." she spoke. I was thrilled, that had to be the firmest "No" ever.

"No?" I repeated mystified.

"No." This time it was grave and before I even had a chance to speak in my defense, came her verbal arrows poisoned with derision, "Culprit you are, I wouldn't want to do anything with you or this case." There was a slight tremor in her voice.

From the corner of my eye I noticed the beveled plate bearing her full name or another abbreviation of it that had been staring at me all this while.

A conclusion was reached. In the court of Associate attorney K. Jaya Gupta, defendant Arnav S. Raizada was decreed guilty and sentenced to her lifelong hostility. Funnily though, I wasn't allowed a trial.

I had been judged before, in fact many times in the same day, but never with this ferocity.

****

NEXT

Eager for Chiron

Haila..I was supposed to edit my first page post ..but galti se idhar post kardia 😳

The prologue was really intriguing. I can't wait to read more.