IPKKND FF: KHUSHI by JALEBI JANE Thread 1: EPISODE 001-052 - Page 78

KHUSHI by Jalebi Jane (EPISODE 029)

"LEAVE!" KHUSHI POINTED HER FINGER to the shadows from where he had emerged. Her hair stirred in the breeze like a dark veil floating behind her. "You are nothing to me. I was miserable when they forced our rishta. And I was relieved when I could throw that ring back in your face."  She forced a harsh laugh, "yes, relieved! And do you know why? Because in my heart I knew I belonged to Arnavji."

Shyam's face darkened, his mouth twisting, as he snapped, "Yes, belong! Because that's all you are to him. An object to control and possess."

"Achaa?" she came back immediately. "Then I hope he never stops. Because I love the sensation of being possessed by him."

"It will stop!" he sniggered, his lips contorting. "When your usefulness ends in protecting his sister, he will toss you out without a second look."

Khushi leaned into Shyam's face, her hands clenched at her sides. She snarled, "I would sooner be discarded by him, than be with you."

At this, Shyam stumbled back a step as though her words had physical impact. Yes, Sisters, the malevolence in his eyes terrified her, but she seemed to be drawing from a strength she didn't know she possessed. A strength which surrounded her.

She felt as powerful as a queen with an army behind her.

"You can go now," she dismissed him regally. "You've done me a tremendous favour. Your secret has weighed on me," she pounded a fist to her heart as evidence, "but now that you told me that Arnavji knows everything, I can relax."  The words stumbled out of her without any consciousness on her part. It was as though the more she spoke, the more sure she grew sure of herself, her husband and their future. She wanted to run and find Arnav, but something told her that she had to remain rooted until Shyam left. He had to be driven out by her. This was a war, this was the battlefield and she could not---she would not!---yield a single inch.

He did yield. Almost silently, he turned away. And left the way he had come.

Her knees trembled but she remained upright until he was no longer visible.

ARNAV SINGH RAIZADA HAD SEEN and engaged in many battles, but never had he witnessed anything more arresting than this castigation delivered by his wife. He had watched and listened from the shadows of their bedroom---waiting for the precise moment to step in. But the moment had never arrived.

She had single-handedly quashed the snake. 

He stepped into the lit pool area---and his footsteps must have alarmed her as she immediately pivoted towards the disturbance ready to do further battle.

He put up both hands to show he was a man unarmed. 

She gasped a sigh of shaky relief and ran to him. He caught her as she launched herself at him.

"I need to tell you---!" she cried.

"I know," he smiled, gripping her close, cradling her head.

She began to correct him, "no, you don't know what---"

"I heard everything."

She pulled back as if in a daze and stared at him.

He nodded, brushing her hair away from her face, attempting to tuck the stray locks behind her ears. "Every word."

Khushi appeared to be processing his statement. "You know everything?" she asked.

"More or less. Though, I do have some questions---" he said.

"---as do I!" she finished.

But before she launched into her questions, he placed his hand over her mouth, and said, "could we discuss this later? Much later."

Her eyes crinkled, and he felt her smile beneath his hand. He replaced his hand with his mouth, and drew her into a kiss, which escalated from tender to urgent very quickly.

She broke contact before he was ready to release her. "Let's go inside," Khushi said, peering into the dark shadows surrounding the pool area.

"There is nothing to fear," Arnav said to her---and repeated the words, this time to himself. He allowed himself to exhale the breath he had held for the past twenty minutes.

THEY ENTERED THEIR BEDROOM, and Arnav closed the doors and drew the curtains.He appeared to remember something, and moved towards the bedroom door.

"Be right back," he said.

"Where are you going?" she asked, clutching his arm, aware that alarm had crept into her voice.

He halted, and asked, "Are you afraid to be alone?"

"No," she shook her head. "I'm afraid you'll confront him and fight and Di will be hurt...and the family will be devastated..." Khushi's imagination made flying leaps where she could only see disaster upon disaster unfolding.

He hushed her. "Nothing of that sort will happen. I've set a plan in motion. There is no need to confront him. He will destroy himself."

"Then where were you going?" she asked, worry drawing her eyebrows together.

"To get your jalebis," he disclosed, dropping a kiss on her nose.

Khushi relaxed and smiled, and said, "I'll go down."

"Sure?" he lifted his eyebrow. When she nodded, he said, "I'll have a quick shower." She was almost through the doors, when he stopped her. "Take this," he said, handing her her dupatta.

KHUSHI RAN DOWNSTAIRS. Lakshmi was in the hall and she stopped to give her a cuddle and tighten her choli strings. She then entered the kitchen, poured enough milk for two mugs into a saucepan and ignited the gas burner. As she waited for the milk to warm, she placed a tower of jalebis on a plate. A warrior queen had to keep up her energy. Then remembering there was some sugarfree gajjar ka halwa in the fridge, she heated some up for Arnav, and garnished it with slivers of badaam-pista. She was arranging these items on a tray when she saw Anjali---and with her, Shyam---enter the kitchen.

"Oh ho," Anjali smiled, "a late night snack?"

Khushi avoided Shyam's despicable eyes, grateful for Arnav having remembered her dupatta before she left the bedroom.

"May I heat some milk for you, Di?" she asked.

"I'll do it, Bhabhi---you go upstairs. Chotte will be waiting."

Khushi poured the hot milk into the two mugs, placed them on a second tray, and insisted, "you take this. I'll heat some more."

Anjali thanked her and reached for the tray, but Shyam reached across and said, "let me, Rani Sahiba." He took the tray from Khushi.

Khushi bristled as he deliberately touched her fingers. She flashed her eyes at him as a warning, but he missed her glare as he was preoccupied with comparing the two trays. He said, "Kya? You have nothing sweet for me?"

He lifted his eyes to meet hers, underlining the innuendo.

"Of course," she replied and quickly filled another plate of jalebis and placed it on their tray.

"And gajjar ka halwa?" Shyam enquired.

Anjali laughed, and said to her husband, "You don't want that. That's sugarfree. Specially made by a devoted wife for her diabetic husband."

"What an ideal wife you are. I hope the business tycoon appreciates you," he said with barely concealed hate.

"She is and he does," came Arnav's voice from behind Anjali.

Suprising everyone. But especially Khushi.

Khushi saw that Arnav's hair was quite wet, as though he had just stepped out of the shower, and had not taken more than a moment to towel dry it. Her heart rejoiced that he came to find her---or---

---Or had he come to check on her?

Did he not trust her?

Is that why he had secretly listened to her conversation with Shyam, to see if he could catch her out?

Anjali, who was blissfully unaware of the undercurrents to this conversation, teased her brother, "wah, your wife took longer than ten minutes so you came looking for her."

Arnav replied to his sister, but his eyes were directed to his brother-in-law, "when one has an ideal wife, one should at least try to be an ideal husband."

His sister nodded with approval, but Shyam curled his lip with derision.

The two turned to leave the kitchen but Khushi stopped Anjali. "Di, your tablets," she said, placing the pills on the tray Shyam was carrying. "Have them with the milk. Shubh ratri."

ARNAV SINGH RAIZADA AND HIS IDEAL WIFE were alone in the kitchen. Something had shifted within her since she left the bedroom. He sensed it. Had Shyam said something further? Or was his venom only now entering her blood stream? He watched her move silently to the fridge, remove the milk, pour some into the saucepan, and set it to heat. He poured some water into a tumbler, sipped it and offered her a sip. She declined with a shake of her head.

Her eyes remained on the frothy milk, but he knew her thoughts were far away. Making connections. Joining dots. When the words came, he realized he had been holding his breath expecting them.

"You married me so he would have no reason to leave Di," Khushi said, her voice small. It was not a question.

He set the water tumbler down. "Yes."

"You thought I wanted to be with him?"

He took a moment to find his voice. "Yes."

"So there was a moment---there had to have been," she stated, "when you asked yourself: Is Khushi the kind of girl who would encourage another woman's husband? And the conclusion you reached was yes'."

Her tone was not piteous; it was not even punitive---it was dispirited. Hollow.

Arnav was silenced. He couldn't recall that exact moment, but as Khushi said, there had to have been. The giant boulder that was lodged in his chest moved into his throat.

She turned off the stove, and carefully poured the milk into the two waiting mugs. He took the tray from her hands and they returned to their bedroom.

Arnav placed the tray on the low table opposite the recliner, and when he straightened, he felt Khushi's soft weight press against his back. She clutched him from behind. Her arms clasped his waist. His throat constricted against unshed tears as he felt her deep pain and disappointment. He covered her hands with his, drawing her closer.

"Can we---?" she began to say but the words faded away.

He turned around, and lifted her face to look into those exquisite eyes. They were dry. She lowered her eyes and tried again, "can we go on the bed?"

She had made the request in the only way she knew how.

But he felt he should confirm what he clearly understood as her request. "Now?" he asked.

"Ji."

She crawled to the centre of the bed where he joined her.

WHAT FOLLOWED MAY SEEM SINGULAR to those unfamiliar with the history of Khushi and Arnav---but to us, Sisters, we who have watched them closely these many months know that these two had their own way of communicating. Sometimes they tore chunks out of each other, ready to throw one another out of the nearest window. Sometimes they sat side by side, he in the driver's seat; she in the passenger seat; saying absolutely nothing for miles. Sometimes they depended on a dance sequence or a scene in a play to remind each other that theirs was a once-in-a-lifetime love story.

And, sometimes, they simply trusted their bodies to speak for them.

Arnav allowed Khushi to lead. She was experiencing a tumult of emotions: anger, disappointment, sorrow---each bringing with it its own physical counterpart. He responded to her needs and gave her what she demanded in each moment.

Khushi initiated a kiss that asked, didn't you realize that it was always you?' Arnav deepened the kiss to convey I'm sorry.' She pushed him away to say, I hate you.' He pulled her close to say, no, you love me.'

She tugged roughly at his shirt; so he removed it. Her fingers clawed at his chest; her lips suddenly taking his mouth, then ending the kiss as abruptly as it began. She turned away from him, and removed her kameez, but wouldn't show herself to him, until he begged her. His mouth ---and hands caressed her breasts and she told him by her sighs when she was ready for more. He stripped and reached for her salwaar, but she brushed his hands away. She herself removed her salwaar, and climbed onto his lap. She then pressed her face into his neck, and he held her close and still, stroking her back, stroking her hair.

It was then that he felt her warm tears touch his neck, and he brought her closer yet, cradling her slim form.

"Khushi," he whispered.

His throat locked and unlocked, as she wound her arms tightly around his neck. And he received the gift of her forgiveness.

They remained this way for minutes or hours. Time carried on outside their four walls. Within there was no time. Khushi unwound herself from him and laid back on the bed. Ever-so-slowly she slid her hands down her arms, across her waist, along the curve of her hips and down her thighs. His mesmerized eyes followed her hands, and his body responded to her unspoken invitation. She bit her lower lip, and lowered her eyes---that quick shift from bold to bashful heightened his arousal.

"Is this what you want, Khushi?" he asked, sliding his hands along her inner thighs. Her knees came up and pressed close. He was not discouraged. He continued to stroke her. To love her. Until she decided she was ready.

By Jalebi Jane

KHUSHI by Jalebi Jane (EPISODE 030)

THOUGH FAR FROM AN IDEAL HUSBAND, it should be mentioned that Arnav Singh Raizada had come to know and act upon his wife's preferences reasonably well. He knew the way to her heart was through a jalebi. He knew her favourite colour was sunflower yellow. He knew she delighted in armfuls of churiyas. He knew her navel was an intense pleasure point. This was a good start for a man who heretofore took little notice of others' preferences; and a good start for a marriage which had just celebrated a fortnight.

What he had not yet learnt was that Khushi---like most women---healed in layers. Arnav would soon become acquainted with the anatomy of a woman's heart; the injury he had caused Khushi was severe and so would the remedy have to be. He returned from his morning run to find his wife, dressed and ornamented, seated in front of the vanity table applying the final touches to her makeup. But he immediately spotted a problem.

She was wearing a suit. He glanced at the bed where a sunflower yellow saree lay ignored.

It was now a firmly established habit between them that when she went for her shower, he left for his run. And just before leaving, he would select a saree for her to begin her day in. He would lay it on the edge of their bed ready for her when she emerged from the bathroom.  To dress her had become his essential daily pleasure. Yes, he admitted it. It was erotic. It was sexual. It was about possessing her. It connected her to him throughout the day even when they were apart. He had indicated to her, more than once, that he expected her to abide by his selection. That she had not done so this morning---especially this morning---irritated him.

"Yeh saree pehen lo, Khushi," he said, dropping the saree in her lap, as he brushed by her to access the wardrobe.

"I'm already dressed." She stated the obvious.

He turned to read her eyes. What was this about?

She leaned into the mirror, meticulously dabbing gloss on her lips and refused to meet his eyes.

He tried another tactic. "I can help you undress," he offered.

Something passed through her eyes which he didn't comprehend, but she came to her feet and without another word exchanged she walked to the bathroom with the saree blouse and petticoat in hand. She emerged within a moment and stood in front of the large mirror to drape the saree.

He moved behind her, removed the saree from her hands, dropping it on the recliner and caught her by the waist, bringing her into closer contact with him. With one hand, he brushed aside her hair and kissed her temple and slid his mouth to her ear. Her eyelashes lowered and her eyes shut.

"You don't like this saree?" he asked. "I understood this was your favourite colour."

She said softly, "it is."

"Why did you wear the suit?" he asked, wanting to get to the real issue.

"I like my suits."

"I don't."

"Why? Because they are cheap---like me?" she said, stepping away at the same time, and bent to retrieve the saree.

"What?!" He gripped her by the shoulders bringing her back to him. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," she replied, her eyes lifting to flash into his.

"Don't speak that way, Khushi---"

"---Cheap. Isn't that what they call a woman who goes with a married man? You believed that of me. So, you believed I was cheap," she said, tears perched precariously on her lashes.

Her words hit him like a wave, and he briefly lost orientation of the conversation. She took advantage of this powerless moment, twisted out of his arms and bolted out of the room in her blouse and petticoat clutching the saree in her fist.

"Khushi!" he called out and went after her.

KHUSHI SLIPPED INTO THE STOREROOM where Arnav stored his gardening supplies. She hurriedly draped the saree, and then went to join the family for aarti. She knew the exact moment when Arnav descended the stairs---she sensed his presence. And she knew the exact moment that he ascended the stairs and returned to their room. She knew that her outburst must have disturbed him---as much as it had surprised her---yet, she could neither find the strength to follow him nor dismiss him.

She was conflicted.

LAST NIGHT WHEN SHE WEPT IN HIS ARMS, in her heart of hearts she had forgiven him. She knew Arnav; she knew that whatever he had seen and heard on the terrace would have come as a profound blow. To discover that a much-respected brother-in-law had betrayed his much-beloved sister---this would have shattered him. And, from this hurt, he must have believed he was acting logically. Even rationally. Her husband was blessed with a superior dimaag---as he himself would boast---however, the danger of a strong mind, untempered by a feeling heart, was that his mind could convince him that wrong was right, and right was wrong. She had been at the receiving end of his dimaag decisions enough times to know this. 

She had reconciled herself to all this last night.

Yet---this morning she had collapsed into gut-wrenching sobs on the shower floor. She had wept for a broken dream. For the degradation of knowing that the man she loved beyond anything had believed her to be so contemptible as to seduce a married man. He had believed it for not just a moment, but by her calculations, probably several days. That was the thought which tortured her mind. Everything else she had been able to accept.

She was with Payal in the kitchen when she again sensed his presence. He strode in. He had showered but was dressed casually, not for a day at the office. He removed the saucepan from her hand, gripped that same hand and led her out of the kitchen. All without a single word spoken. Khushi looked back to see a bemused Payal, while at the same time trying to not trip over her saree as Arnav's long purposeful stride forced her to run to keep up. He led her right out of the front door, down the stairs, and to the carport. He opened the passenger door and waited for her to climb in. Khushi knew argument was futile. The rigid set of his jaw told her that he would happily toss her in the back seat (head first) if she ventured to resist.

Retaining as much dignity as a woman who has just been kidnapped from her own kitchen could maintain, she climbed into the seat. She waited for him to clip the seatbelt on. She knew he would. He did. Their eyes collided as he stretched the seatbelt across her torso. Hers said And, you say I make scenes?' His replied It's not a scene when Arnav Singh Raizada does it.'

ARNAV WOULD HAVE OBJECTED to his tactics being characterized as heavy-handed, as he felt his actions well within his rights. After all, he had warned his wife only two days ago: This is Arnav Singh Raizada in love. He reversed the car out of the driveway, and drove towards the front gate. Removing his phone from his pocket, he pressed Anjali's number.

"Di---" he started. He noted that he had Khushi's full attention. "Yes. What you have heard is true. I have abducted her," he replied to Anjali's first obvious question. "Everything's fine," was his reply to her second obvious question. "We'll be back later."

He ended the call, aware that he had done more to excite his sister's curiosity than appease it. Khushi was also looking at him with something near incredulity.

"One more call. This one you can handle while I negotiate traffic," he said, dialling a number and pressing his phone to her ear.

She started to protest, "---Who is it? what am I to say---?" when the number connected and she had to quickly improvise.

"Ah...uhm...yes, good morning, Mr Sen. This is Khushi Raizada...my husband and I wanted to wish you and Mrs Sen a good flight..."

As she spoke, Arnav listened to her with what he would privately admit as husbandly pride. She had not known whose number he had dialled, but once connected, she had known precisely what he would have wished her to say. He had often heard men in business refer to their wives as partners, and he had scoffed at that claim. In his view, a man was a man because he was self-sufficient.

Yet, there was something of an accomplice he had found in Khushi, which strengthened him.

She spoke longer than he would have. And when she ended the call, she said glibly, "I've accepted an invitation to visit them in St. Petersburg. You can join me if you want."

WITHOUT CONSULTING HER, Arnav ordered both aloo and gobi parathas with the usual accompaniments. "I'm pleased to see that you feed your prisoners," Khushi commented, not remotely inclined to be friendly.

They were seated at a garden-side table at a business hotel no more than three minutes away from Raizada House. The server returned immediately with tea, which she said she would pour. Arnav's eyes had not left her since they sat. It was unnerving. She needed some activity to keep herself focused otherwise she would have nothing to do but weep. She prepared her husband's cup. And gave it a good stir before placing it in front of him.

"That was unnecessary," he said.

"Kya?" She bristled at his criticism.

"Stirring. Unnecessary. My cup doesn't contain sugar," he indicated matter-of-factly.

"Oh." She prepared her own cup, added more sugar than was sensible and stirred it in with incredible energy. "How long am I to remain your prisoner?" she asked, archly.

"Prepare yourself for life imprisonment."

"Wasn't it six months?" she asked, to remind him of his charming marriage proposal.

"Changed to a life sentence. Punishment must always fit the crime."

"What is my crime?" she asked, leaning back with her cup and saucer in hand.

He also leaned back, steepled his fingers, and said, "the list is lengthy, but the top one is running away when we are in conversation. You know how much I hate that. Yet, you persist---"

He halted as the server returned at that moment with their breakfast.

ARNAV ACCEPTED THE PLATE she prepared for him. He would have preferred they share a plate, but perhaps that was asking too much of her this morning. Instead he fed himself, and took much pleasure in watching her eat.  Nobody could accuse his wife of joyless eating. Nobody could accuse her of doing anything without joy. She completed her breakfast, and since he could not persuade her to have more, he asked the server to clear the table and bring more tea. When the server returned with a fresh pot of tea, Arnav told him, "do not disturb us for the next half hour."

Khushi was observing him with what he sensed was apprehension. He knew what his question had to be, but it was a dangerous question, and there was in him a reluctance to hear her reply.

"Khushi, tell me in plain and simple language what I c---an do so you never again feel as you did this morning." There, it was said.

She met his eyes. He read in it some surprise, and then he saw her tears. He presented his handkerchief before she reached for her pallu. His throat locked at the pain she was braving, and he had no choice but to turn his face away and briefly close his eyes.

"I'm making a scene," she said.

"You can make a scene here. We'll never be back," he replied.

She smiled through her tears, and he reached for her hand.

"Tell me," he urged.

She shrugged and said, "I understand everything you did. But---" Here her voice quivered.

He stroked her hand. "You can't forgive me?" he asked, genuine worry permeating every pore of his body.

"That's just it. I have forgiven you," she clarified, shaking her head. "yet, I still wish---" she took his other hand and leaned towards him, "---I wish you found it impossible to believe anything ugly about me. You have always found it remarkably easy to believe the worst of me. That hurts."

He looked at their enfolded hands and took a breath. Her fingers tilted his chin up, and he had no choice but to let her see the sheen in his eyes.

By Jalebi Jane