Posted:
Hey guys!
So, I am finally here with the last part of my Restitution Series that started with Resolved, followed by Rectified, Recompensed and now concludes with Rewarded. This concluding chapter deals with the matters left unfinished in the previous updates and hopefully provides a comprehensive and enjoyable end to the story I wanted to tell. It starts from where Recompensed ends. The names of places mentioned in the first two parts below are real, but I cannot entirely verify the accuracy of the facilities described there in the case of the second place. Please do read and as ever, your likes and comments make me improve, and carry on and are so appreciated. Minor edits and formatting are in progress so please bear with me!
Special mentione here to the following dear friends:
Shruti (Lannister) - you had already masterfully guessed the eventual fate of Ragini so hope what you read lives up to the punishment we often discussed we wanted her to get.
Vrinda- you really helped me by requesting me to delve some more into Adarsh, which really shaped the third part of this chapter. I hope you like what you read, please let me know!
Viji- you wanted the reward to be in the form of a trip to one of two destinations! I have done my best and I will also fulfil the request of the second place in a separate series I have in mind in the future! Hope you like this!
Links to previous parts:
Part 3 - Recompensed: https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/swaragini/4545262/recompensed-part-3-the-restitution-series
Lots of love to all!
REWARDED
"Is fate getting what you deserve, or deserving what you get?" - Jodi Picoult, Vanishing Acts
6 months later
Vidyasagar Nursing Home, Kolkata
Parvati Gadodia tried to gently coax the girl before her to a further spoonful of broth; which was eventually listlessly consumed, leaving a small trail of it to dribble down the side of her mouth. Before Parvati could wipe it off, the rather frail looking young woman hissed her displeasure at her, but tears running down her face at the same time, belying her frustration at her utter helplessness in being unable to even undertake this most menial of tasks for herself. Parvati calmly wiped the offending liquid off and also tried to do the same for the rivulets leaving streaks on the pale cheeks, but her patient simply turned her head away in angry denial. Parvati's heart smote as it did each day, to see her precious Ladoo in this state, but this was their life sentence and both grandmother and granddaughter had to see it served.
Quadriplegia was a terrible affliction. Parvati Gadodia had never even heard of the term until her beloved Ragini was diagnosed with it, after the injury she had sustained that fateful day six months ago, after her crazed but foiled attempt on Sanskaar's life, whose intended casualty had been her own sister. Regret ate at Parvati's soul with acid bitterness, just as she knew it devoured Ragini in the same way. However, life is all about accountability in the end and no one could be free of the consequences of their actions, let alone those whose deeds had been as terrible as Ragini's. Her fall from the stairs at Maheshwari Mansion appeared to have killed her. Parvati would never forget the sight of both her granddaughters that crucial day. One of them had been soaked in a sea of blood and the other had simply lain outwardly shattered as she inwardly had been for some time. However, her life had been saved for all the good it did her, thought Parvati bitterly, fresh anguish twisting in her like a knife. Entirely paralysed from the neck down due to the severed spinal cord she suffered not only from the fall, but from the failed surgery that was undertaken to restore her from her internal injuries. The damage was irreparable. It was as if the Gods had finally shut their eyes and ears, and even the prayers and forgiveness of those Ragini had wronged had gone unheeded. She was now reduced to this- a husk, a creature tied to this room and this chair or her bed, only moving, feeding and simply existing at the mercy of others. Her mind still functioning, deepening her punishment as there was no escape from the kismet she herself had carved out for herself with corrosive hate and malice. It was almost as it every evil deed she had committed has simply congregated somewhere in the ether, gathering momentum and volume, and had finally boomeranged into her with all its velocity, fragmenting into her and similarly breaking her into limitless pieces that could never be mended again. Ragini Gadodia, once Maheshwari too, was the most macabre human version of Humpty Dumpty the Universe and her own nature could have devised. Parvati knew it was a terrible to wish for your own progeny, but she knew death would have been a much kinder fate for her wasted and entirely destroyed granddaughter. She carried on trying to talk to her, and making failed attempts to interest her in something around her.
Alipore Special Correctional Home, Kolkata
Kaveri Bai who used to be Kaveri Roy, stared around the compound where she had been allowed out for the prisoners' morning round of recreation and exercise. She had desultorily stalked the perimeter a few times, but had little interest in joining the majority of other women engaged in various activities to pass time before being summoned back to their labour duties. The end of the break would be signalled soon but as Kaveri had learnt, the repetitiveness of prison routine could drive you as mad as a hamster on a wheel, unable to see a way out of the endless cycle which did not seem to denote any change, no matter how long you ran for, or how many cycles you completed, one simply merging into the other until time and space were compacted into the capsule of the prison microcosm. Prisons that were now called Correctional Homes, as if the deinstitutionalisation of the word would make that world any less claustrophobic. And as for calling it a home, Kaveri had never really known what one of those was in the true sense, so it was all perhaps academic. Kaveri had not been a stranger to jails in her illustrious career as a dancer, courtesan and then mistress to a gangster, but her previous periods of confinement had been relatively brief, their impact minimised by the havoc she would delight in wreaking when she was out, but this time was different. She was in for the long haul as they would say, and she knew it.
Truth be told, she was totally hamstrung. She had been outclassed without knowing it, and what Sanskaar Maheshwari had not managed to already do, the revelations she had learnt during her interrogation sessions with the police officers prior to her trail that saw her so incarcerated, had completed. She had been robbed of something far more vital than her physical freedom- her vengeance and the will and motive that fuelled it. She had detested the Maheshwaris and in particular, Durga Prasad, with all the fire of love turned to hate; an all consuming blaze that burnt all in its wake, particularly the person who wielded its force themselves. Her cause had been righteous to her, and whilst to many, a woman like Kaveri should not care about right or wrong, there is honour amongst thieves too. Kaveri had seen herself as a victim, betrayed in love, forced to sacrifice her child born of that union, forced to a life of infamy tinged with shame and crime, and then finally also deprived of the girl she had loved in substitution of the son she had lost. A person's mind is a funny thing. It can recast an entire perception to make it what it wants to be. The Kaveris of this world see what they want to- the child taken was actually abandoned in exchange for money by its mother who now bemoans his loss, the sordid life was chosen instead of one of honest toil and poverty, and then there was the real truth of the daughter lost to violence. Kaveri had pinned much of her renewed desire for vengeance on her belief in Durga Prasad's involvement in Kavita's murder. Even if Durga Prasad claimed, as he always had done, that he had had nothing to do with the dastardly deed, she had believed that the extremists from the Marwari Society group had carried out the act, still attributable according to her to Durga Prasad and his vehement opposition to the match.
What she had instead learned was that it was actually her and not Durga Prasad who had killed Kavita. Oh she had not struck the actual blows that had murdered that child, but she may as well have. For after all that, it had been her dead ex lover who had sent the goons who tore the life away from Kavita so brutally those years ago. She had thought herself so clever, she had always had a hidden sense of pride in having managed to keep her desire to see Kavita wed to Sanskaar as a means of having access again to the Maheshwaris from him, but he has always known. She had been too complacent and no match for the Machiavelli that he had always been. He had learnt of her plans and of the elopement. The intention had been to injure Sanskaar Maheshwari and Kavita, but things had got out of hand and the first attack on Kavita had been botched, killing her instead. This caused the men to panic, fearing the wrath of their fiendish boss, and they had then fled at his command, inadvertently saving Sanskaar from injury, and potential death too. After this, Sanskaar had disappeared and whilst her patron may or may not have known of him being alive, he had no further interest in the matter as he had done the damage he had set out to do. Kavita was dead, Kaveri was broken and had fled Kolkata with and from her grief. He had won, he must have watched her suffer for the years after knowing she believed Durga Prasad responsible, but unable to do anything about it, and would have enjoyed that immensely. That would have been his punishment to her for daring to still think of her past lover, even if it was in anger and hatred. It was almost a shame, thought Kaveri, with vicious self hatred and bitterness, that he was not alive anymore to delight in her real fall- the realisation she now had that all that loathing she had harboured against Durga Prasad for that crime, was all for nothing.
It could all have still been salvaged, she thought with fresh regret. She still had her son, he may have been the Adarsh of the Maheshwaris, but he was her blood, and once he discovered that she was his mother, surely he would understand and accept her. But that avenue too had been closed to her forever. She recalled her last meeting with her nemesis once again, she feared it was a scene that her memory would store and replay for her till the end of her days. Sanskaar Maheshwari had paid her a visit soon after she had seen Adarsh. He had been outwardly calm but she sensed the maelstrom of suppressed rage and disgust conflagrating within him. He had stonily informed her that he had seen to it that his considerable connections within the police had not only ensured that the case against Kaveri was strong enough to ensure her captivity for a believable period of time, but he has also through them had information leaked to the gangsters that Kaveri had once fraternised with, that she had betrayed them to the police in exchange of money and for a comparatively reduced sentence. Should Kaveri hope to be out earlier or even freed at all, she would inevitably have to contend with her ex benefactor's successor, who had been shown planted evidence that was enough to condemn Kaveri in the mobster's court too, which tended to be far more brutal in how they dealt with perceived traitors than the legal system could ever be. Kaveri may choose therefore to manoeuvre matters whilst in prison to ensure that she stayed there, rather than got released early, or even at all. The four walls of her incarceration were ironically actually her salvation from what awaited her outside. Kaveri knew she would not be able to move the flint eyed stranger who had stood before her, like some dark avenging angel. He may perhaps have forgiven Kavita's death, but her supply of the pistol to Ragini, which had injured the woman he loved more than his hope of Heaven, ensured that no quarter would be granted to her. Kaveri was consigned to the darkness he was leaving behind forever.
Maheshwari Mansion
"Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery."
J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
Annapurna Maheshwari garnished the milk she had just warmed in the pan with a generous handful of grated almonds, and for good measure, also sprinkled some rich flecks of saffron on its surface, watching the colour tinge its paleness with satisfaction. Sujata buzzed around her, asking if she wanted the milk taken to its recipient, but Annapurna declined smilingly, saying she needed to check in on her pregnant charge herself. She thus made her way to the relevant room, tray in hand, soon knocking at a door and being bid to enter almost immediately.
Adarsh Maheshwari was fussing over his heavily pregnant wife, who tried to stand when she saw her mother in law enter, but was immediately stalled by both mother and son, the former exclaiming at her to stay put and not move. Annapurna enquired after Parineeta with her habitual concern and Adarsh reassured her that she was fine, smiling as he saw her forcing his wife to have the hot milk. Annapurna caught him staring and they affectionately smiled at each other. Annapurna felt truly fortunate to have retained her eldest son.
She had undergone a lashing soul searching exercise six months ago when Adarsh had run from the house as if the hounds of hell were chasing him. She had fully expected never to see him again, or least not on any cordial basis. She had loved him but there had always been something lacking, however understandable it was. She admitted with brutal honesty to herself that in some ways she had always been partial to Lakshya; he was always the one she cosseted and protected more than the others. Adarsh was her eldest. She had not given birth to him but that in itself did not stop her love being as all encompassing as Yashoda's; it was perhaps that tiny part of her, that she had buried so deep, she never allowed it to surface; it only spoke to her from the deepest darkest recesses of her sub-conscious, that niggled at her. She had always known with a woman's infallible instinct that the supposedly orphaned child she was charged with, was her husband's with another woman. Thus, whilst she loved him as wholesomely as she could, a secret part of her heart, treasured Lakshya that slight bit more, he was entirely her flesh and blood. The same was the case with Sanskaar. The myth circulating in the Maheshwari household had always been that Annapurna was indiscriminate in her maternal love, as Durga Prasad was in his justice. Both had been proved fallacies but both of them had been given second chances by the very children they had failed, and they intended to never repeat their mistakes again.
For Adarsh, he had gone to the very edge of the abyss, but had clawed his way back. The very fabric of his whole life could have ripped apart and if it hasn't been for Parineeta, it certainly would have. Adarsh realised how fortunate he was that she had decided to forgive him his shameful past indiscretions and had stayed with him those months ago. If he had not had her clear counsel and support, he would have never been able to reconcile himself to his true origins. He had been devastated to learn of his birth mother and the circumstances that led to his adoption by Annapurna. But Parineeta had helped him understand and reason through things in a way that still felt right to him. She had been counsellor and guide, but never the decision maker. All of this perhaps helped Adarsh morph into the person he always wished he could have been. He would never have Sanskaar's incredible qualities, or Lakshya's privileges, but he had learnt to step up and think more of himself whilst dealing with the changed dynamics of their family, and in doing so, had made everyone else think more of him too.
Adarsh had gone to visit Kaveri when she had been sentenced. The woman had been so smug and her malice almost seemed to radiate off her,trying to latch its tentacles around him through the bars of the cell she was then housed in. She had assumed he would want to acknowledge her and reject Annapurna and she spun him a fine tale of her struggles and helplessness that that forced her to give him up to her arch enemies. Adarsh had listened to her, watching and judging, and had finally, very firmly told her that he would never be her son. He had a mother and her name was Annapurna Maheshwari. She had had the courage and heart to succour and love a child that was not hers, and she had done it without once making that same child ever realise that he did not wholly belong to her. She had been the only mother he had known and loved and he could not, would not, accept the mercenary succubus that now claimed kinship, after having exchanged him for a wad of cash and out of spite for not having possessed the lifestyle and man she had always wanted. He had seen how devastated she truly looked at their confrontation, but it left him unmoved; in fact a small part of him gloried in it, as he wanted to hurt this woman for having abandoned him. Now, he felt nothing but mild disgust and even remote pity for her. She rotted in jail, and would be alone all her life. If she had not left him, he would have had a far more grim existence. He would have been Kaveri, but without any father figure, save any new lover that occupied that post in her life. Instead, he had grown up as one of the heirs to the Maheshwari empire and no one had ever really called out the inadequacies that marked him from his clearly more brilliant and capable cousin. He had much to be grateful for and for all his faults, Adarsh was not foolish enough not to appreciate what he had.
Annapurna, Adarsh and Parineeta sat and talked for a while, happily discussing the much awaited forthcoming arrival. They distracted Annapurna when the conversation inadvertently turned to Lakshya and her brow furrowed and her eyes filled, thinking about the loneliness and pain her precious son underwent, his life having been in a constant state of unhappy flux ever since it was blighted by Ragini and his own foolishness, which he had now dearly paid for. Parineeta reassured her that Lakshya would be fine, he was after all focussing so well on the business and he had Sanskaar now to really help him through. Finally, what really brought a smile back to Annapurna's composed face was Parineeta's half joking reassurance that Swara should be set the task of helping find her own "devrani", as surely if she set her mind to it, she would somehow manage it, even if Sanskaar would have to actually execute the entirety of that task in Swara's name!
Swara and Sanskaar's bedroom
"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close."
Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets
Dawn sleepily tried to fight its way through the last remnants of the night, which was reluctantly forced to abandon its watch and relinquish its hold to a new day. The first rays of the very early morning sun filtered through, gently beginning to douse the city with its light, exchanging the midnight blue curtain for one of gradually deepening cerulean, putting out the twinkling stars one by one and hiding away the fading moon until the veil could be raised on its unearthly paleness again.
But night or day no longer made much difference to Sanskaar Maheshwari. For his sun, moon and stars were now with him; he held them in the form of her, his priceless Swara, in the fortress of his arms, his whole universe thus contained and treasured. Sanskaar gazed at his sleeping wife and sighed contentedly, savouring the joy of true peace and a love so powerful it made him feel truly complete in a way he had never thought possible. He cherished this time before she came awake and alive in his arms. This had become their morning routine of late. After a night of tender but often fiery passion, he loved watching her rest, her sleep tousled lustrous tresses usually twined around his long fingers that would have wreaked such havoc on her senses, faint traces only of her "sindoor" remaining in her parting so that he could paint that thin column with colour as red as their ardour for each other in the day, a routine that had come to signify their repeated pledges of love to each other. He softly touched the "mangalsutra" she hadn't wanted him to remove when they had made love, just as she liked him to clasp it around her neck in the mornings, almost as if it were a reflection of his brand on her that she was proud to constantly display, even to him.
He recalled the day a few months ago, when he had finally reclaimed her and his life, bringing her back to their home after her stay in hospital, carrying her gently to their room to place her then still weak and injured form on the bed. He closed his eyes in renewed torment at the memories that trail of thought evoked. He would possibly never be free of that nightmare he had undergone when he had thought her lost to him forever, fallen to the path from where no one returns, knowing that if she so journeyed, he would too, whether alive or dead, as without her his life had no meaning and no pulse, nor heartbeat. But the fates had been kind to him finally. The bullet had only grazed her, although that had been bad enough, he recalled grimly, wincing yet again as he thought of the blood she had lost, the shattered tissue on her shoulder and the damaged tendons between her arm and shoulder socket. She had taken months to heal and he still fretted over her daily, much to her amused irritation. Of course, if left to her stubborn self, she would have dismissed the injuries a long time ago before he deemed it prudent, but finally, numerous assurances from the excellent doctors he had sought help from and the clear evidence of recovery from Swara herself, had allowed him respite from his constant worry on that account. Before he had brought her back home, she had already declared herself better but he and enforced a slightly extended stay on her, despite his own voracious need to have her with him at home. He had finally given in and their first celebration of their new life was his fulfilment of the promise he had written out to her on the day he had forced himself to pretend to abandon her*. She had cried reading what he had written to her, and even more so when he had filled her parting and placed the beautiful new "mangalsutra" he had had designed for her, round her neck. He had tried to be stoic but a solitary tear had escaped him too, and she had flung herself at him before gently gathering it on her fingertip as if it were the most precious of jewels, and taking it to her head as one does an offering blessed by the Gods. His heart overflowed as he recalled all those moments, his eyes shutting in silent prayer for the gift of her. She had saved him, from himself first, and then many times over, finally even from a bullet meant for him. If he had ever despaired that she would never love him at all, or never as much as he loved her, the Heavens had answered him, silencing all his fears and insecurities forever.
As if he had called out to her with the fervency of his thoughts, Swara Maheshwari stirred, slowly opening her eyes to meet those of the wonderful man she was fortunate enough to be married to. A radiant smile lit her face at the now familiar sight of her husband staring at her with his love blazing from his eyes, and enveloping her in its warmth. An answering smile softened the hard angles of his chiselled face, chasing away the shadows she knew lingered from the recollections of that awful day and those that followed it. She breathed a soft "good morning" to him and he bent his head in response, claiming her lips to wish her in the way they had both made their practice. He deepened his exploration of her mouth, his tongue delving deeper and inciting the ardent response he could elicit with a single glance or touch. When she had first come back from hospital, he had treated her like fragile glass, as if she would shatter and this had frustratingly delayed the joy in each other they had quickly discovered when he had finally given in to their mutual passion. It never ceased to amaze Swara how she had felt no awkwardness with him; how their bodies seemed to know each other just as their minds and hearts did, how they gloried in the pleasure each could give the other. In the light of the day sometimes Swara would blush recalling their seemingly insatiable need of each other. His kisses seemed to draw her soul out from her, he only had to touch her for her to feel like she was aflame, his mouth at her neck caused her to shudder with frenzied want, his every touch would excite her to heights she had never imagined. Similarly, most mornings he would make love to her slowly and languorously, weaving a delightful sensual haze that often carried her through the day cocooned in a dreamy haze, which often led to much teasing from her now indulgent mother in law or from Parineeta Bhabhi, whose friendship she had really come to depend upon.
The days thus passed in relative harmony, eagerly awaiting his return, when they could once again take delight in each other. Swara was finally learning to let go of her horror and grief at past events, especially in relation to the fate Ragini had suffered. Despite everything, Swara could not find it in her not to feel immense pity at her sister's state, although she had now accepted that this was perhaps destiny's final say on the matter. Swara knew that she would have to think about her plans for opening the music school Sanskaar was so supportive of, but given all their recent traumas, she was enjoying this phase of just being his wife, fully absorbing the pleasure of the role she had once been so frightened of and resistant to. Also, judging by the wonderful surprise her amazing husband had given her last night, which had culminated in the most pleasurable of sensory celebrations as his reward, it seemed those plans would have to be slightly further delayed. For they were off to Bora Bora, an island paradise she had previously only read about with fascination in books and glossy magazines, never imagining she would ever be fortunate enough to sample its delights with the person who made all her dreams come true. As he had tenderly kissed the already fading whitish scar left by the pistol wound, his hands roaming over her bared skin, he had painted a picture that made her tingle in anticipation. He promised her long walks on the stunning white sandy beaches, swims in the unbelievable turquoise waters, and endless nights and days of making love to ensure that they had a honeymoon they would never forget. Swara wondered yet again how this much happiness was possible, and how she could ever thank her husband for making her feel this way. For the time being, she settled for showing him in the way she knew he loved as much as her, with her responsive kisses and touches, and through the silent communication of their souls in the moment of their union, which in itself was both paean and prayer. Sanskaar and Swara were complete in each other. Their resolve had allowed them to rectify all that had gone wrong with their lives, and fate had both recompensed them for their trials and tribulations, and rewarded them in a way that was a true blessing.
"A bridge of silver wings stretches from the dead ashes of an unforgiving nightmare to the jewelled vision of a life started anew."
Aberjhani, Journey through the Power of the Rainbow: Quotations from a Life Made Out of Poetry
* This is a reference made in Resolved (part 1) where Sanskaar writes out as an email to himself a promise to Swara to make up for the pain he is having to cause her, the link to that part in case needed is above.
