Chapter 5
Nainital is a jewel. The lake, nestled snug amidst the slopes filled with towering pines invites you to embrace her, to soothe yourself as you walk along the shores. Life itself seems very slow, and all its troubles feel like far-off vague memories.
It is upon this view that Khushi stood, feasting her eyes and breathing deep, the mountain air touching the very core of her being. She stood on the terrace, watching the serene lake below, with its tiny boats, for what seemed like hours, with the warm sunlight invigorating her, before she noticed that there was someone on the terrace below her. Looking down, she saw a man standing facing the lake as she was, sketching out something on a canvas mounted on an easel. Moving to the edge of the terrace, she leaned over to get a better view and realised that it was Arnav Singh Raizada, dressed in a sweater and khaki pants, with an artist’s apron wrapped around his slim waist, who was immersed deep in capturing the view.
Slightly surprised at seeing this version of one she knew from Payal to be a ruthless businessman, she suddenly recalled that he had mentioned not even his family knew about this house in Nainital. “Everyone has secrets….”, she thought, and was about to go back inside when she was gripped by a sudden thought. “Why am I here? Nobody knows where I am! What if this is another trap? Even Shyam looked and behaved like such a gentleman in the beginning…”
Still weak from her trauma and abuse, Khushi started hyperventilating and feeling dizzy, and was about to collapse when she felt a pair of soft hands hold her up. Looking up at her rescuer dazedly, she beheld a pair of kind eyes on an even kinder face smiling down at her. Gathered close, the middle-aged woman led Khushi inside to her room and gently lowered her to the bed, before sitting down next to her.
“Kaise ho, beta? Ab theek lag raha hai kya?” (How are you, child? Are you feeling okay now?)
Gazing at her in puzzlement, Khushi replied, “Hann, main theek hu… lekin aap kaun hai?” (Yes, I’m okay… but who are you?)
Smiling softly, she replied, “Humara naam Niharika hai. Teacher hua karti thi, school me, ab hum Arnav beta ke liye kaam karte hai, unke Carehome me. Aaj toh hum tumse milne aaye hai.”
(I’m Niharika. I used to be a teacher, but I work for Arnav now, managing his Carehome. I’m here to meet you, today.)
Still semi-dazed, Khushi didn’t register most of what was said, her relief great to see another female face in this house. Seeing her tired state, Niharika let her settle down to sleep before going down to meet Arnav. Going out to the lower terrace, she saw Arnav deeply immersed in his painting. Seeing the bold strokes he was making on the canvas, his art at its most abstract, she understood his need for venting out his emotions and sat back, quietly waiting for him to finish and emerge from his mood so that she could talk to him.
As she sat, her shawl wrapped securely around, her grey hair coming loose as it always did in the soft breeze, her gaze steady, yet unseeing on Arnav, she thought back on her first meeting with him, deep inside one of the streets of the Tibetan Market, years ago…
Walking briskly as she headed to her regular shop to get stationery and toys for the street children she taught on weekends, she crashed headlong into a man, a very young man, standing stock-still in the middle of the narrow lane. First her apology and next her annoyed ‘raasta chodiye’ going unnoticed, she looked up to see his horror-stricken, unblinking gaze focussed on the fire pit on the side, where the waste collectors were burning the daily waste of the busy commercial area. The fire leaping up, being expertly managed by the men supervising it, must have looked scary to someone not used to seeing it. Her reassuring words died on her lips as she realised that the man was slowly descending into a panic attack, something she was used to dealing with at her counselling sessions. Grabbing him gently by his hand, she pulled him out to the side, her familiarity with the streets let them out into the surrounding open ground in minutes. Seated on one of the wrought-iron benches overlooking the lake, the soothing smells of the famous Nainital Candles wafting over them, she had slowly brought him back to his senses.
His gratitude and vulnerability had touched her, odd, considering how rich and self-assured he looked. Over a cup of coffee, he had talked, the rush of words letting her know as nothing else would have, that this was one of the rare times that he unburdened himself. He talked of his continuing phobia with fire, and how a past tragedy had caused it and his frustration at being caught unawares in his panic attacks. She replied with her usual candour, and advised ways of coping, and breathing techniques, unaware that they were building a life-long bond. As he walked her back to the house she rented, with her classroom-cum-counselling centre-cum-vocational training centre on the ground floor and her modest apartment on the first floor, he explained who he was, and how he had come here for a business meeting and had wandered out to explore the area.
The location of her house, a solid hour’s walk up the hill had led them over many areas of untouched natural beauty, and she could see that it had made an impact on him, soothing him. For someone who was used to taking the lead and being the protector, Niharika had somehow become a mentor and a sounding board over the next few days, when he would drop in every evening for coffee and a chat. He kept in touch with regular phone calls after he left at the end of the week, and was back in a month, plans already in place to buy a dilapidated house near her house, and to renovate it as a private retreat.
The place had become his refuge, always kept ready, for he would visit whenever life became too much to handle. Recognising the loneliness buried deep within him, Niharika had gladly added him to her menagerie of children, young men and women who she supported. He had offered to purchase her rented house for her, and make it a permanent training cum counselling centre, but she had refused, as he knew she would. But he had gone one step further and built a charitable institute, under a trust and made her the chief trustee. Happy to accept help for her dependents even as she herself wouldn’t, she had gladly taken up this new role. The 15 year age difference between them made her into half-mother to the troubled young man, somehow over the years, she had become Neema to Arnav Singh Raizada - a mentor, a mother, a guide.
And he had brought a young girl with him yesterday, the first time anyone had ever accompanied him here, even though she knew in detail about his family. She was the first person he had called, explaining how this girl was brought home by Payal and that she was an abuse-victim, she had gladly rushed over, ready to help in any way she could.
A while later, Arnav heaved a sigh as he left his brushes in the jar of turpentine and turned, unwrapping his apron, stopping as he took in the sight of Neema sitting comfortably in a corner, watching him with knowing eyes.
Smiling slightly, he walked over, pulling his favourite woman up for a bear-hug. Anyone who knows ASR from his business world or for that matter, even his immediate family would have been stunned at seeing this. But his Neema was someone who had seen him at his lowest and was the nmost non-judgemental person he knew. With her, he felt the same comfort he used to have with his own mother.
“Apna frustration poora nikaal diya?” she asked, motioning towards his canvas. (Are you done letting out your frustration?)
Nodding, he replied as he pulled up a chair to sit next to her, “Last few days have been hard. I haven’t been able to pull myself out of the shock of facing the fireworks in the last show, as I talked to you about last night. Aur uske upar se, ab ye jo ladki hai, Khushi, usko leke worried hu mai.” (On top of that, I’m worried about this girl, Khushi.)
At Neema’s questioning look, he sighed. Pulling up his bottle from the floor and taking a long drink, he briefed her about the happenings of the past couple of days and how he had caught her as she was fleeing from his house and brought her here to rest and recuperate.
“Par woh tunhare ghar se kyu bhaag rahi thi, Arnav?” Neema asked, “Woh toh udhar khushi khushi kaam karna bhi shuru kiya tha naa?” (But why was she running away from your home, Arnav? That too when she had happily started working there.)
“I don’t understand that either, Neema. She just kept saying that she needed to get away from there right away, that she couldn’t take any risk. She actually said that she'd rather die than go back to that life.”
Sitting back, Neema steepled her fingers and asked, “Did something happen that day? Did anyone say anything to her?”
“I don’t know. Di and Jeejaji had come home and everyone was sitting around talking. I don’t know if anyone managed to come inside and talk to khushi while all were otherwise engaged. I was out jogging and didn’t see anything anyways.”
Neema was about to say something when Arnav spotted Khushi coming down the stairs slowly and got up. Seeing this, Neema too got up and motioning for Arnav to stay put, she went inside and smiling, went up to Khushi, “Ab kaise ho?” (How are you feeling now?)
Smiling gratefully, Khushi was about to reply when she saw Arnav standing on the terrace, looking at her intently and paled, her earlier fears coming to light again. Understanding her expression from her long associations with abuse-victims, Neema realised that for anything to be done, she had to get Khushi to be comfortable around Arnav.
Looking over at Arnav, she winked and said to Khushi, “Achcha hua tum uth gayi. Hum aur Arnav humare roz ke sair ke liye nikalne wale the. Hum lake ka ek chakkar kaatte hai, beta, roz. Tum bhi chalo… humara tumse jaan pehchaan bhi ho jaayegi. Ek kaam karo, shawl ya sweater leke aa jaao neeche. Hum gate ke paas wait karte hain.”
(Good that you’re up. We both were about to leave for our usual evening walk, taking a round around the lake. Why don’t you come with us? That way, we both will get to know eachother as well. Go get your shawl or a sweater and come join us at the gate.)
Caught by surprise, Khushi could only nod mutely and went to get the shawl she had in her room. Turning to Arnav, and seeing his questioning look, Neema smiled, “let me handle this. Tumhare aur mere sawalon ka jawab nikaalne ka ye hi sahi tareeka hoga. Humare wapis aane tak mai pata lagati hu ki ye bechari kisse darr ke bhaag rahi hai aur isske saath kya hua tha.”
(This is a good time to get some answers out of her. By the time we get back, I’ll try an find out what she is running from and what has happened with her.)
Taking a deep breath, Arnav walked out with Neema slowly, relieved that he had her to guide him along to understanding this girl, whose fear and sadness were bothering him like nothing ever had.
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CID
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