OS: Yesterday and Tomorrow--Repentance-Completed. - Page 5

AUTHORS' NOTE: The Yesterday part is like a snapshot into the past, a parallel story line of what might have happened after Paro was taken into the BSD Headquarters by Rudra after the Baraat massacre. I'm fleshing out the questioning, the interrogation, even the torture Paro might have faced if that track had more details, and creating a different next chapter in their lives.

Tomorrow shows what might happen in the future, after everything is settled--when life has moved them beyond conflicts. Basically you'll see the same "idea" before and after! This one is about Repentance. You are sorry for the small mistakes in life, you can apologize, move on. But what about the mistakes that are so life-changing, so cruel, there are no words, no apologies? When the just thought of the crime hurts the attacker--what agony, then, must the victim of the crime feel? Can we repent? And if we do then--how? How do you undo damage that has already killed a heart? Who repents in Rangrasiya--yesterday, tomorrow? Find out!

YESTERDAY AND TOMORROW: PART 11 (REPENTANCE)

TOMORROW (PART 1) : He had never believed in the rites and rituals associated with puja paat. Perhaps that is too harsh a judgment on Dilsher Pratap Ranawat. Rather, let it be said that he had never felt comfortable practicing puja paat. Frankly, there were too many things to remember--use this hand for the offering, that hand for the tilak, this mantra for this festival, something different for another. It was a process with a lot of moving parts, and for Dilsher Ranawat, it did not seem like there was much point to it all. A lot of effort for precious little, he would huff. This was not to say he did not believe in Divinity. He did. He just didn't like the practical part of worshiping them. It was all a little too, well, confusing for Dilsher to ever feel totally comfortable with.


But he appreciated that his god, Bholenath had a wicked sense of humor. First he had been saddled with a mother who was the very definition of pious. He and Danveer had been dragged from mandir to mandir as children, and their Haveli had been a place to behold during festival days. Then he had married Mala...an extremely religious woman. She had done each puja, each veneration correctly, Dilsher recalled, with a twisted smirk. Every ritual, every offering and every vow had been conducted exactly right, even if the cleaving to those vows had not been quite so...anyways. And now, Bholenath had found it absolutely hilarious to land Dilsher with an equally traditional, puja-paat type ladki for a Bahu.


This girl was as pious as his wife had been--and she actually meant those vows and believed in those rasams, as that other woman clearly had not. Rudra-dev had no interest in all this, all he cared was that Paro got exactly what she wanted, in everything, at all times. Simple. So if Paro wanted him to perform with her in the pujas, Rudra would do it unhesitatingly, looking at her instead of at the gods, worshipping her with his eyes, getting scolded for his blasphemy and not giving a damn. But he usually ran out the door in the morning, knowing full well that his bapu-sa Dilsher was going to get stuck tending to his Bahu's wishes when it came to temples and pujas and visits to holy sites.


This meant that Dilsher had to do the mandir rounds, again, accompanied by a shy, but disarmingly serious girl who, for the life of him, he could not help indulging. For fifteen years, Dilsher had not had to please anyone and he had therefore avoided all this mandir-wandir business quite well. But, Parvati was stuck at home with his adored grandsons on her lap. When she turned those huge, doe eyes in his direction, asking for some Prasad from today's prayers, he had not even thought to excuse himself and get out of it.

She was still feeding the babies, and could not go to the Temple herself. So Dilsher found he had put chappals on his feet and ordered the jeep to the Haveli door before he even thought of formulating an excuse to avoid this chore. He couldn't say no to those large eyes anymore than Rudra-dev could, it seemed. And if his angel of a Bahu wanted Prasad, as she rested, her lovely eyes showing dark circles from a long, sleepless night (no doubt courtesy of that lustful animal she had married)-- well, she would damn well have Prasad.


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The temple was unusually crowded. Krishna Parksh, was almost upon then, and the festival of Karvachauth was only three days away. The temple was filled with women. Young girls blushing as red as the chunris they had brought to be blessed, comfortable matrons smiling placidly at each other as they bought garlands and lingered near the temple steps, looking at the little decorated Karva pots for sale. Brass thalis glinted as married women with their red sindoor shimmering like spilled blood carried their offerings and henna and sweets to the temple. The femininity, the incense, the sense of anticipation was palpable. Of course, Parvati had wanted Prasad from this day's offerings, this would be her first Karva Chauth, and she would not wish to miss out on any ritual. And being the shy innocent she was, she had not been able to boldly tell him what she wanted, and why.


Dilsher would normally have taken one look at the teeming crowds of devotees and left. Now that he realized why Parvati had blushed seven shades of red before asking him for the Prasad, he decided to brave the crowds and get his Bahu what she wanted.


Parvati had no mother in law--another twisted smile greeted this thought----but she had Dilsher, and perhaps Sargi, that gift that she would have otherwise received from Rudra's mother would have to come from him. He would check to see if the pandits at the temple said it could be done by him. He would just get the Prasad, and then check on the details of Sargi. He recalled his mother preparing two large thalis filled with clothes and jewellery, fruits and nuts for Mala and Mohini. All kinds of that stuff went onto the Sargi plate. Could he, as the father in law, gift Parvati all that stuff ? And..well... what exactly was "that stuff" anyway? Normally, these details seemed like utter nonsense to Dilsher, but he was determined to be exactly sure of the rituals for Parvati's sake--and do them too, if he could. She would not be deprived of even one thing, if he could help it.

Her first Karva Chauth. And she, poor young, thing, married to a Jallad! Dilsher smiled to himself. It was as difficult a day for the husband as it was for the wife. He would take a great deal of delight in telling Rudra exactly how hard it was going to be for his Paro, how the fast would weaken her, how selfless and sweet this ritual was. How most men, (especially jallads) did not deserve their wives doing any of this at all. He would enjoy seeing his son squirm in embarrassment and pride. And, on the day itself, he would laugh as Rudra self-combusted with worry, hovering over Paro, not eating himself, cursing at the moon, at her, at himself... It was going to be so much fun! But first--- what about that Sargi?

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He climbed the steps, slowly. The herbal oil that Parvati heated for him each night, massaging the medicine into his feet and calf muscles had helped him a great deal, but mornings were still difficult. He had refused the oil that first night, so many months ago. Only to have Parvati out-do him in sheer stubbornness. She had said nothing, but had stood for hours outside his door with the bowl. He had watched her though the peephole, waiting for her to tire, for her jailor, Rudra to take her away. She had not tired, nor had she left when Rudra had come to get her. Patiently, with a steely strength and will that said she was ready to wait until morning, she had broken his resistance down. Dilsher had given in, and now he regretted waiting even that time for her magical touch and even more magical herbal salves and pastes.


For all these months she had never allowed the treatment to falter, even for one night---other than that week, of course. The week when she had been at the hospital, after the shooting...Dilsher gulped, his breath wheezing out of him. Even remembering that time made him sweat, his blood freezing with remembered terror.


She had become his light. That was the only word for what she was. His light. Other than that week, when he had prayed at the mandir steps, the light dimming before his eyes. When she had battled Yamraj himself to return to his home with his son and the miracles that were the twin boys. Dilsher had a hard time forgiving people who left him. But that one lapse of going away from him for that one week was all that he held against Parvati in his heart. She had aged him a hundred years during that one week. She was now home, safe, the children with them. She had become his dutiful Bahu only recently. But she had always, from the day they had met--always been a girl of such love and kindness, he had regretted never having a daughter of his own.


So, Dilsher liked the feeling of possessive love he felt now, whenever he rested his hand on her shining head. Of course, now he had her, forever, so that was something. Parvati was never going to leave them, him and Rudra, and the children. Never. Dilsher did not think even a child of his own blood could have meant as much to him as this shy young girl did. She had given him...his son. A home. And love. Not to mention two babies who carried their grandmother's eyes on their little faces, and held their grandfather's soul inside their little bodies. She was the light of his home, the light of his old years.

For Parvati Ranawat's happiness, for her sake, for her peace of mind, he, Dilsher Ranawat--he would do anything. A few difficult steps were nothing.

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The leg's mobility was slowly returning, muscles were responding to the steady treatment of massage, herbs and heat. Nothing would completely heal the badly set bone in his thigh that had left him a cripple, but he could put more weight on his crippled leg than he ever had been able to before Parvati's nightly treatment. The leg still hurt, to be honest, but if he said anything or grimaced in pain, both his son and daughter-in-law would fuss over him, and reduce him to a cripple. Dilsher panted, holding the railing that ran down the middle of the temple steps.


People walked by him, a never ending stream of women, some covered with their long chunris, others chattering with each other as they carried brass plates, flowers and offerings up and down the temple. In the midst of all this teeming femininity, Dilsher stood, completely drained, wishing he had asked the driver to come with him to lend his support. A thought came to him---it was surprising that Parvati has asked him to come get the Prasad, as she was usually very insistent about him not exerting himself. But, even as he thought this, he dismissed it. She was clearly not herself.


She had something cooking inside that quiet, contemplative head of hers, something that had left her preoccupied and thoughtful for the last few weeks. Rudra had already worn himself into a shadow hovering over his wife, throwing his weight about, grabbing her and forcing food down her mouth at mealtimes. He did not know how to handle anything out of the ordinary when it came to his Paro, so Dilsher had had to suffer extreme irritation as he watched his ruthless son chase the poor girl down morning and night. Dilsher was sure that she had been pushed up against every pillar in the Haveli by now, and pulled into every empty room available for Rudra's intense, overbearing interrogations.


Rudra, as relentless in domestic life as he was in his professional one kept trying to peer into Paro's mind, demanding to know all her thoughts, her every emotion. Paro had been gentle and calm, silent in response to her husband's questions, but she was getting upset, Dilsher could see it in her anxious eyes. He hated seeing her upset. So, he had been forced to drag his obsessive son aside just last night, telling Rudra, in a terse whisper to stop harassing Parvati, and to leave her alone. Nothing good came from plaguing women like this. They did not like it, and then they did something drastic, something that would really drive their husbands crazy. It was best not to bother them all the time, like Rudra was doing, great hulking fool that he was.


Rudra had scowled at him like a demon, but he had not immediately gone after Parvati as she went to the terrace, to make sure she didn't fall over the edge or something--so at least this meant he had listened to his Bapu-sa.


Someone jostled him, accidentally pushing against his good leg. The railing slipped from his hands. A few seconds of panic, as Dilsher stumbled, flailing his arms in a vain attempt at purchase, at grabbing at support. And then, just as Dilsher closed his eyes, ready to fall to either death, or to serious injury, a scent, torn from the recesses of his memory assailed his nerve endings. As bewildered by that scent as he was by the sensation of being supported, set to rights, Dilsher was disoriented for a full minute. He had closed his eyes, anticipating pain, injury.


And now, a pain of a much more ravaging injury tore through him as he opened his bleary eyes to look down at Mala. His wife, of thirty years, his shame and torment for fifteen, who had grabbed his arm, resting his weight against her own. Who had left him, shattered, a cripple, a man who had needed support only from her, a life from her, so long ago. And who had been the one to deny him herself, and support and a life. She was holding him. Darkness swam before his eyes, as the light went out.