The Masquerade
A skyscraper whose spire looked to pierce through the heavens loomed and intimidated the girl standing below it. Her neck hurt just by looking at the top of it, or what seemed to be the most visible top. Piya looked at the business card in her hands, making sure she had gotten the address right. Strange, party-like décor riddled the entryway. Perhaps this was the wrong time, but when would she find time again? Adjusting the woolen shawl upon her shoulders, she pushed through the glass doors. One try couldn’t hurt.
She was stopped immediately once inside. A gloved hand held out in front of her in a stopping gesture. She staggered back, almost losing her footing. Others took glances at her and laughed. She turned away and ignored them.
“Invitation, ma’am?” The doorman said, eyeing her clothes. Piya swallowed nervously and shook her head. She didn’t have an invitation. Invitation to what exactly? “Then I must ask you to leave. Mr. Raichand is throwing a gala tonight, invitees only.”
“But I came to meet him---”
“Mr. Raichand?”
He heard this excuse many times over the course of today, done and tired by rolling his eyes. Again, he looked at her getup and disheveled manner. Hard to believe he would know a woman like this. At least the others ladies tried to be believable.
“He knows my father. My father works for him.”
She showed him the business card. On the back bore quite the authentic signature. The doorman lifted an eyebrow, trying to come up with a reason to justify sending her up. A mere signature wasn’t enough. He sent it to the receptionist, who also stared at it for a moment and then took the card up the elevator. Piya tapped her foot, and avoided making direct eye contact with the suspicious gaze of the doorman. Her father did tell her that he gave them the card for this reason, to ask to meet him whenever they wished.
Must he make it so complicated? Or was he lying?, she huffed, checking the clock. The receptionist came back down and nodded, thus welcoming Piya to the venue.
“You may go.”
“Thank you.”
She kept the card close to her, and hurried inside, just before the elevator closed doors again.
Everywhere she turned, lavish partygoers filled the empty spaces. She took her steps carefully, the only one without a mask. The beautiful masks of the masquerade. Huddled between people in the elevator, she clutched her shawl and looked at her shoes. She was out of place. So out of place, that the others gave her no notice. She wasn’t here for a party. She was just here to deliver a thank you.
Her father, Arnab Dobriyal, worked for the Raichand business empire for years, until a recent illness rendered him weak and bedridden. Piya struggled with the medical expenses, along with her educational expenses, until that very Raichand empire, through some foundation of theirs, began to pay the medical bills on her behalf. Not only that, but her father had made a full recovery, much sooner than the doctors expected. A miracle, they called it. She thought his time was limited, even the doctors said the same thing. But now he was fit and fine, taking rest for a few more days on her insistence. She only found out recently of these payments, and wished to thank that angel that was the elusive Mr. Raichand. Abhay Raichand. Her father probably wouldn’t be here without him. Yet, she had never seen him before, in fact, no one, or very few had, to her knowledge, one exception being her own father. Reporters scurried about the building premises to try and get just a glimpse of the man. No wonder he chose to throw a masquerade party.
But then how will I find him? Everyone is wearing one.
Guests poured from the elevator into the vast foyer, talking of rich people's things, businesses, investments, material trinkets, and long, expensive vacations. She pressed herself against the walls, and entered the party floor with the group, head hanging low. She already didn’t like it here, in between all these rich folks. It felt suffocating.
Oh dear. Please make this fast.
She looked up. Indeed, everyone was in a mask, even the waiting staff. Folding the card in her palm, she found and quietly walked into the back corner of the room, taking a seat in the plush couches. A waiter came by swiftly and offered her a drink, perhaps champagne, which she refused. But she did ask him a question.
“I’m here to meet Abhay Raichand. Where is he?”
The waiter broke into a hearty chuckle. This question was the question of the hour.
“You’re quite the jokester, ma’am. Everyone here asks the same thing. Mr. Raichand has never been seen in public before. How would I know?”
Piya frowned, and shrunk back into the cushions. Did he even exist then, she wondered. She showed the waiter the card before he walked away. Taking brief interest, he set the drinks down and examined it momentarily.
“I see. He only gives cards like this to people he personally knows. He’s been expecting you then. Wait here. I will talk to someone.”
Piya nodded, holding her purse in her hands. All she needed to do was thank him and then start repaying their debts. It would take her months to amass even a quarter of the sum, but this was better than nothing.
Several minutes passed. She kept looking, for the waiter or someone who could likely be Abhay. But soon, impatience brought her attention to the floor. A scent of roses filled her nose. Someone was here, perhaps him?
“To think I would find someone just as indifferent to parties as I am.”
Piya was brought out of her thoughts, shivering at the sound of a suave voice just in front of her. She looked up. Dressed in all black, a man came and began speaking to her like they previously met before, taking a seat to her side. Courteous enough to give enough distance. Black mask, and a pair of black silk gloves upon his hands.
“Are you….Abhay Raichand?” She asked, leaning closer.
He chuckled, and shook his head.
“Oh….I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. Are you waiting to meet him?”
Piya nodded, rubbing the card between her fingers, smoothing out the folds she made. It had a velvety softness to it.
“You know he’s quite the recluse, right? I’ve heard he doesn’t like to entertain just anyone. This party is probably out of business necessity, in fact..”
“Then, is he not here?”
“He should. Hence the theme. The masquerade makes everyone a stranger.”
He looked at her, sending more shivers up her spine. All it took was one look from his eyes. Behind the black mask, a pair of icy grey eyes watched for a moment. She thought she saw another color, a much darker blue, flash like lightning. Or perhaps it was just her imagination. He looked away for just a second. Behind them, the music began to play. Couples gathered in the center, for a short ball dance. He looked back again, then at her, extending his hand.
“Care for a dance?” He asked. Piya shrunk back and looked nervously at the other dancers. She had never danced before. “While you wait?”
“Me? But I don’t know how to dance, and I…..”
She looked down at her clothes, embarrassed at the disparity between her and the other guests. The man shook his head.
“Clothes don’t make the individual, and as for the dancing…..just follow my lead. Just for a little bit, until he arrives. You’ll be easiest to find since your face is visible.”
He asked so sincerely, and with such politeness. She didn’t want to refuse, and she was getting bored while waiting. One dance couldn’t hurt. As long as they weren’t in the center, in the spotlight, it was okay.
“Okay…..”
She took his hand, her fingers curled into his palm with the onset of a strange cold from the fabric of his gloves, and joined him to the ballroom floor. Almost as if he read her mind, he took her someplace a little more off to the side. She sighed in relief, and looked at him again. Such intense icy grey eyes. It made her heart skip beats.
Stop blushing, idiot.
He chuckled again. One hand on his shoulder, and one hand around her waist. The other pair entwined. He handled her carefully, teaching her the steps without taking anyone’s notice. She felt comfortable with him.
“Why do you want to meet Abhay Raichand? Do you know him?”
“No I don’t….but my father does. He works for him. He’s been ill for some time now, but now he’s better. Abhay has been helping with paying the medical bills, and I came here to thank him. And to repay him.”
A flicker in his eyes gave a sign that he knew what she was talking about. But she didn’t catch on, too concerned with moving her feet correctly. He was such a great dancer, and a great teacher. She felt her anxiety wash away.
“I bet….that he’ll take the thank you, but not the money.”
Piya frowned, and glared at him.
“Why? Do you know him?”
He chuckled again.
“I don’t. But out of my own personal code, I wouldn’t take the money from you either.”
“But you’re you, and Abhay is Abhay. On that note, what’s your name?”
She waited for him to break the next silence. His grip tightened, and they swayed in lockstep. He shook his head.
“The whole party’s theme is based around anonymity. I didn’t ask you for your name, did I?”
Piya pursed her lips, nodded, and looked away momentarily. The music and dance continued. Their feet began to match in movement. He smiled. She looked up. He had the cutest dimples.
“You are a fast learner. I’m impressed.”
“Thanks…..” she murmured. “You’re not a bad teacher either….”
“I’m flattered.”
Who knew how many minutes passed after this brief conversation? The rest was spent in blissful silence. Piya nearly forgot about her meeting, finding enjoyment elsewhere. The music began to fade back into chatter, and with it, he let go of her. Piya only then noticed that the blush returned on her cheeks, as he kissed her hand, and backed away to depart.
“If I find Abhay, I will pass on your message.” He said, as their fingers slipped away from each other. “And if I don’t, assume that he has already heard your thank you.”
“Promise? For the former? I highly doubt the latter.”
He laughed again, and nodded.
“Promise, in the name of your’s and this night’s beauty.”
She wished she could know his name, or tell him hers. He walked into the crowd, leaving Piya a flustered mess. She stepped back, and wrapped her shawl around her tight again, thinking of waiting around some more in case Abhay arrived for real this time. Something tickled her feet on the floor as she lifted them, a black handkerchief. Embroidered on one corner were the initials ‘AR’, in the same script that the business card had. But by the time she could speak up, he was gone.
———————————————————————————————————————————————
7 months earlier.
“Thank you, Abhay.”
It wasn’t like Abhay Raichand to visit just anyone, but not because he was cold and arrogant as the media says, but because he wasn’t much of a people person. He liked his solitude. Only a few were lucky enough to see his face. Others, even some of the servants at his own home, saw this as an unfulfilled curiosity.
“Please, no need to thank me, Mr. Dobriyal.”
He set the piping hot cup of tea upon the nightstand, taking a seat in a chair next to the bed. Arnab finally found a match to Piya’s sweet tea, one that satisfied his picky palette. One of the reasons he enjoyed Abhay’s company while she was away at work.
“Is everything alright? I hear that the bills are adding up.” Abhay asked. Arnab gave a low laugh, and shook his head.
“This is a constant struggle for people like us, Abhay.” He said, taking the first sip. The warm and mild brew made him feel all the more better. There was some kind of magic in the tea, he thought. One drop could be enough to bring a person back to life.
“Papa!”
The bell chimed above the frame of the front door, and a new warmth spread in the air, along with the fairy-like voice. Another, more secret reason for his frequent trips here. Abhay turned towards it, watching a veil of raven locks fly by the bedroom window. Abhay helped Arnab stand up, and the latter let him be inside the room, partially closing the door. Piya jumped in front of him, elated, holding a check in her hands.
“I got my bonus today! Now we can plan something big for your birthday!”
Arnab touched her hair, and shook his head with a smile.
“You always think about me. When will you think about yourself, dear?”
Piya hooked their arms, and began march them towards the bedroom.
“When you get better. Then I’ll ask you to spoil me, alright?”
“Alright, my beautiful daughter. But not now. Later.”
He held his palm out to stop her from going inside, after concluding his sentence. Piya lifted her eyebrows, and tried to snoop inside. Abhay hid against the adjacent wall, out of her peripheral vision. Her mouth open in understanding.
“Oh, is there someone there? I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”
She blushed hard, thinking the guest must have found her crazy. Arnab laughed hard, pinching her cheeks.
“Ow, papa!”
“Go upstairs, Piya. I’ll call you once we’re done here.”
She nodded and kissed Arnab’s cheek, then ran upstairs. The thumps of her feet continued all the way up. Abhay found himself smiling.
“Was that your daughter?” He asked, acting naive. “I’ve never seen her in person.”
Arnab nodded with a smile.
“Nor have many ever seen you in person. I promise she’s not always this loud. But she gets excited for these little things. I think I’m too old for a birthday celebration.” He shook his head and chuckled.
Abhay nodded, and looked at the photo on Arnab’s nightstand. Arnab looked at the same photo, and picked it up.
“I don’t know how much time I have left, but if my call arrives, I only wish to leave her with a smile. Just like in the photo.”
Abhay shook his head, and took Arnab’s hand between his. Arnab always found it strange that he wore gloves all the time. Or that he enjoyed living alone. Something about living many years on his own that he got used to it. Piya certainly wouldn’t be able to do that, just yet.
“You’ll be alright, Mr. Dobriyal. I promise you that. You will still be able to see her smile, for many years to come.”
Abhay looked towards the stairs. He would make sure of it, for that smile invited some feeling of warmth in him. A feeling that he never knew the experience of.
The aged mask of solitude, which the being wore for countless years now, was finally breaking.
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