April 18, 2021
EPISODE 15
“Krishna? Does it seem to you,” Pallavi asked, “that the sign above our shop has been replaced with a sign that reads ‘Wicked Men Welcome’?”
Krishna plopped down on the dais next to a thoroughly disgusted Pallavi.
It had been that sort of morning.
No sooner had Pallavi chased away Kirti’s stalker, Jagdish—DSE’s landlord—had presented himself demanding rent.
Let me be clear, Sisters—a landlord has every right to expect rent paid on time without excuses and deferrals. However, no tenant should be subject to sexual demands in lieu of said.
Yes, Pallavi knew she was in the wrong. Jagdish ought to have the terms of the rental agreement met—and she was doing the best she could. She paid him everything she could scrape together every week; yet, he took vile pleasure in her struggle. Had Baba, Mandhar or Nikhil been present—Jagdish would never have made his filthy suggestions. But to men of his ilk, women left alone were fair game.
Krishna sighed, “Well, you earned a short reprieve by paying him something but he’ll come around again in a few days making the same lewd overtures—then what?”
Pallavi gave the girl a side-hug. “Don’t worry. I have a plan,” she said. And lifting her voice, imbuing it with militaristic command she made a short proclamation in Marathi.
“I love it when you recite your warrior dialogue, Didi. It makes me want to stand up and salute you,” Krishna laughed. “I only wish I could half understand what you are saying.”
Pallavi feigned a look of horror. “Not just any warrior dialogue, Krishna! I am a student of the great warrior, Baji Rao.” Here Pallavi jumped to her feet, and with head held high, and pretend sword in her hand, she translated her earlier words into Hindi: “ ‘To secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but the opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself’.”*
“Excellent,” responded the younger woman, “but how does that help us pay the rent?”
Pallavi said, “In a few days, I’ll go and pay him some more money. But this time, I’ll secretly record him when he tells me how I could clear the rent by bedding him—”
“—Oh! And then you’ll threaten to post it on Nikhil’s channel! Just like you threatened Kirti’s stalker!?” Krishna gasped with glee.
“No, I can’t be quite as overt about it,” Pallavi explained. “Because Jagdish knows I don’t want Baba to know about the rent arrears. He holds that sword over my head. But the recording may come in handy some day. We never know which weapon will slay our enemy so we keep them all ready.”
“Did Baji Rao say that?”
“No. Pallavi Deshmukh says that.”
***
When Harish climb into the back seat of the vehicle, Raghav looked at him through the rear view mirror in astonishment, then he looked at Farhad and asked, “Is he serious?”
Farhad gave a laugh, turned in the passenger’s seat to face Harish and explained, “You can’t be there with us.”
“Why not?” Harish protested. He wanted to be there to observe the saree shop dragon scolded in Raghav Rao-style. After the public humiliation he suffered this morning, that whole street must be shown that he was not weak.
“You’ll appear weak,” Farhad explained.
“But—” Harish began.
Raghav lost patience, and shouted. “You’ll appear as though you ran home crying and now your Mummy-Papa have come to fight on your behalf.” He then added in a softened tone, “Stay here and rest, Gorilla. Ask Remmy to prepare you a snack. We’ll take care of this.”
Put in those terms, Harish couldn’t argue.
As they drove away from Falaknuma Palace, Raghav asked Farhad, “Why such a delay in determining who accessed the security camera in the members’ room? It’s digital. Every individual accessing the footage signs in with a password. So what’s the problem?”
Farhad had been anticipating this question. He said, “I’m as appalled as you are. I’m not grateful to Anjali but had this crisis not occurred these failures in our systems would not have been exposed.”
Raghav shook his head. “We are a casino. Discretion and security is everything—”
“—I know, Annah.”
“Once we return from Mumbai, I want you to launch a thorough review of our security division. We upgrade our systems to the highest industry standard,” Raghav said.
“I will.”
“And not just at the casino. That evening when that woman was allowed to enter Palace grounds with no appointment, no identification check—ridiculous!” Raghav continued. It appeared he was now speaking to himself “Our recent years of primacy in the city have made us lazy,” he said. “Our systems and our people. We need to conduct ourselves as we did when we were less powerful. When we had more enemies than allies.”
In the midst of these reflections, his phone rang.
It was Amma.
He connected the call immediately.
“Amma? Is everything well?” he asked, anxiety seeping into his voice.
His mother’s voice—a voice never tender when speaking to him—announced, “I want to see you. Ippudu.”
“I’m on my way.”
***
Jaya Rao—widow of Ajit Rao; mother of Raghav and Kirti—was a formidable woman. Even now with a failing kidney her presence commanded attendance and her will brooked no challenge.
The fifteen year estrangement between mother and son is difficult to discuss all at once. You will have to be patient, Sisters, as I share that history in small increments. I will for now say this—Raghav had never stopped caring for—and caring about—his mother and sister. His efforts went unappreciated and were spurned; yet, he never stopped.
Nor did he expect that some day he would be rewarded with reconciliation.
Indeed, I believe, Raghav Rao had long given up on any hope of reconciliation. The most he wished for was that he be allowed to serve the two people whom he loved, but who no longer knew him.
Raghav entered the house. Farhad remained waiting outside, leaning against the car—but Amma called out to him.
She said, “I want you to hear this as well, Farhad.”
The two men stood with folded hands by the door offering quiet respect.
Amma did not offer them a seat—which they would have likely declined.
Kirti was not in the room. But she was somewhere in the house. Farhad had checked with Johnny—Gorilla’s replacement—who had informed them that both the Rao ladies were within.
“What can I do for you?” Raghav asked.
“I don’t want anything from you—” this was always her combative way of speaking to her son “—but it is for your sister’s sake that I call you here.”
“Yes?” Raghav, his tone neutral.
“She has accepted a job designing sarees. She is very excited and I want your word that you will do nothing to jeopardize her position.”
“Of course.”
Amma expanded, “While there for her interview this morning, that man—what is his name?—Harish, yes!—he was observed outside the saree shop. The shop owner confronted him. He left. But it was all very embarrassing for Kirti.”
“I can assure you that the new bodyguard will keep a discreet distance,” Raghav promised.
Amma came to her feet. “If I tell you to dismiss the bodyguard entirely, you will not agree.” It was a statement not a question.
“I cannot agree. It wouldn’t be safe.”
“If you had stayed out of this life of crime, then we would have all been safe,” Amma said.
This was very old ground. Fifteen years old, to be precise.
Raghav remained silent.
Amma continued, “Do not ruin this for her. With my health being what it is, and you being what you are, that young girl has seen little happiness in life.”
“Yes, she is young,” Raghav said. “Twenty. The same age I was when you threw me out of the house.”
Farhad felt all the oxygen leave the room. But he had been here before. He knew that Amma would not respond directly to Raghav’s statement.
Raghav added, “As for Chelli’s happiness—she can have anything she desires. She doesn’t have to work for someone. If she wants to make art, she can work at Jayati Jewellers and design to her heart’s content. Or she can go to art school. Here or abroad. You can come and live with me. Or remain here and I can arrange for you to have dialysis at home with a nurse to attend to you—”
But Amma gestured with her hand that she would have none of this. “I want nothing from you,” she said, her tone bitter. “Even this favour—to beg you to not interfere with Kirti’s new job—costs me.”
“Then I take my leave. Assure Chelli that there will be someone looking out for her whenever she is outdoors, but she will not see him—and her employers will have no cause to interfere,” Raghav said.
They left.
***
The two men sat in silence outside Amma’s house for many minutes. Farhad did not speak. It was painful for Farhad to be a witness to how Raghav was treated by Amma. But to speak so would offend him. So he said nothing.
Eventually, Raghav said, “Chelli’s new job—this might be the ideal opportunity to implement the scheme you mentioned this morning.”
Farhad nodded. “I was thinking the same. But you promised Amma not to interfere.”
“Obviously we’ll not confront the saree shop owner about what she did to Harish,” Raghav said, “we’ll let that go. But the owner might be influenced to allow us to subsidize Chelli’s salary, which is all that we want.”
“Sure. But let’s proceed very cautiously. We don’t want Kirti to lose her job before she even starts,” Farhad said.
“When are we not cautious?” Raghav gave a bitter laugh.
***
Pallavi was up on a ladder, placing stock on the upper shelves. Her back was to the shop front when she heard Krishna gasp.
“Lord of Venkata!”
Twisting to see what would cause Krishna to invoke her favourite deity—Pallavi saw two men.
The bright afternoon sun cast a deep shadow so she saw more clearly the man at the bottom of the steps.
Her breath caught in recognition.
It was Farhad. Raghav Rao’s assistant. He stood with his feet apart and his hands behind his back—his eyes trained upon hers.
In almost sickening slow motion, her gaze moved from Farhad towards the figure only steps from her. Her body was aware of the danger before her eyes properly took him in.
Raghav Rao.
For an extended moment, neither she nor he spoke.
Then almost at the same time that he took a step towards her, she took a step—forgetting that she had been standing on a ladder, her footfall met with air, and she fell—
He must have bridged the distance between them because with a cry she met not with the floor but stumbled against his length. Her arm flew about his neck to stop her fall while her other hand fisted into his shirt collar.
He steadied her on her own feet. But he didn’t release her—then she realized it was up to her to release him!
Pallavi unwrapped her arm from around his neck, and let her fist unfurl. She took a few steps back. She noted the flicker of surprise in his eyes as he took in her full form.
His brow quirked with amusement, and he asked, “Is this yet another disguise? Or are you actually a shop-girl?”
Lifting her chin, she responded, in an icy voice to match her regal pose, “I am a shop-girl.”
He gave a slow nod of understanding. “It now begins to make sense.”
“What?” she demanded. She didn’t like his tone.
“Your desire for role-play.”
*Attributing Sun Tzu to Baji Rao.
Edited by JalebiJane - 3 years ago
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