Chapter 9-
Anjali waited in the car while Amanji went inside the school to fetch Pari.
Taking advantage of his blind panic on hearing from the school principal, she had convinced him to accept a ride to the school to pick up Pari and bring her to the hospital.
Pari had fallen from the monkey bars in the playground and the school nurse suspected that she had broken at least one, if not both, of her left forearm bones. She was in quite a lot of pain and in need of urgent medical attention.
Outside the café, Anjali had explained the urgency of the situation to Mohanji. His surprise on seeing Amanji with her had been limited, by his inherent tactfulness, to a momentary widening of his eyes.
Holding the door open as they climbed in, he made haste.
En route, he tried to reassure Amanji that children were prone to bumps and bruises and generally recovered, even from broken bones, with no lasting consequences.
This reminded Anjali that the two men knew each other, perhaps from living in the same neighbourhood.
When Amanji remained visibly rattled, she recounted an incident when Chotey had once fallen off a ladder and closely missed injuring his left eye. He had needed stitches below his eyebrow that left him with a barely noticeable scar.
Their commiseration seemed to have little effect on Amanji who bolted from the car the moment they pulled into the parking lot.
In the anxious moments spent waiting, Mohanji thanked her for her help. Pari was a favourite in their basti, he informed her. She was as adorable as she was mischievous.
Even without prompting, he spoke of how they had all seen Priya and Aman grow up and had shared in their joy when they tied the knot. Pari’s arrival had been a celebration for the whole neighbourhood.
“Kabhi kabhi hume Nandkishore ki moh-maaya samajh nahi aavat hai, Anjali madam” he said, with a sigh. “Na jaane unke hasthe-khelte parivaar ko kiski nazar lag gayi. Akhir Priya bitiya ki umar hi kya thi?”
Anjali felt a lump rise in her throat. The illusion of happy families could be so…so fragile.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Amanji with an esprit five-year-old girl in tow. Dressed in a blue pinafore dress and two pigtails in matching blue ribbons, she exuded energy and vitality in spite of her tear lined cheeks. She greeted Mohanji, forgetting her pain briefly in the excitement of seeing him and clambered in as he held the door open for her.
“Sit down” Amanji said, ducking down for an instant. He straightened up and gave Mohanji directions to a nearby children’s hospital.
Holding her left arm delicately, Pari reluctantly gave up her vantage point between the two front seats and sat back and rather belatedly noticed Anjali.
Before either of them could speak, Amanji was scooting Pari to the side and getting in.
“Pari, yeh Anjaliji hain” he said, his words half-drowned by the shutting of the door.
Pari turned to her with a look of surprise.
“Hello” Anjali said, with a smile.
“Aap sach me angel hain?”
A moment’s confusion later, Amanji tried to correct her. “Angel nahi, Anj…”
But Anjali cut him off and addressed the little girl. “Jee haan, aapko bharosa nahi hai?”
Pari blinked once and turned to her father questioningly.
“Jab aapke daant gir jaathe hain, toh kaun aata hai?” Anjali asked.
“Tooth fairy” Pari said and after a second’s thought, “Aap fracture fairy ho kya?”
“Correct!” Anjali said, much to Pari’s delight and Amanji’s look of incredulity.
“Acha hua aap aa gayi” Pari said, excitedly.
Anjali and Amanji exchanged a look of surprise.
“Woh humaare class me Dhruv hai na” Pari said, not meeting either of their eyes. “Usne kaha ki humaara haath toot ho gaya hai aur ab se hamesha tedha-medha rahega”
Anjali assured her that this was not the case and even if it was broken, the doctor would fix it. They were heading to the hospital for that reason and Pari only need be as brave as she could be.
But the little girl was not appeased. Sneaking a look at her father, she inched closer to Anjali and half- whispered,
“Dhruv ne kaha ki tedhe haathe wali ko koi Prince nahi milega”
“Speak properly, Pari” Amanji admonished.
Anjali glared at him indignantly as the little girl repeated herself, trying to sound as dignified as she could. Amanji tried his best to school his nonplussed expression, the vein on his forehead popping.
Watching him scramble, Anjali intervened and promised her that straight hand or not, there would be no trouble with finding a Prince. And besides, Pari didn’t really need a Prince to be a Princess, did she?
After all, what did her Papa call her?
“Little princess” Pari mumbled, turning to her father who now looked like he might cry.
The acuity of his anxiety abating, he sighed and put an arm around her.
Pari’s determination to get her arm fixed in order to find a Prince suffered an abrupt demise when they arrived at the hospital and the prospect of a doctor and injections suddenly became all too real.
Amanji lifted the crying girl in his arms and as they made their way inside, Pari suddenly exclaimed,
“Aapka leg bhi fracture ho gaya kya?” she asked, pointing at Anjali’s limp.
Looking embarrassed, Amanji tried to shush her, but Anjali didn’t mind. She had never taken offence at people asking about her leg. It was those who made ridiculous leaps in judgement about it that irked her.
Hoping to use Pari’s curiosity as a distraction, Anjali explained about her leg as best as she could to a five-year-old as Amanji spoke to the receptionist in the Emergency Room.
When she directed them to an examination room to await the orthopedician, Anjali offered to wait outside.
“Lekin aapko Prince mil gaya na?” Pari asked, her mind clearly still hovering on the topic.
Anjali stopped short.
She didn’t hear Amanji’s admonishment to his daughter as they stepped inside, and she found her way to some seats.
The storm of emotions arising from the innocent question surprised her.
What surprised her, even more, was that her thoughts turned not to her ex-husband but to another man, one who had broken her heart a long time ago.
An actual prince, he had belonged to the royal family of Lucknow. They had been long-standing family friends and she had been floored when, disregarding his family’s objections to the match because of her disability, he had proposed.
On the day of her parent’s funeral, it was his face she had searched for amidst the throng of mourners. And it had taken her an inordinately long time to realise that he hadn’t yet arrived because he was not coming.
All subsequent attempts to contact him were met with ‘his royal highness’ not being available. To this day, a part of her never understood.
Had his family convinced him to leave her? How easily had he been persuaded? Was it because of the scandal with her parents? Was it her leg? She would never know.
Princes, she thought dryly, were in short supply.
When they emerged, Amanji informed her that Pari needed to have her forearm x-rayed.
She accompanied them into radiology, trying to reassure a visibly terrified Pari that the X-ray machine was nothing more than a giant camera.
They soon discovered that she had indeed broken one of her bones and the doctor explained that they would need to reduce the fracture under anaesthesia.
“It’s very unlikely we’ll need to operate, per se” he said, “We’ll just set it, confirm with X rays and apply a cast. It’s a very short procedure.”
Amanji did not look reassured but put on a brave face and signed the necessary forms.
As Pari hadn’t eaten since breakfast, the doctor decided to do the procedure straightaway. He asked the nurse to send some blood tests and pop in an iv cannula first.
Anjali, who had some experience with iv cannulae and how painful they were, insisted on the nurse using a local anaesthetic patch first and tried to explain to Pari that although it was a needle, it wouldn’t hurt.
Pari’s look of surprise at the miraculously pain-free injection a few minutes later made her smile.
Anjali was simply bowled over by the little girl's courage when despite her apparent pain and fear, she listened when the anaesthetist explained the process and seemed to accept her promise that it wouldn't hurt.
Amanji kissed on the forehead as the sleepy meds were administered and she was wheeled in.
Staring at the retreating automatic doors of the operating room, he swallowed hard.
“She is all I have left,” he said, his voice breaking.
Anajli touched his shoulder. He turned to her; his expression pained.
“If anything happens to her…”
“Amanji, she will be absolutely fine” Anjali said, reassuringly. "It'll be over before you know it."
Her own eyes misted at seeing him, a man she associated with strength and composure, falling apart like this.
He raised a hand to his shoulder and tightly gripped the hand she had placed there.
When his phone buzzed seconds later, he let go of her hand with an awkward pat.
“Amma” he said, answering the call.
She directed him to one of the seats in the waiting room as he spoke to his mother. Looking around, she spotted a water purifier and poured him a Styrofoam cup.
When she returned, he had hung up and was looking very embarrassed.
“Anjaliji, I apologise for Pari’s behaviour” he said, accepting the cup. “It’s all this Disney nonsense she’s always watching, Prince-Princess, Fairies… yehi sab rehta hai”
With a chuckle, Anjali took the seat beside him and reminded him that his daughter was only five years old. And what a little trooper she was.
He nodded and then looking at his watch realised that it had gotten quite late.
“Anjaliji, aapko wait karne ki zaroorath nahi hai, Amma and Priya’s parents are on their way.”
She insisted on staying and when he looked like he was about to protest, she asked him to let her stay for her own peace of mind.
However, it wasn’t easy to wait, the anxiety was oppressive. It made her think of how her family had waited for her outside the operating room when she had miscarried. They had all been every bit as broken as her. She had cried only for her loss, but they had cried both for their loss and for her heartbreak.
Shaking herself out of the repetitive loop, she tried to distract Amanji by asking for more gossip about her own family.
Reluctant at first, he acquiesced when he realised that perhaps it was better than dwelling on the inherent risks of anaesthesia and surgery.
“I can’t confirm this because I wasn’t actually present,” he said, turning in his seat to face her. “But I’ve heard this story from more than one employee. Shortly after ASR and Khushiji got married, the first time, they apparently got into a fight in the office foyer and…”
He trailed off with an unexpected smile that instantly softened the tense lines on his face.
Anjali, who was now well accustomed to Chotey and Khusiji’s incessant nok-jhok, raised her eyebrows in trepidation.
“She threw a mug of water from the mop bucket on his face and he…well he dumped the entire bucket of water on her head.”
Her eyes widening, Anjali let out a laugh.
He told her of another instance when Chotey had called him from Laxmi Nagar and kept saying he had seen the ‘gadde’ and that they were acceptable but that he had some suggestions for corrections.
Aman had been quite fearful for his sanity until he had corrected himself and said, contracts not gadde.
Anjali laughed again. For all his intelligence and cunning, her little brother could be a bumbling halfwit when it came to Khushiji.
Before he could launch into another anecdote, the doctor emerged saying the procedure had been successful and that Pari was in the adjoining recovery room.
Giving thanks to God, Amanji leapt to his feet and they followed the doctor.
Pari was curled up on the bed, fast asleep with a few beeping monitors attached to her little form.
As the doctor explained what they had done and the post-procedure care she would need, Amanji bent and kissed Pari’s hand.
“She’ll be up in an hour or so,” the doctor said, smiling as Aman thanked him and promised to return to check on her shortly.
Amanji’s phone rang again, causing Pari to twitch in her sleep. Stepping away, she heard him speak to his mother, who had apparently just arrived. Reassuring her that Pari was alright, he directed her to meet him in the waiting room.
Placing a hand on Pari’s head, Anjali prayed to Devi Maiya to bless and protect this precious child.
“Hume chalna chahiye Amanji” she said, when Amanji returned to the bedside. “Aap apna aur Pari ka khayal rakhiye aur kisi bhi cheez ki zaroorath ho toh bejijak hume yaad kijiye”
“Thank you” he said, walking her to the door. "It was very nice of you..."
He hesitated on the threshold, perhaps considering more words to express what she considered unnecessary gratitude. But in the end, he drew in a decisive breath and held out his hand.
She shook his hand and stepped out, contemplating the unexpected turn of events that had drawn the curtain on their association.
As she made her way out of the hospital, she reminded herself that there was much to look forward to. Chotey had said, just that afternoon, that she was free to visit them in their apartment. She had been truthful when she told Chotey that she wanted to be there for Khushiji in her pregnancy.
Perhaps she could cook something for Khushiji or grind up neem leaves from the poolside for a hair mask.
Thinking of ideas, she convinced herself that what she was feeling was a sense of anticipation, not one of inexplicable wistfulness.
So Anjali was in love once and that prince just went away and never told her anything.
Pari is such a cutie. Anjali handled her so well. Poor Aman was lost this time.
Thank you for reading and commenting.
In the show, they mentioned a previous engagement that was called off because of the tragedy. I thought I would add some backstory to it- who the boy was, how she felt about it and so on.
I wanted to add a little more depth and dimension to the character.
Chapter 10- Age 15+
Khushi blamed herself for Arnavji’s current state.
Dipping her hand into the bowl of neem oil, leftover from the champi Di had given her, she applied it carefully on her husband’s hair.
He sat on the floor in front of her in their bedroom and had needed some convincing that doing champi for someone was not contraindicated for a pregnant woman.
He closed his eyes and let out a lusty ‘Mmm’ as her fingers worked their magic, and she could see some of the tension leaving his taut neck and shoulders.
She knew that she hadn’t caused it, but she had certainly triggered the recent exacerbation of it, whatever ‘it’ was.
It had all started on the day after their wedding at the temple. On a whim, they had decided to go on the honeymoon that Jiji and Jijaji had gifted them. Arvanji had been able to arrange for them to travel on the very same afternoon. They had both felt a need to put some distance between the turmoil they had faced and the relief they now felt.
However, as they were being driven to the airport, Khushi’s nerves had started failing her.
Quite apart from her fear of flying for the first time, the thought of the airport triggered difficult memories for her. She had frozen at the threshold remembering the last time she had stood there.
She had begged him to stay, her heart breaking as he had refused to believe her and then walked away from her. The pain was so intense that even now, as he held her hand and lead her inside, her heart sank, burdened by the weight of the echoes from the past.
She had gripped his arm tightly and had been most reluctant to let him go when he asked her to wait as he walked up to their airline counter to check them in.
Looking around the airport, another memory had resurfaced, of Arnavji being led away by a strange group of black-clad men.
She had started a little when he touched her elbow and led her to the First- Class waiting lounge. Noticing either her grip on his arm or her unusual silence, he guessed, in part, the reason for her reticence.
In his usual endearing but rather unhelpful way, he had launched into the statistics of flight safety.
“In fact, ek study ke hisaab se, its riskier to drive to the airport than fly in an airplane.”
Khushi had given him a pained smile. When he asked her if she wanted any refreshments, she had requested chai to help soothe her nerves.
It was only as he had walked back to her with her chai and his black coffee in hand that he scrutinized her face and realised just how rattled she was.
“Kya hua Khushi?” he had asked, handing her the cup and sitting down beside her. “Kuch aur baat hai kya?”
Shaking her head, she had said, “Nahi Arnavji, hume airport… matlab, flight se thoda darr…”
She had watched his face as the penny finally dropped.
He turned away, looking aghast. Reaching for her free hand with his, he had stammered,
“Khushi, main… woh main…I’m sorry.”
She had squeezed his hand to convey that he didn’t owe her any explanations or apologies. They had moved past all those gile-shikve, hadn’t they?
But when he looked into her eyes, she had seen a flash of darkness, a shadow lurking in the depths of his brown eyes that had made her instantly regret opening her mouth. She cursed her foolish fears that had made Arnavji look like that.
Through the journey, she had told herself that she was chattering to cheer Arnavji up. Not because her heart had started beating very fast went the plane began to taxi or because it had skipped several beats when the plane took off, leaving her somewhat lightheaded.
Eyes screwed shut and a death grip on his hand, she had kept up a litany of “Devi Maiya Raksha karna”.
When he had tapped her cheeks and asked her to open her eyes when they were up in the air, she had said, “Oopar chad to gaye hai Arnavji, neeche utharna abhi baaki hai”
He had cracked half a smile at that.
When they arrived at the resort in Bali late that evening, they had both been utterly exhausted. But Khushi, for whom a luxury suite of rooms had been a novelty, went around looking at everything in awe, stopping short at the deck overlooking the ocean.
Arnavji had tipped the concierge, who shut the door behind him and immediately reached for her.
There was a muted desperation in his eyes as he led her back into the room. He didn’t seem to have words to say although his mouth opened and closed several times before he stopped trying and kissed her.
The restraint he had shown on the night before when he had treated her like a china doll, was gone. His lovemaking had not been about pleasure that night but about possession.
Khushi had held tight, allowing him to exorcise his demons.
But they seemed to be many in number and tenacious in their hold of him, for he had awoken abruptly a little later.
“Khushi!” he cried out, sitting up.
She rose at once and turned on the nightlight.
“Khushi” he said, his hands reaching up to her face and tears pooling in the corner of his eyes.
"Kya hua, Arnavji?" she asked, "Aap theek toh hai?"
“I was going to come back. Main wapas aa raha tha tumhare paas. I…I couldn’t leave you. Believe me Khushi, I was going to come back.”
It took her a moment to understand. She took his tremorous hands in her own and leaned into it.
“Hum jaanthe hai”
He looked at her in surprise.
She explained about the time Mamiji and she had hunted down the security tapes from the airport when they were searching for him.
“Humne dekha ki aap chale jaa rahe the aur achanak se ruk gaye” she said, remembering how she had felt while watching it on the tape.
She had run a hand on the TV screen, missing him with an intensity that had shocked her. Giving silent thanks to Devi Maiya for returning Arnavji to her unscathed, she ran her hand on his actual face.
“Humne video me dekha ki aap humari taraf mud rahe the, shayad vapas aana chahtthe the aur fir un logon ne aapko rok liya”
“I was going to come back,” he said again, sincerity in his voice and his heart in his eyes. “I’m so sorry…”
His voice had cracked and so had her heart.
When they had returned from the honeymoon, they had spent all their time and energy on their new house, their new routines and well, each other.
She never told him the lengths she had gone to to find him, and he never spoke of his time in captivity. But the demons of the past had only been silenced, not eliminated. Ever so often, a reminder from them would set off her fears or becloud his eyes.
On one occasion, they had visited Buaji and run into Ankush and Preetika. Reminded of his kindness on the night of their wedding, Khushi had thanked him with a kiss. He had looked pleased enough at the time, but later that night he had startled awake again.
On that night, he had confessed to eavesdropping on her conversation with Amma.
“You told her ki main duniya ka sabse acha pati hoon” he said, his expression tortured. “But the truth is, main sabse bura pati hoon. I’ve hurt you so much. You’ve always made me laugh but I…I’ve only ever made you cry.”
Khushi cut him off and insisted that they had both hurt each other. If he had forced her into a contract marriage for his sister’s sake, she had kept a secret and lied to him for hers. They had both wronged each other.
When he remained unconvinced, she told him that despite everything, nothing she had said to Amma had been untrue. No, not even on that night. She had only told the story that she saw in his eyes, not the one she heard in his words.
When they found out they were expecting, it had been an emotional time for them both. While Khushi transitioned from stunned disbelief to excitement and anticipation, Arnavji seemed to regress from ecstatic to apprehensive.
The visits to the doctor had triggered his anxiety. He was worried about her, about the baby inheriting his diabetes. And all of it was made worse by what happened with Di.
And then there was his usual work, expediting Di’s divorce and the guilt at leaving Khushi home alone while he was away.
Her Laad Governor’s behaviour was certainly giving her own hormonal mood swings stiff competition.
“Khushi, yaad hai ek baar tumne mere baalon me tel lagaaya tha” he said, presently. “And, I slipped in the oil and fell down.”
She remembered only too well.
“Woh…woh humaari galathi nahi thi” she said, “Aapne theek se dekha nahi. Aur waise bhi, aap toh baat hi mat kijiye, aapne toh ek baar hume office me first floor se gira diya tha. Poore ek hafte tak hamari kamar lachak gayi thi.”
“Maine dekh liya tha ki neeche cardboard boxes the, Ok? And, I was just remembering, Khushi” he said, with a small laugh. “Tum har baat ko competition kyun bana deti ho?”
“Hum?” she asked, “Hum muqabla karte hai? Muqable karne aur sharth lagaane me toh aap visheshagya hai”
“Vishesh what?”
“Woh kya kehthe hai?” Khushi said, “Expert”
“Toh tume sharth yaad hai?” he asked, turning back to face her.
“Kaunsa sharth, Arnavji?” she asked, with an acerbic smile. “Jiji aur Jijaji ke Sangeeth wala? Ya chaubees ghante wala? Ya fir…”
“Sharth jo bhi ho” he said, grinning. “Punishment is the same, woh to yaad hoga?”
He got to his feet and helped her up as she wobbled slightly, still not accustomed to the extra weight she was carrying.
“Dekha” he said, leaning close. “Giraane se zyaada maine tumhe girne se bachaaya hai”
“Haan toh? Humne bhi kitni baar aapko…”
Taking advantage of her oily hands, he shut her up with a kiss and quickly leapt out of the way as she threatened to smear it on his sweater.
Cursing the victorious crooked smile that stilled her heart, Khushi went to wash up. She heard his phone ring and when she returned, he was still talking to Jijaji. On hanging up, he informed, her with a small smile, that Akash had booked a table for the four of them on the following night, New Year's Eve, at the same restaurant where he had first proposed to Payal.
She immediately asked about Di but Arnavji said that she had turned down Akash's invitation to join them but the two of them were planning to convince her again the following morning.
Her thoughts turned to the conversation she had with her that afternoon. Di had suggested that if she requested Arnavji, he would surely consider returning to Shantivan. As she climbed into bed, it occurred to her that if everyone was on good terms now, the reason to stay apart no longer existed.
But something held her back from voicing it as he kissed her goodnight and turned off the lights.
It had broken her to love the man who hated her, but it had broken him more to hate the woman he loved.
Because love was always hopeful, she realised. It only dreamt of reconciliation. Whereas hate left only bitterness and regret in its wake. And in her husband's case, nightmares.
With dampness in her eyes, she realized that even at the cost of Di’s disappointment, she couldn’t force him into a decision he was not ready for. She prayed to Devi Maiya to grant her husband peace of mind and a night of undisturbed sleep.
Both Arnav and Khushi are still haunted by the past events. It will take a while to put them behind them.
Anjali is in a far better place now. Soon the brother and sister will find a way to come together.
Thank you for the comments.
All the characters went through quite a bit of turmoil over the course of the show by the time it reached its denouement- Arnav and Khushi's real/proper wedding. But we never quite saw them work their way through those issues or begin the healing process. (Not to my satisfaction at least)
I think this is the main reason that I (as a fan) didn't really take to any of the later tracks. I couldn't buy the frivolity or the forced trauma when they simply bypassed the unresolved bits of the earlier upheavals.
If Arnav had known the things Khushi did to save him, would he have ever accused her of lacking courage and confidence? I'm not saying that there weren't lessons Khushi needed to learn but that was not the right one.
Per usual, I'm writing this to fulfil my own whim on how things should have gone instead. And if there are others who enjoy this alternate fictional reality, then that's the icing on the cake. 😊
Edited by thetelleroftale - 2 years ago
