JIVAN

Her jump stops when she sees me staring with unsettling eyes. Her body reverts back into the decorum someone of her status and class would like to maintain.
There is silence, deafening. Her hands come together as she straightens her back, a slow mumble escaping her throat.

Perhaps it is her internal war, the part of her that doesn’t want to leave just yet. But when the echoes of party music and heavy lights call her indirectly, her senses reclaim her sanity.

“I believe, as usual, the amuse and revel of reality demand me. There is a party that needs my presence.” She wants to turn, and I want her never to take that stride if it means that what lies further is distance.

I want to stop her. “You didn’t go to the washroom. Let me guide you?”
 I insist, and she looks down at her dried garment with barely visible dust. Her hands pat it, and the dust becomes a particle in the air.
 “I guess you don’t need to.”

The way she finds me makes me believe she is looking to stay. But I believe that for someone like her, every set of eyes she meets is stability only. Because she lives around those who would protect her.

Girls who grow up with protection don’t know how wayward and derelict life makes one find every pair of eyes another enemy.
 It makes me admire her. She is shattered, scathed, and impaired.
 She holds the devil so close in her heart, and yet she is out here—behaving, pretending—because that is her designation.

She is strong with the will to make what happened to her not her final destination. And she is all the frailness when the journey of change she lives through is something covered with small treads.

Her lips stretch, her head bows, and her body departs. I have to watch her step away from me.

~~~~~~

Prithviraj steps out of his car, heads towards his seamless mix of Gujrati and Rajasthani mixture house. Because of his roots and his wife’s heritage. She is the one we had kidnapped and the reason why he leaves everything, remunerated all his wrongdoings and now is finally able to live with her, after a practical war with the Rajasthani throne.

When his steps approach the door, his wife opens it with a smile. He does not even have to knock; his hand protectively wraps around her as he mentions me, "I invited Jivan for dinner with us." She does not even wait for his informing.

She greets me with her hand intertwined and a head nod, "Hi Jivan," She always does the same pranam instead of handshake or smile.

Almost like her Rajasthani culture lives in her.

Both steps inside, I follow behind. "I have some kids who would like some of the painting sessions you take for charity. Can I send them over?" I ask her, taking my shoes off by the corner, and stepping inside alongside Prithviraj. Whose footsteps lead him directly towards the patio exit of the house, where he has a tap in the corner.

We both wash our hands and legs, face before returning.

"Your kids?" Manyata bhabhi jokes, and I shrug.

"Only if that can be a case," My words before I settle on the dining table, her helper is setting, and she is lending her hand.

Four out of seven days, I am always having dinner or lunch, sometimes even breakfast at their house. Because Prithviraj and I are close, and that makes me practically family here, because I believe Prithviraj is trying to replace Dheerviraj's hollowness by trying to fit me.

Everyone sits down, Bhabhi and Prithviraj on the chairs. "Send the kids, I would love to teach them!" She returns to the agenda, and I give her a grateful smile.

They are highly affectionate towards each other, and sharing a table with them always comes across as third wheeling. And I am sure when their child is born, they will feel the same way.

Their hands intertwine on the table. My brow raises, and I focus on my plate. The pulao rice in my spoon.

"Also, I was wondering. . ." I intend to invite myself for dinner. I raise my head, Prithviraj glares, finding me.

He knows, since the day I had to watch her back for the second time. Then, when I know how mesmerising her smile is, her happiness.

I want to be free from this memory. And the only way is to rely on someone, and when I do, it to him. He understands it more than I can comprehend. And almost compares it to what he had felt for Bhabhi when she had left.

It is hardly a memory, the time we spent. She was staring at the flower, laughing and jumping in happiness.

It keeps playing like a CD in my mind. Memory is what you remember once in a while; she hasn't let me from that day.

I pick the glass and gulp the brick-thick water before returning. "Are you in contact with any of your old friends?" Bhabhi was the one whom Jheel had betrayed. The one with whom she was having an affair. It feels wrong to bring it to her home now, make her wounds fresh. I feel selfish, but years of loyalty to the name, I believe I deserve this much to try having something I can't forget about.

"Oh! No, they all tried to reach out to me after returning from Gujarat, but it appeared that it was rather to gather gossip. And when I married, I left them in Vardhgarh." She continues eating, and I nod.

Prithviraj meets my eyes, and then suddenly spits, "He thinks he has feelings for Jheel!" Bhabhi's spoon stops halfway. "He had met her in Gujrat once, and then in Agnivanshi's party we were visiting!" Of course, he doesn't tiptoe around his own wife.

But the way Bhabhi's aghast eyes flash on me. I know she isn't pleased with the news. But then she returns to normal, keeping her spoon down. "Does Jheel reciprocate this feeling? Because I don't think, meeting twice can—" She jumbles her words, before she halts.

"I don't know, and I have no business in getting involved with a spice merchant, so I can't see her again." Her hands together in her lap, she stares at me with her alluring eyes before she reverts to her plate. A sigh and then again onto me. "Don't worry. I just did not know who to share with, so I shared with him. And I felt the need to tell because you have been generous towards me always. And she was a bad friend to you."

She sighs, "I am sure she feels terrible!" She stands in her defence, "I did meet her once after everything. And I told her I will never forgive her." Now she starts to stir her food.

"Bhabhi, I just shared it. Because we are close! I don't expect anything from you!" I do expect. When I mention.

She nods and starts to eat. The table is now silent. Only an occasional topic that Prithiviraj mentions, and we both join in the conversation before it dies down too.

I help her keep everything in the kitchen when the helper is doing it, and she is helping the helper. Prithviraj goes to change. When I keep the plate on the kitchen island and return from the kitchen, I see Bhabhi sitting on the table chair, her phone to her ear.

"I am fine. How are you?" She is on a call with her sister-in-law. I think I will wait for Prithviraj, but it doesn't feel right. I turn and recall to Prithviraj that I am leaving. "Jheel, if you want, we can meet? Have a tea, and maybe forget about the past?"

I pivot, eyes wide on Bhabhi, who has a bitter smirk on her face because she takes the name intentionally. Did she?

Prithviraj is coming down; he sees our reactions. "Wha—"

"Okay, we can meet there! See you at the cafe!" Bhabhi cuts the call and looks at me with her kindest and yet most satirical eyes.

"Who was that—"

"Oh, I can't be more glad that Prithviraj married you!" I say, and she laughs.

She stands and shakes her head, "First, let's have a ground rule here. If she doesn't even have the tiniest bit of connection with you? Your deal ends there. Because you are a part of a sour memory for her. And I am not going to put her in any more mess she is already stuck under. And second, if she does have. I want you both to weigh the possibilities! Because her father is an import and export merchant! I know back then, he was definitely not ready to settle for anyone less than royalty. Now, his comparison stake for his daughter would be nothing less. You don't have much to lose. Because we are going to stay behind you for everything. But her entire life is in question!"

Her words reflect her own struggle. And I know it holds high value.

I give a jerky nod. Before I accept both the rules! "I will meet her tomorrow and will let you know how it went."

"Thank you,"

I hope she mentions me. Because I don't know about her. But she is ruling my mind.

~~~~

I insisted, bhabhi, that I pick her from the cafe, so that maybe even for a brief second, I can hold a glance towards her. My car parks outside Bandhani Cafe, and Manyata Bhabhi is standing outside the cafe alone. Her purse was in her hand, and her attention was focused on the phone.

Is she nowhere? I honk, Bhabhi's attention remains on the car, and she crosses the road. "Sorry, Jivan! But she left early,"

"What are you talking about! I just came to pick you up, because you did such a nice thing for me."
 My throat dries, and Bhabhi again focuses on her own work.

I wait for her to bring something up about her conversation with Jheel, but she doesn't; she is quieter than usual. "Bhabhi, everything okay? Was it a mistake? Seeing her?" I ask her, worried for both of them.

She shakes her head, keeping the phone down. The Google search engine is in sight of her display.
 "We never get to have a conversation about you! The topic never comes to discussing her private life!"

"That's fine, but. . . Was it hard for you? To forget everything and face her? I mean, I know you are much settled in your new life, and you are happier than imagined. But she is still someone who hurt you gravely, hurt your family. You must be. . . I am sorry, I did this to you."

"No, Jivan! I am honestly glad you do. She seems not to be in a good place."

"Means?"

She stares at me, "Everything for her is tougher than it ever is for me. I am just a girl who is kidnapped and potentially raped in everyone's mind. But she is a girl who first betrayed her friend, cheated on with her fiancé, was kidnapped and when returned, even her lover leaves her stranded with the taint. That society, the fallacy. They don't treat such girls with kindness. I am the complete victim, and I am not treated nicely. I can't imagine the place she is in."

I understand her words. The way she behaves when returning to me, and I give a slight understanding nod.

I leave Bhabhi at her house before returning to work. Prithviraj is standing in his two-block office, one side with the table and the other side with the factory-generated liquors for his testing.

He is holding the liquor in his hand, his eyes reading the tag before he turns and sits down in his seat.
 "How come he never gets drunk after all that drink tasting? Does he really need to check before sending every batch?"
 His associate speaks beside, and I return to look at the number on the machine.

"When you do it for a job, you don't get drunk!" I say, "And he does his job with loyalty."
 I say, taking a crate towards him, keeping at his other side. I watch him sitting on his chair.

It is already past eleven, and he isn't planning to leave yet?
 "I think we should turn the mill now?" I ask about shutting, and he looks at me.

"You take quite a long time off in the afternoon, and now you want to go home early?"
 He speaks like a boss, and I scratch the back of my ear, his phone ringing.

He picks up within the second ring, and it isn't a question which phone he will pick with that bolting speed; he stands in an emergency. "Why are you crying? Manyata! Manyata!"

My hands reach for checking my gun and a few knives strapped before I start to follow his departing self.

"Manyata, wait, I am coming there! Right now! But tell me!"

"Citrā!" He calls softer this time and "Wha—"
 Midway towards reaching for his car, his interrogation stops.

His hands are on the handle. He finds my face. His eyes stuck. "We are reaching, I will take you there, no, don't go alone. We are coming. . ."

He cuts the call. "What happens to her? Is bhabhi okay? She looks stranded to—"

"Jheel attempted suicide."

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