‘SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL’
Was it an exaggeration to call one’s own husband such? Nay, he never hit nor mistreated her. In his words she was the sweetest thing in his life. So full of beauty and innocence that when his eyes clashed against the frightened ones of an eighteen years old misled on a ramp-walk that destroyed his biggest fashion project - he felt two things, hate and passion… not necessarily in that order.
Phew what a romance it had been.
Flushed, petite and vulnerable. Her large eyes brimmed with unshed tears, often due to him. Just not the way he would have wished. There was something in that feisty lower middle class girl that undid him every time they crossed paths. Something that sparked a brutish carelessness in him.
Khushi rocked herself, tightening her grip on her knees. In the eighteen months of their relationship, they married each other twice. A fashion mogul and a sweet shop owner’s daughter. They were heaven and hell apart. Literally. Yet a shiver of excitement ran down her spine when she recalled their love story. Love, their story, seemed strange to join the two.
“I? What did I do?” Sarcasm dripped off his sinful mouth which quirked to a smile, watching her fluster visibly. Didn’t he know! Didn’t he remember! How could he have punished an innocent by bordering on molestation just because she destroyed his show? Was money more than honor?
For once Khushi wished slapping a man who’s name she couldn’t remember. Couldn’t say the same for his impenetrable dark eyes. But his stiffening stance on recalling a presumed sister hit Khushi hard. This man did care for someone. She cared, cared that he cared. Till date Khushi Kumari Gupta, an orphan raised by her maternal aunt’s family, never understood why a nefarious stranger would patiently ramble his beliefs on God and fate to her.
If nothing ever mattered, ignore and leave… right?
But when did things not matter to her? That blasted man had telecasted her great fall on his fashion show with her as a hussy! Things turned out to be worse when men in the street attempted to rape her, with her getting saved by another stranger called Shyam. Two men. Two actions. One a visible devil, other an angel. Wait, did someone say that books shouldn’t be judged by their covers? Ah, if only Khushi learned English - that phrase was all too important.
Her devil was everywhere, mysteriously. If there was a doubt in the Lord’s existence - there was none now. Such a coincidence had to be planned. Otherwise how could she, a basic administrative support, end up meeting the C.E.O of AR every single day (forget about the coincidence of her being in his company)? Letting her fall from a floor above, locking her in room with males, pushing forward to type a high level English letter and the least humanizing one was to stand for four hours holding a model’s coat. Didn’t he later force her to change into the skimpy outfit later?
He had wished her hell - if things hadn’t been clear enough by then.
Yet, Arnav Singh Raizada had averted his eyes when Khushi hastily slid the saree over her sheer blouse. Another glance at him and she knew his hot, troubled gaze would be imprinted on her skin forever. He looked at her in the way no man had. In a way that evoked hunger in her, but she was too shy to admit.
If things weren’t difficult, they were worse when he began to care for her. The devil shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have broken her falls, wiped her tears or end up cornering at a wall, coaxing a kiss out of her. No, he was better when he left her alone after the kiss. Rebuked her for her engagement to some Shyam when he too was engaged to his coworker. It didn’t suit him to break his relationship to aid Khushi every time. That wasn’t Arnav. He couldn’t have listened to his heart!
Khushi was too used to being treated as a lowly presence, not as a queen in his arms, in a titillating waltz. His gifts, touches and eyes began to express. So much that she had forgotten the devil. So much that she had forgotten her ex fiancee Shyam was Arnav’s sister’s husband. So much that she had forgotten Shyam was no less than psychotic, grabbing her forcibly the night her sister and Arnav’s brother was to be wedded.
But reality knocked and her devil reappeared. He actually didn’t hurt her that much, if you see his past records. Arnav treated her with dignity. Married her forcibly but never forced sex. In fact Khushi was allowed to be just the way she was except, she wouldn’t interfere in his life. It should have been ideal for her. Ideal for a Khushi who hadn’t fallen hopelessly in love with the caring devil.
It broke her when Arnav had believed Khushi to be scandalously involved with Shyam. As if she could ever hurt Anjali, Arnav’s benign sister on purpose! And was Khushi that low? Was it so easy for him to paint her characterless?
However, with some twisted God writing her fate. She fell in love with the same devil for he realised his folly while being held hostage. In that time he begged for her love, pleaded for her touch, reveled in her innocence.
Arnav demanded to be married to Khushi again to validate their relationship in the society. It had been special to make love to him, secretly, a day before they were to be married again.
His fingers were shaking when he stripped her bare. His voice hoarse, rasping ‘You’re Mine’ against her neck. His hips bucked into hers desparately…
Khushi let a soft moan escape her mouth as she thought of that night. Hurt aside, even now her nerves flamed in desire when she recalled the final culmination of their pleasures.
With them on the same side it wasn’t difficult to kick out Shyam or a strange phony woman who claimed to have Arnav’s child. Aarav was a welcome child, adopted by Arnav and Khushi. And as far as Arnav and her relationship was concerned. For once it went strength to strength, that it stood strong against the fact that Khushi’s aunt had been the unsuspecting third wheel in Arnav’s parents’ marriage.
Her devil was like a coconut, hard outside but soft and sweet inside. So it had never occurred to Khushi to have kept her walls up. Arnav wouldn’t really go back, ever, to insulting her class or lack of education. But she couldn’t have been more wrong.
If there was thing more important to Khushi for Arnav, it was Arnav himself. Arnav Singh Raizada could levy baseless accusations against Khushi but not be wrong.
Khushi tapped that problem when she accused him of spoiling Aarav who neither accept Khushi as his mother nor believed in respecting elders or money.
The words still stung in Khushi’s ears. Brainless? Illiterate? Classless? Khushi stiffened, realising her husband was standing by the French windows, watching her cry and stare at the stars. She felt him approaching her. A morose-ish look on his face. But wouldn’t he bite his tongue before he would accept his fault! If she knew him well, he would try to get her jealous and call her into his office, plan a surprise and cheer her up. Not apologise… no, never.
Standing up, Khushi grimaced at the heavy saree wrapped around her. It was red, his favourite colour. But she never felt more humiliated before. Wiping her tears, she walked into the bedroom to find him quietly following her.
She tugged off her jewellery, throwing them across the room. Tears smudged her makeup but she didn’t give a damn. Insults were synonymous to Arnav. How could she forget that?
‘Khushi?’
Grabbing her night suit, Khushi turned around and watched with morbid pleasure in his sudden expression of guilt when he saw her dark splotches of ruined makeup on her face. She made a sweet devastation picture. Honestly she could have cared less about him. Earlier it was his torment childhood that she sympathised with. Then his sister’s deranged marriage. But now, what would justify his sadistic behaviour?
‘...’
‘You’re right.’
‘Khu…’
‘If I had brains, I wouldn’t have married you again.’
