So, explanations are in order. A few of you know this already-- Ive been a bit ill, battling the fun lingering effects of malaria, and was actually in Singapore for the last few weeks, getting treated. My husband would have murdered me if he saw me typing away and not resting and focusing on getting well, so I've been very very bad about updates. I'm back to 100%, and to celebrate, as he slept off his jetlag today, I sneakily wrote this. Thanks for waiting! In direct violation of husbandly orders, I give you...
CHAPTER 36
(PART Four : THE REAL LIFE-STORY OF SHYAM M. JHA -Flashback)
In the end, as it had been fated from the beginning, it was Sonali Monahar who finished off Shyam Jha. Following his days and nights in jail, much can probably be made of the fact that Shyam had already decided, as he made his way back home that evening, to opt for law as his future. The scope for the control of destinies had dazzled Shyam as he cowered in his jail cell, watching his fellow inmates interact with lawyers and police. In every case, a black caped man meant the difference between lives that rotted inside the hellhole or bloomed gratefully outside the police precinct. The raw fear and fervent hope he had seen towards the legal men and policemen were heady aphrodisiacs of power.
No longer an innocent man, in many ways not even a sane man, Shyam decided, as he sped home, that this experience had been a blessing in disguise for his mother and for himself. They would leave Parvez-nagar, Shyam decided.
His results had been excellent, the college diploma stained with sweat and dirt that he carried with him would help him get a part time job, and get his mother out of the clutches of that devil Mallik Sahib. No longer would she have to lie underneath men like that for Shyam's food and clothes and education. The disjointed thoughts, the rage, the swell of self hatred were humming within Shyam Jha's heart as he returned to his mother that evening. He truly had nothing left, no dreams of a better life, with a father and a home, no job at the factory. No respect left for the one woman who had been his entire universe all his life.
But he would rescue Sonali, redeem her. They would leave this city, go to Delhi where no one knew her as a wh**e. Shyam would study and work, he was old enough, he would make the money she needed, she would rest, and he would provide for them. She loved him, only him and no other. She had borne him to life, when she could have thrown him away as a blood stained mistake back when she was a sixteen year old prostitute.
She would dress like a widow, become a chaste woman, and her clothes would be removed only in shadow, only by her. Her body, a tired husk of limbs and flesh would now rest in peace as her son tended to her needs. The needs that drove her into the arms of monsters--she would abandon those urges forever now. She would become perfection.
Only, of course, Sonali didn't.
Sonali gave him a hot meal, fussed over his bruises and cuts, applying Savlon and kisses to the wounds inflicted on her son's body by the guardians of law and order. And as Shyam outlined his plans, his voice growing more and more shrill, Sonali gently, but firmly, chose her lover over her love. Her man over her boy. And as she made this choice, she set into motion her own dark fate, and ended Shyam's own bright future.
Contrary to popular thought, Fate is not an absolute. Every person's ultimate fate is based on decisions taken, as some paths are ignored and others are trodden. The choice, however, once made, is engraved in stone--once a path is chosen, it is too late to change fate.
Sonali chose to stay, and Shyam chose to leave. Fate.
Arvin Mallik's inner conflicts over what he was doing with Sonali Manohar had already surfaced within these first few months of their romance. The fact that he loved a wh**e, the crazed lust that imbued his pores as he touched Sonali's body in this low little hovel had, even at that early date, started to come out in the aristocratic Mallik's actions.
Since the moment he had met Sonali, Arvind had not thought of anyone, or anything else. Such was the pull of their bodies that everything else faded before it. His wife was still unaware of Sonali, but it was all a matter of time. And he was helpless against it.
His family was suffering, his business in jeopardy as he seeked Sonali out again and again. He would be distracted at meetings, irritable and uncontrolled at family events. He would race out to Parvez-nagar, his skin crawling with distaste even as he lost to her heat. He found himself hurting her nowadays, forcing out cries of pain along with her moans of pleasure. He hated her even more when she let him hurt her, but he kept coming back.
If Sonali had been a different woman, one less used to tolerating male abuse, one with more self esteem, she would have known what to do--leave. She was not, however, a different woman. And so Arvind Mallik's nails would leave crescents of blood, his fingers would bruise his mistress as he punished her for making him this heated, this corrupted with longing for her.
Shyam's mind splintered with the knowledge that she refused to leave her Mallik Sahib, even as he watched her dismiss the bruises that even now shone against her golden skin as unimportant. As if her wounds were something she would not discuss with her own son. Shyam splintered as he helplessly packed for Delhi that night, as he shrieked inwardly over his mother choosing that man's brutality over her son's protection, Mallik Sahib's disgust for her over Shyam's worship of her.
Sonali Manohar was not a cruel woman, or an evil one. She was just a woman who did not know how to abandon a man who loved her. She had never felt love, so now that she experienced it, she did not realize it was unclean-- a passion that burnt and did not heat. She was not aware of the realities of this love, a love that made mockery of her womanhood.
She refused to consider changing, being more of a mother, and less of a mistress, because she had never not been somebody's mistress, she had never not known pain entwined in sex. Her body had always served to slake mens' lusts--and for the first time, her heart had joined with her client. Without a second's hesitation, without a single thought, she ended Shyam's faith in women, in motherhood, even in her love for him.
And the worst irony was the fact that she truly did love her son. But the other kind of love, the one that left her breathless, mewling and crying in pleasure/pain, restless and heated like a bitch in heat--that love won.
Shyam left for Delhi that night, and did not see Sonali again until three more years had passed them by.
And by then, of course, it was too late to change fate.
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His mother had died ten years ago, a night that Arnav remembered mainly in flashes of light, in frozen images of people punctured with their frenzied movements of despair.
The moments came back to him in the still watches of the night, so, of course, Arnav made sure he was an incurable insomniac.
The storm had hit his family right after a period of pure happiness, so of course, Arnav was as wary of happiness in his life as he was of enemies and rivals in his business world.
Since he had not felt peace and contentment in ten years, ever since the night of his mother's death, Arnav Singh Raizada could not at first correctly identify the emotion that sank into his bones as he sat watching Khushi sleep. He could feel the strange languor sweep through him, lulling his blood and sinews, but he frowned anyways, trying to guard against the treacherous softness and warmth as it seeped into his body.
He sat on his repaired recliner, watching his wife burrow under his sheets, her soft body limned in the moonlight, her hair shining with the silvery glints that dried his mouth with want. And, as hard has he had ever tried to do anything, he now tried to resist what she made him feel without even being conscious and awake as she did it.
He had not told her he loved her. All of last night, as he worshiped her body, all of today as he reveled in her presence, he had not said the words.
He had not told her he wanted to rain rose petals down on her hair.
That he wanted to dress her in lace and silk so he could tear cobweb fabric off her body.
That he spent hours and hours going over anything that she said or did or touched or expressed in those changeable eyes and on that perfect face.
That he wanted to adorn her wrists and feet and waist and ears with gold and jewels so everyone would know she was his, a woman he cherished and protected.
But of course, he did not do any of these things. He could barely bring himself to admit he had these thoughts, and certainly he would never act on them. He did, however, know all about certain aspects of his own bloodline, certain things that marked him and made Khushi such a dangerous threat to one with his tainted lineage.
Arnav knew that the utter absorption with which he watched his wife, --watched her eat, laugh, walk, sit, dry her hair, droop with tiredness or vibrate with excitement-- was not normal. Aakash didn't do this with Payal, even though they loved each other. NK did not regard Khushi, his friend, his secret love, with this level of single minded focus. Arnav knew he himself was dangerously obsessed with Khushi and that this was one of the ways that love came into the soul of a Mallik male.
And Arnav Mallik, the man living behind Arnav Singh Raizada knew the dangers of such obsessions better than most men. Aranav Mallik had paid the price of another such man's obsession many years ago. So he almost hated himself right now, as the peace flowed through him like an unstoppable tide at the simple sight of a sleeping woman.
And Arnav left his room, restlessly escaping through the french doors to the moonlit poolside, hoping to avoid any more moments of self disgust as he stared like a crazed stalker at his own wife.
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In every man's life, marriage brings one to a crossroad, a choice on what parts of the past he will shed, and which of his memories he will carry forward. For a man who's past defined his very name, Arnav Singh Raizada was trembling with emotions and changes he could not process, resisting changes that he could not control. And so, it must be forgiven that he still fought the realization that all that mattered in his world was currently sleeping on his bed. Given who he was, whose son he was, Arnav Singh Raizada was appalled at the truth that had just dawned on him--he would not hesitate, even knowing his own history, to destroy everything else in his life to keep Khushi with him.
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Shaken by this realization, Arnav almost walked by his sister, sitting and sipping her evening tea on the opposite side of the pool. Anjali's teasing tone, asking him if he was sleepwalking, broke through his thoughts. For the first time since his marriage, Arnav sat down with Anjali, alone, and truth be told, he was eager to get the inquisition, the dramatics, the tears over with.
He suddenly found himself restless with the desire to get back indoors to Khushi, to see if she had turned over or dropped a pillow on the floor or stirred during his one minute absence. But Anjali had poured, and was holding out a cup of tea for him. Arnav, knowing when to bow to the inevitable, accepted the silent offer. He sat next to his sister, knowing he was about to be grilled, or yelled at, or teased, or all three at the same time--His Di had talents in this area.
He waited in vain. Initially, he had been facing away from Anjali, looking back towards his bedroom longingly as he waited for Anjali's usual barrage of questions. None came. Surprised, he turned to find her regarding him over the rim of her cup, an unreadable expression on her face.
"Kya hua, Di?" He asked, uncomfortable at the silence coming his way from the one person who had always made it her business to be into his business.
"Nothing, Chote. I'm just thinking. This will make you angry, I suppose, but for some reason, tonight, I feel like just saying whats on my mind, even if it is hard to hear. You remind me of Baba, Chote...how he used to be, you know, not how you remember him. My own older memories of him, I suppose. Back when he was..Baba. I'm trying to think why that is so.."
It would have hurt less if she had just taken the hot tea and dashed it in his face. The burn of memories, of fire, screams of pain, of a blood stained, ravaged madman running through the halls of Sheesh Mahal collapsed down on Arnav. Given his mood, given his own thoughts about Khushi and how he felt about her, given his struggles and raw vulnerability this night, this was too much. Gasping with sudden pain, Arnav reared back,the teacup smashed and the chair toppled over and splashed into the pool.
The wave of water struck both siblings as Anjali struggled to her feet, reaching for her brother's stiff arms before he could bolt for his sanctuary. With surprising strength, Arnav was held in his sister's hug, her soothing voice, her stroking hands calming the rush of shocking images that her words had brought out in his mind.
But her words...they still burnt as she said:
"Chote...he was not an evil man, you know. He loved us. He loved you, and even Amma. We were happy, Chote. He gave us happiness too, along with the pain and despite...what happened later. Remember our childhood, our trips to the zoo and to his factories in his maroon car? You learnt to drive inside that Bentley, Arnav! He taught you himself. Remember the polo matches where he would ride like the wind?
Amma hosting those parties, his laughter and the way his arms would curl around her when she hugged him? Everything is not black and white, Chote. You can be his son, and I can be his daughter without hating half our blood just because it came from him. I have been thinking about bloodlines, and about fathers a lot nowadays, Chote. And you know what? Maybe we need to remember the good as well as the bad.
Im sorry I hurt you just now, Chote. Its just that--you look at Khushi with the kind of devotion he used to look at Amma with- you both have that same kind of focus. It's a beautiful thing.
Fathers are so important, Chote. Too important to turn into monsters."
"Di--I'm leaving right now if you don't stop. I don't want to talk about this."Arnav disengaged from Anjali's arms, ready to leave if she mentioned their father again. His sister ruefully presented him with another cup of tea, her hands raised in surrender. Arnav, still wary, suspiciously peered into his sister's face, and seeing nothing but overwhelming love, and sympathy, accepted the peace offering and sat down again.
Slowly, his heartbeat regulated as they chatted about other matters, mundane household details. Anjali mentioned a phone call from a cousin in Lukhnow who was expecting a child, a woman she was very close to.
Priya Desai had been a good friend, and Anjali now planned to visit her old friend for a few weeks, just before Priya's due date. Arnav protested mildly about his Di traveling while being pregnant herself, knowing Anjali would not listen to him. She was adamant about going to Priya's side, and truthfully, he was not at all against her leaving Delhi while he, NK and Aakash searched for Shyam, so he allowed her to win that argument.
As the tea cooled and Anjali rose to leave, he suddenly thought of something. Shyam's phone had beeped earlier in the evening with a message from a blocked number. NK was in the process of trying to unblock and get an address from this SMS, but it would not hurt to probe Anjali a little.
The message had been cryptic-- "Druv needs you to come to PN soon."
No one knew who Druv was, or what PN meant. But there had been more than a dozen calls and messages from this number, and all had referred to this Druv as someone who, clearly, controlled Shyam's movements. Messages about money received, large sums paid to "Druv", visits demanded by Druv.
So, as he helped Anjali over the wet pool side, he asked casually if Anjali knew anyone called Druv or anything about a place or a company called PN.
Anjali just stared at him, so Arnav elaborated, saying that he had heard Shyam Jija-ji say a few nights ago that he was going to PN to meet Druv. Arnav explained that he was just curious about his brother in law's wherabouts, surely Di knew where her husband was?
Anjali shook her head, slowly, still staring at him.
Arnav heard a soft sleepy moan from his bedroom, and immediately, his concentration shot to his sleeping wife. Nothing else was important. He hastily left his sister at the doorway, and headed in to his Khushi. If Arnav had been less of his father's son, less obsessed with his love, he would have looked back, one final time, towards his suddenly frozen sister. He would have been alerted.
If Arnav Singh Raizada had been a different man, if he had been aware of anything beyond the woman in his bedroom who consumed him, he would have finally been able to see beyond Anjali Jha's words, and understood her expression. He would have stayed back.
He was not, however, a different man. So, Arnav rushed inside to Khushi, choosing to leave, and not to stay.
Fate.
Edited by napstermonster - 13 years ago
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