OneShot |The Secret Weapon|
'Are you refusing?'
'Yes, Arnavji,' Khushi responded slowly, her lip twitching humourlessly as she turned in time to catch the menacing, don't-you-dare-refuse-me look trickle off his face to give way to one of blatant disbelief, 'That's what I meant when I said 'No'.'
Without further ado, her back was to him again, her arms diving into the depths of the closet as she pulled aside the fabrics, fingers pausing thoughtfully on the pale green, elaborate little ensemble her Jiji had chosen for her on her last birthday. A small smile lit her lips as her skin brushed over the intricate network of pearls her sister had sewn on to it herself, her fingers instinctively clenching into the material -
-until a large, calloused hand had banded itself just above her elbow and forcefully torn her away from the outfit, and the closet for good measure.
'Khushi,' his deep baritone rumbled roughly with poorly concealed ire, 'No one says no to me -'
'Though I believe I just did,' Khushi quipped, finishing for him as she busied herself with freeing her arm from the rakshas' near-bruising grip.
This, evidently, did not please the rakshas.
Before she could comprehend what was happening, his free hand had shot out beside her, and she flinched at the sharp thud with which the closet door slammed shut just inches from her ear.
'Arnavji!' she snapped, the ringing in her ears yet to subside as her eyebrows drew together. It was not as though she was unfamiliar with the man's penchant for violence. In the course of their still-new marriage, she had come to the mildly amusing discovery that when angered, Arnav Singh Raizada was not above throwing tantrums - and various other unfortunate and breakable objects within reaching distance - like a little spoilt brat.
There was a time when she had used to dread his anger. Dreaded the moments when she'd inadvertently push him too far and cross some undefined line, and then have to face the brunt of his wrath. She had seen him transform from a cool, emotionless shell of a person to a terrifying demon right before her eyes - seen what he was capable of when his fury was upon him. Sometimes, in the smoking aftermaths, she had seen remorse in his eye, apology in his bearing - sometimes he had been pushed by his guilt enough to try and make amends. But though Khushi had never admitted it to him - had avoided admitting it to herself even - his rage, and the things he could do, without care to the consequences, and the mere power he had to do them - it had terrified her. Despite his apologies, despite his regret, that had not changed.
Now though, as she countered the smouldering glare her decidedly irritated husband was directing at her, she knew it had. His temper had been fire before - uncontrollable and volatile, liable to burn to a cinder anything reckless enough to come too close. But now...now it reminded her of smoke. It could be putrid and stifling, sweltering and unpleasant - but eventually, it would fade out, would dissipate. It was ephemeral, harmless.
'I don't recall asking you Khushi,' he grit down at her, his eyes almost radiating sparks of electricity as he cornered her against the closet, trapped between the cage of his arms, 'I was telling you.'
Unfortunately, Khushi's patience had already taken a beating from contending with her husband's increasingly mulish behaviour.
And his overbearing attitude was the last straw.
'And I told you that I can't! I explained it, didn't I? But did you listen to me? No! Because you only care about yourself and your selfish whims! Even after I tell you that it's just going to make things difficult for me, you still go on demanding -'
A finger slipped beneath her chin, and goaded her to tilt her face up to him. Khushi, engrossed as she was in her rant, realised too late what was happening.
And then she'd gotten an eyeful of the look on his face, her will had fractured irreparably, and her blood-pressure had soared until her face almost caught fire.
***
'Careful!'
Anjali looked up from her seat before Devi Maiyya's pedestal, her fingers still poised round the flowers she had been stringing together into a garland, her eyes rounding in surprise.
'Arre, Khushi!' she called out to them, as Payal helped her distinctly disgruntled-looking sister up the steps, juggling between the two massive thaalis she had obviously come there bearing while trying to keep from tripping over the trailing hem of her saree, 'I thought you said you were just going to wear an anarkali-suit today?'
'So did I,' her sister-in-law grumbled unhappily, shuffling gracelessly over to the mandir before hitching up the train of her rather unconventional skirts before lowering herself beside Anjali, tucking her feet beneath the richly-embroidered patterns of copper set into the red-wine crimson of the saree's material.
Anjali and Payal exchanged glances, the former's raised eyebrow met with the latter's uncertain shrug.
'It's a very pretty saree...you look really beautiful,' Payal complimented, 'Though, considering all the running around we'll have to be doing when the guests get here, maybe a salwar-suit would have been better...what with how elaborate this design is...' Payal experimentally pinched the hem of the pallu and lifted it, critically surveying the extra foot or so sprawling with exquisite needlework.
This has to be -
'You should try telling the Laad Governor that.'
With her suspicions confirmed, Anjali bit into her lip to smother her laugh, glancing up to catch Payal doing the same. So that's why Khushi was in such a dark mood. They ought to have expected no less - Chote and his wife's arguments were as usual and daily an occurrence as the cooking and cleaning in Shantivan. And oddly enough - Anjali kind of liked it that way. Perhaps to say they had matured would not be the right way to put it -not when the two of them were liable to get into the most tempestuous of rows over something as mundane as who got to use the bathroom first. But she definitely believed they had progressed. They fought out all their issues with single-minded determination, but she never saw either of them stalking away from the other in anger any more. She never saw Khushi sidle out of their bedroom in tears, or Chote wear that look of torment in his eyes whenever he was plagued by regret or hurt.
Maybe they really had matured. Maybe their daily fights were just their bizarre way of communicating with each other. Anjali had long given up trying to decipher the mechanics of their relationship - it was beyond the scope of human understanding. What she did understand though, was that Chote was happy with Khushi. She could see for herself how often and for how long his emotional graph would peak towards pure, unadulterated joy, and it never failed to trigger off her own private little celebration at seeing her younger brother more than make up for his quota of happiness after being bereft of it for so much of his life.
But more than the happiness, it was the contentment she saw in both Chote and Khushi that pleased her the most. Happiness, after all, was hardly a constant state of being. It was a concept that was novel and special because it was hard to come by, because it was a rapturous high that one would have to work towards, climb up to, to experience the exhilaration and rush of the descent again. Contentment, on the other hand...contentment was being at peace, with the world, but above all, with oneself. Contentment was being able to forgive yourself for your mistakes and determine to do better. Contentment was being able to let go of what was lost and move towards what could be found.
After more than a decade of atoning for his sins, some imagined, some incurred unintentionally, Chote had finally learned how to forgive himself, and move on.
And she had Khushi to thank for that.
'So Chote put you up to this,' Anjali voiced the obvious out loud, simply to witness Khushi's reaction. She was not disappointed. A borderline vindictive light glinted in her sister-in-law's eyes as she all but stabbed her needle through the flowers she was threading together, clenching her jaw before jerking her head in what could be interpreted as a nod.
Enjoying herself far too much to let up, Anjali pondered, 'But I'm sure if you explained it would be hard for you to get around in a saree - especially this kind of saree - he would have understood.'
'I did tell him!' Khushi whined out, a few crumpled petals slipping out of her fingers as she wrung the garland in her hands, switching from fuming to grousing in a heartbeat as she plaintively turned to Anjali, 'I told him but he didn't listen! Woh hamesha aise hi karte rehte hai, Di - hamesha aise manmaani karte rehte hai -'
'It's not like you to just give in to what he says either, Khushi,' Payal added slyly from her other side, plucking out the garland from her hand before she ended up shredding the poor flowers, 'Tum bhi toh hamesha manmaani karti phirti ho - I'm surprised you didn't just ignore him and wear what you wanted-'
'I tried!' Khushi fumed, rounding on her sister as Payal instantly put up both hands in surrender, Anjali sniggering in the background, 'I was going to do exactly that but then he - then he -'
'Then he what?' Anjali probed, her curiosity piqued. Though Khushi's head was turned towards Payal, she could still see the warm patch of red that had flushed down the side of her neck and behind her ear, blending becomingly with the vermillion of her outfit.
***
Heat billowed like the puffs of a boiling kettle up at her face and Khushi contemplated burying it in the convenient basket of flowers before her.
'You wouldn't believe me if I told you,' she muttered, painfully aware of the amused stares and knowing grins she was garnering from the two older sisters she had in this house. Steam bubbled out of her ears, her lip almost splitting open as she buried her teeth into it, trying to push off the memory crowding in on her with every intention of bringing about her downfall.
She really didn't think anyone would believe her if she told them that all that - that monster - had to do was pout and say 'Please' in that silken-soft timbre of his, and she'd become putty in his hands.
Tada!
Short and, I really hope, sweet. I was trying to take a break from writing 'serious' , lets say :P
I'd love to hear your thoughts on this!
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