*This story is based on the current track. I won't say that it is strictly a MyRud story, but it features Myrah & Rudra 😆*
Love is so short, forgetting is so long..
Everywhere he went, there she was. Her face. Her eyes. Twinkling. Dancing. Teasing. That crooked, yet beautiful smile. That soundless laughter, accompanied by shaking of her petite frame. That mouth which never seemed to shut even for a moment. Random animated gestures and throwing her hands around dramatically. She was everywhere. There was not one safe spot in the house where he could escape her. Nowhere to go, in his own house. Every room in the house was now touched by her. Every pretty wall of the haveli against which she clicked photographs now told her story. Every object of art that adorned their rooms that she would pick up and exclaim loudly, oh that is gorgeous, now were touched, nay tainted by her presence.
When he woke up in the morning, hers was the face that he inevitably saw first. There she would be fresh faced, ready to go out for her morning run, earbuds firmly in place, her head bobbing to the latest chartbuster. She who was unaffected by his presence, would wave at him casually even as he would avert his eyes as quickly as he could. But too late because he could not help but stare at her. How could he not? He would scowl at her and look away. His aloof manner did nothing to harsh her mellow though and she would shrug and sprint away. Usually a while later as he would be helping his son get ready for school, there she would be with a chirpy good morning and the now regular tousling of Dhruv's hair. It gnawed his heart and he literally felt a physical ache when he would see that this almost careless gesture of hers was enough for Dhruv to feel giddy with happiness. Seeing his normally stoic son, very unlike any other seven-year-old look that happy, even if was for a few fleeting seconds almost made it worth having her in their lives. Except that he knew that it was not. Nothing good could come out of this. Nothing at all.
Myrah was not Paro. He was not deluded to think that she was. Yes, she had her face but that was the end of it. His father had once told him that Paro was like a gentle rain, that would cool down the sand, that would give life to parched souls, to him. And Paro was indeed just that and much more - his friend, lover, philosopher, his conscience keeper, his guiding star. She was the most precious thing he ever had in his life, the only person who was truly his, even above his parents who gave birth to him. Myrah on the other hand was that sudden downpour that does nothing but inconvenience you. Intrusive, unreliable and against which you can't protect yourself because it comes and leaves as it pleases. But how could he make his young son understand any of this? To his son, Paro was a photograph and Myrah was a flesh and blood version of that photograph. Dhruv was an intelligent boy, and yet it was impossible for him to appreciate this difference. Though he and Myrah had a confrontational relationship ever since she had all but barged into their lives, unfortunately or otherwise, she had a very friendly equation with most of the others in the house. Especially with Dhruv, who was altogether too enchanted by his mother's lookalike. He followed her around like a puppy, laughed heartily at all her peculiar antics, danced with her to ridiculous Bollywood songs, played boardgames with her late into the night and often would fall asleep on her lap. He had even picked up mannerisms and catchphrases from her. She had been in their lives for a little over a week and already Dhruv began and ended all his sentences with Myrah. He wished that he could take his son away for a few days to another house, another city, but running away was not an option. Not living was not an option. He had made a promise to his Paro. They would survive Myrah. They had to.
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And the moral of the story is that you don't remember what happened. What you remember becomes what happened..
"How much is this sari? Main local hi hoon, mujhe tourist mat samajhna," she hoped that she said that with enough bravado and conviction.
"Madam this is special leheriya work. Fully hand-made. For you only rupees five thousand," the grinning salesman offered, his gleaming eyes clearly suggesting that he was ripping her off.
Perhaps she should have taken Maithili Jeeja's offer to accompany her to the bazaar so that she could have not only got advice on which colours to pick, but also get the best price. But after spending the last few days at the Ranawat House she had come to realise that Maithili Jeeja was the glue that held that family together. She cooked, she cleaned, she took care of her in-laws, she was the mother to two children whom she had not given birth to, she sewed, she gave advice, she played peacemaker and she welcomed strangers like her into the house. Basically Maithili Jeeja was a goddess. And way too overworked. Deep down she knew that she had already intruded on the hospitality of the family, now she could not burden Maithili with additional tasks. So which is why she set forth on her own. She did not need a chaperone.
"Write down your phone number and go," Maithili Jeeja had told her rather worriedly when she had announced her plan to step out alone.
There was no pen handy so Maithili Jeeja asked her brother-in-law to take down her number. Of course, Rudra had glowered at her. Like she had somehow engineered this pen-less state. He really hated her. She both understood this and found it simultaneously baffling. Yes, she had forced his hand in staying at his place and proceeded to say some pretty unforgivable things to him. But since their altercation, she had attempted to make peace with him. Except that between his short-temper and insults, and her barely seething bruised ego, this was becoming an impossible task. But it wasn't as if she did not try.
She was not a bad person. Yes, she made mistakes, but once she recognised them she made honest efforts to correct the errors of her ways. So she resorted to the easy, by making small talk about the weather.
"If you want to discuss the weather go and chat with Kaaki-sa," he would mutter and walk away. The funny woman whom Shatabdi had introduced as an unhinged maid, was in fact the mistress of the house. Mohini did not like her and though she didn't interact much with her, Myrah too did not feel any kinship with her like she felt with the rest of the family. There was something about Mohini that made her uncomfortable and she trusted her instincts and stayed away. Unfortunately, her instincts did not allow her to stay away from Rudra. But he would look through her. Sometimes she wondered if she had achieved the superpowers of invisibility that he ignored her thus. And yet, she could tell that there were times when he watched her intently, so intently that her toes would curl and her face feel flushed. Sometimes he would surprise her by even showing some concern. Like it happened after dinner last night.
She was with the children playing Snakes and Ladders, which had now become their post-dinner routine. Before she came to the Ranawat House, she had not had many opportunities to interact with children, but now she had come to realise that she was a natural with them. The children seemed to enjoy her company as much as she enjoyed theirs. Sometimes she would exclaim that she wished that she never had to leave these two adorable munchkins. And she would notice how Koel and Dhruv would exchange a look and a knowing smile, like they knew something that she didn't. She decided not to prod because children liked to have their little secrets and in-jokes. While in the middle of the game when all three players were only encountering snakes, causing them to slither down, her phone rang. Dhruv, who was closest to where her phone was picked it up and his face suddenly fell. She took the phone from him and saw the caller id - R O H I T.
That couldn't be right, she thought as she nervously clicked on the buttons. It was a voice message from Rohit and in her nervousness she had accidentally clicked on speaker-mode.
Myrah, his voice came a little slurred, you cannot avoid talking to me. My sherwani is here. It is all becoming real, too real. Let us talk soon. Please *static*
And right about then Rudra entered the room, he had come to take Dhruv to make him go to bed. She wondered how much of this had he heard.
"Are you ...okay? Is everything... fine?"
So, he had heard it all.
"Chill," she had reassured him, "Dhruv and Koel, we will play tomorrow. Today none of us are finding any luck at all."
The children left the room reluctantly. Rudra even more reluctantly. And he turned back while near the door, looked at her with his beautiful soft eyes that did something to her insides and repeated his earlier question. She had an unexplained sense of deja vu, as if she had the same conversation at another point in time. Why was she so fanciful these days?
"I am fine. I just need some privacy, please," she had snapped at him then. It was easy to deal with a belligerent Rudra, but this downright nice version of him was unsettling.
The stony expression on his face returned and he had stormed out.
"I am sorry.. I didn't mean to snap," she told the empty room, but he was gone.
"Madam, okay final price only rupees four thousand five hundred," the smiling salesman interrupted her thoughts.
"Two thousand," she insisted.
"Madam, you are joking, right? Only for you three thousand eight hundred."
"Two thousand five hundred."
"Three thousand. And that is absolutely the final."
She had immediately pulled out the money and accepted it gratefully. While she should have been thrilled with her bargaining skills, instead a darkness had set in her mood. As if on cue, the weather too had taken a turn for the worse and a storm seemed to be headed its way to Udaipur.
"Madam, where is your car?" the salesman asked as she got ready to step out of the shop.
"I don't have a car, I will take a rickshaw," she said and stepped out.
She now mentally kicked herself for not having come in a car. She wanted to appear as close to a local as possible and hence decided to take a rickshaw. But now with the dark clouds it seemed like a bad idea. She hugged the bag with her purchase and walked along looking for an elusive rickshaw. The bazaar somehow now looked less crowded than it was when she had made her way to it earlier in the day. She looked at her watch, it was close to four, she had promised Jeeja that she would be back in time for tea. The drizzle had now turned into a bonafide rain and she had no choice but to take shelter under one of the roadside shacks, where a little boy no older than Dhruv was selling channa jor garam, a street-food popular around these parts. She smiled at the little boy and wondered why did Dhruv and his father occupy so much of her thoughts these days. Dhruv was a sweet boy, who loved her with a kind of fierceness and unconditionality that she had not experienced so far in her life. She felt a kinship with him, maybe because she knew about his mother. Perhaps that is why she felt a .. fondness was it.. for Rudra. He was a mystery. Her Chachu had checked on him when she had decided to park herself in his house. But the details he gave her were sketchy. He was an ex Army man, rather decorated and well-regarded as a soldier who quit the forces after a personal tragedy befell on him. The Major's wife, whom he loved dearly had been shot at by a terrorist and had perished right in his arms, leaving behind him and their six-month-old child. It was such a tragic story that her first impulse after she got off the phone with her uncle was to go and hug little Dhruv. The good thing about children is that they have the ability to take words and actions at face-value and he had hugged her back, no questions asked. Of course, Rudra had almost wrested his son out of her arms, like she was going to strangle him or something and had yelled, "are you completely mad?" A few hours back, she would have snapped at him and told him the first thought that emerged in her mind. But now she could not. Now that she knew a part of his story, it was no longer possible for her to be cruel to him. So she had walked away.
But after this, she had developed a curiosity about his wife, she wanted to know more about this woman. What kind of woman is loved like this? Loved like there was no meaning to life without her. Would she ever be loved like that? She almost envied that woman, petty as it might seem. But the wife was a bigger mystery than Rudra. There were no photographs of her around the house. Nobody spoke about her. Even the usually effervescent Koel who spoke non-stop would clam up when the subject of Dhruv's mother came up. Sometimes it seemed like she didn't even exist. Except that she did. Everywhere. In Dhruv's constant longing for her. In Maithili Jeeja's unshed tears. In Danveer Uncle's wry smile. In Mohini Kaaki-sa's incomprehensible comments. In Rudra's every being. Parvati was everywhere.
The rain had let up for a bit and she hurriedly stepped out from her spot of shade, though it had hardly helped because she was already soaked, her shoes had filled up with water and made strange, squeaky noises as she walked. The universe had truly decided that when it rains, it pours, quite literally and she did not find one rickshaw in sight. Now she was getting anxious. If Chachu knew that she had sauntered out of home without a car, in the middle of a raging storm he would be mad at her.
And as she walked some more, something in her gut told her that all was not right. Like she was being watched. Followed. Tracked. She turned to look behind her a couple of times, but there was nothing particularly suspicious, but nonetheless she began walking faster. The railway station was not too far away from the bazaar, perhaps if she got there she would get a rickshaw.
"Myrah Mehra," a voice called and a car pulled in front of her.
She looked towards the voice nervously and saw a middle-aged man, wearing a white kurta and a Nehru jacket.
"Yes, sir. I am sorry I don't recognise you," she had said, even as she strained her mind to help her identify this man.
"Well the important thing is I recognise you. I am your Chachu's friend Abhay Shankar. We had met at a dinner some years ago, right here in Udaipur," the man said smiling, who had now stepped out of the car.
No, she didn't remember him. But she didn't want want to make him feel that he was that unmemorable and apologised to him saying that she was not able to place his face immediately.
"That is okay. Why are you roaming around in the rain? Do you need a ride?"
Myrah considered the man. He did look like a politician of some sort, surely she could trust him. Did she just use politician and trust in the same sentence?
"You don't trust me, do you? Always good to be safe. I would expect my daughter to do the same. Why don't we call your Chachu and then you can step into the car. No pressure, just trying to help."
"No, no. Thank you so much. Do you know where is Old Fort Road? I am staying there. If it is not a bother, of course. I don't want you to take a detour because of me."
"No bother at all. We will get you there in half and hour give or take a few."
And she got into Abhay Shankar's car.
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Continued Below
Anupamaa
