My wonderful readers: I have the final 2 chapters finished, and the faster you comment, the faster I will update this story--- lets say in 15 pages, hmm? And I am wise to your tricks, my wily, crafty friends--- comments, not smiley faces and "update soons" okay? Please write, and let me know what you think---Enjoy!
CHAPTER TEN
Arnav left them all there, downstairs, in the living room. Amrita was hysterical, her bouts of tears seemed never-ending as Anjali and Payal did what they could to help a kind of grief they could not understand. He did. She was in mourning, and no one knew about the pain of loss more than Arnav Singh Raizada. But he did not know how to comfort someone who had lost everything, it had been too long since he himself had lost his world. He no longer remembered what it had been like to be happy, to feel grateful to wake up every morning, to have excitement and hope during the day. He dimly remembered feeling anticipation at the thought of seeing a smiling face, of waiting for the sound of tinkling payals. But he didn't remember, anymore, what that felt like.
But he knew one thing. He knew there were no words, gestures, no amount of sympathy that would mend together the jagged wound of the chest when the heart was wrenched out of it. Some wounds were meant to be fatal--fatal, if not in actual death, at least fatal to hope, to happiness, to any expectations from life.
He thought, as he climbed the stairs, that the one thing he could have told Amrita was something that was better left unsaid. He knew it was hardly the advice you gave to a woman who had just found out her entire world had shattered, years ago, and that she had not even known it. He would have told her, quite honestly, that the pain would not go away. From his own experience of this pain, it would have been much easier to actually just die rather than feel it. He could not advise this, of course---she had little Khushi to live for, after all. She had a reason to live.
He himself had not committed suicide, because he had known that it would not have worked for him. If he followed Khushi, into death, killing himself as he had longed to do for years--he would not have been able to find her afterwards. That was the only reason he could think of to kill himself----to go find her. Not to end his pain---he had earned his pain, he deserved his pain, and would not take the coward's way out by escaping that debt. But if he had thought he could find her, he would have ended his own life in a heartbeat, at any point during these past 8 years. But since he was equally sure that wherever she had gone was a place that would not accept darkness like him, he had chosen, instead, to live.
Because ---and this would have been his second advice to Amrita, had he been in a position to tell her anything---because living was a kind of payment, too. At least she could live for Pradeep Singh, and for her dead little girl. She would have to go on living, because if she did not, then they would die, too--in memory, as well as in reality. This would have been his second advice, something he had himself done---He had gone on living. A kind of living, at least. Eating right, sleeping, taking his medicines. Wearing warm clothes in the winter, driving carefully, at the slow pace she had liked, avoiding risks. Going through the motions of the body, so his mind could go on, keeping Khushi alive in the recesses of his memory.
He had lived, instead of shooting himself, or leaping of the cliff where she had been buried, or burning himself alive so he could feel something beyond the numbness of her loss---all things he had thought of, and then unwillingly discarded as selfish escapes from his crime. Living, so that the last remnants of their story, the last remaining person who knew about "Arnav and Khushi" could go on remembering that love. In a way, it was a responsibility, to her, to them--he had to go on, day in and day out, burning and turning into ash, so the memories of that love could live on. The pain of living? Well that was only fitting penance, and one that he would carefully and honestly pay until the day he finally died----not by his own hands, but by God's. He would of course not see her, even after that final death. He would never again see her, in the flesh or in the spirit. But in the meantime----she would live on in his mind, and he would be able to pay for it.
He could have told Amrita all this. But that would mean going and facing a woman from whom he had taken everything through his obsessive investigation and she would not want to hear anything from him. So instead, he left her downstairs. And went to see, for the last, final time, the daughter he had just regained, and was about to lose.
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As Amrita was given water by Payal and Anjali, she suddenly heard the small patter of footsteps behind her. Being a mother meant that even when she was half crazed with loss, she would still, almost instinctively, know when to disguise her pain in front of her child. And so she did just that, as, still weeping slightly, she turned to see Khushi, who had come down the stairs, being led down by Arnav Singh Raizada. The sight of her mother's tears prompted Khushi to dash into her arms, as the little girl started crying as well, more out of sympathy and shock than anything else---little Khushi, of course, had no idea why her momma was crying...just that she was, and that was awful enough.
Amrita held her world in her arms, as she buried her face into Khushi's hair, breathing in the scent of her child. HER child. Her baby, her little Khushi, her world--The one she would not give up, the one that she would fight and steal and kill to keep..her child---she looked up, red rimmed eyes alight with the fury of a Valkyrie, ready to defend and win her young. The electricity arced in the room as Arnav and Amrita faced each other, over the bowed head of their daughter. And before Amrita could vent out her rage and fear, Arnav spoke, quietly, as if saying goodbye to a guest:
"Khushi, here is that rose you plucked from the large bushes at the Farmhouse---take care of it, put it in water when you go home, Khushi. I am sorry I couldn't give you more of them, but you were right, my little one---flowers cannot be stripped from plants without killing the blossom and the plant, both. Mohan Lal, the driver, will take you and your momma home now, so go and get your sweater from Simran and say goodbye to your friend.
I won't be able to see you again, my dear, so you be a good girl, and don't be naughty with your momma, okay? For Uncle-ji? Amrita, I understand you are leaving Delhi soon. I will have your severance pay delivered to your address. Take care of yourself, and take care of your daughter, Amrita. I wish you both well. You are free to leave, Amrita. I am letting go."
And Arnav Singh Raizada turned, and walked, calmly, slowly, back up the stairs down which he had led his daughter, a moment before.
And, gathering Khushi into her arms, Amrita left, too.
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If anyone had tried to stop Amrita Singh from leaving Delhi, over the next few weeks, she would have fought them, tooth and nail. She was ready to fight. But no one had. For days after leaving ASR's home with her daughter, Amrita had waited for the lawyer's call. None came. She had then worried about police or investigators who might come to pester her and try to take Khushi away. But there had been no fights, no begging, no crying sisters and aunts and forceful dads, no angry family members or legal moves. There had been nothing. Slowly, almost unbelievingly, Amrita Singh realized that no matter what else he was, ASR was also, ultimately, a man of his word. Arnav Singh Raizada had meant what he had said and he had truly...let go.
A few weeks after the night of Khushi's kidnapping, a knock had come. It had been Aman Mathur who had come to her door, and asked what he could do to help. Over the next few weeks, Amrita found out what Aman Mathur was truly capable of. He had been everywhere and done everything for her and little Khushi, as she worked towards uprooting herself and her daughter, to get them both the hell away from Arnav Singh Raizada. And, to get this done it had been Aman who had, unexpectedly, helped Amrita the most.
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Amrita had been wary of him at first---he had after all, been the person who had dug into her life to invade her privacy, and that of her family. She had resented him for revealing Dr Bose's truth to everyone, and also to her---but that had been for the best. Slowly, she had come to accept that. Khushi was still her daughter. Nothing else mattered. After all, Arnav Singh Raizada had himself given up any rights that he could have claimed.
And Khushi would forget ASR, she just needed to get away from him, from her memories of him. And she needed to stop crying for ASR every night. She needed to stop thinking she could see him outside her school, and asking Amrita to call him so she could speak to him, begging her to let Uncle-ji visit them. Her daughter seemed listless and in pain, her eyes dull-- as if she was running a fever. But the doctors who checked Khushi said that she was perfectly healthy.
One doctor suggested that maybe she was heart-sick...had the little girl faced some overwhelming loss recently? But Amrita had taken Khushi out of that Doctor's office quickly, refusing his suggestion that Khushi was unhappy, not ill. In any case, all this would stop when little Khushi had a new place to live in, new friends to play with and new bonds to form.
Amrita had been initially hesitant to accept any help from anyone connected to the Raizadas, but soon she realized that this time, Aman was actually not there representing his boss at all. He was there to right the wrong he himself had committed. He was there to help Amrita regain her life, and her future, as she wanted it to be. Aman was actually there because of his own part in her pain. He showed this to her, not in words. But through his actions. He was a good friend to her now---payback for his digging, his spying, and all that he had done to upset her life.
And since leaving Delhi and relocating was huge task for anyone, Amrita it turned out, was not at all immune to Aman Mathur's efficiency and excellent organization skills. Underneath the robotic outer appearance of the perfect executive, Aman had turned out to be a warm, kind man. Whatever he felt for his boss---and she could tell, by things that he said, or work-stories he sometimes shared over tea, that their connection ran deep---he was here for her, and for Khushi now. She had been very grateful for his help, and he in turn had been very impressed by the quiet strength, focus and purposeful nature of Arnav Singh Raizada's most recent ex-employee.
They had almost become friends during the weeks of effort they both put in to help Amrita find a job in Shimla, get school admission for Khushi, rent out her flat, and do the million small things that was needed for such a big move.
Neither one of them, even once, spoke about what had happened that had made all this necessary. How little Khushi had become Amrita's child, or why ASR had given up any claim to his little girl. Amrita did not once ask about ASR's condition, and Aman, though he of course knew all about how ASR was surviving---or not---did not speak about his boss's life, or about his Khushi bhabi's death. Aman had done his job for ASR, now he was doing what Aman thought was the right thing to do for Amrita and Khushi.
Both of them focused solely on the task they had to do---to move Khushi, and Amrita, far away from Delhi, far away from her old home and memories, and as far away as possible from the Raizadas. Now and then, in the middle of things, a feeling of odd, panic-stricken guilt would slowly seep into Amrita's thoughts. She firmly thought of other things---of tasks, of projects, moving. And as long as she didn't look at Khushi's sad little face too closely, Amrita could, and did, ignore that uncomfortable sensation successfully until everything was done.
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Finally, the day came, when all was set. The apartment was empty, only a few things needed to be packed for the final trip. The papers for the new job had come, and Khushi's school was set up for her. Khushi's uniforms, books, clothes, everything had been packed and sent to Shimla. There, a pretty little home close to her new office had been rented. Aman had been helpful in finding a reliable housekeeper, well priced, someone who could take care of Khushi while Amrita joined her new job. Aman's contacts had even made the new job happen-Amrita would now work as a hotel manager at a boutique hotel with an excellent reputation, where she would get a good salary.
Now, with the tickets in hand, Amrita was thanking Aman for his help, and he, in turn was giving her last minute updates, advice, contact numbers. She had done it. She had cut out Arnav Singh Raizada, out of Khushi's life, out of her own. A new life waited for them both. A better life, one with opportunities for her, and change for Khushi. A good life.
But something nagged her, like a tooth that was loose in her mouth. Why didn't it feel...right? Why did it sting, like a paper cut between the fingers, why did it reek of something unfair?
He had given Khushi up himself! Fiercely she repeated this to herself, as Aman helped her with her luggage, casually talking to her about the rental-tenants he had arranged for her Delhi flat.
Himself! He had said that she could take his daughter, and go! Then why...? The walls were feeling oddly close, the air felt heavy, as if she should not be breathing it. Aman frowned at her, concerned by her expression. Shrugging, Amrita tried to look casual, and indicated she was fine. Aman went on with his last minute details.
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CHAPTER 11: https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/topic/3208061?pn=129 Edited by napstermonster - 11 years ago
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