Ginni ran up the winding staircase, nearly tripping over her own feet in her panic to reach the terrace. The sky thundered ominously, the sound reverberating through the walls of her ancestral home. To her dismay, she heard the gentle pitter-patter of rain hitting the tinned roof at the entrance. As she reached the landing, it swelled into a roar, drowning out her strangled cry of defeat.
Barely pausing to catch her breath, she rushed towards the clothesline, haphazardly dumping the damp clothes into an empty bucket. It seemed like a pointless exercise now, but the churning anger at the rain Gods, at her brother, at her whole fate, kept her doggedly at her task. The winds sent a torrent of biting rain her way, as if laughing at her futile attempts to salvage the clothes. Cursing under her breath, she dumped the last cloth into the bucket and ran for shelter.
The sky lit up with blazing lightning, just as Ginni set down her load with a loud thump. She sank against the brick wall, soaked to her bone and thoroughly exhausted. With bleary eyes, she stared in despair at the ferocious downpour, silently watching the elements wreak havoc on her tiny terrace.
Her lovingly nurtured pots of herbs and vegetables lay on their side, flattened by the heavy winds last night. The trees around the property swayed, sending a volley of stray leaves, twigs, and dirt onto the terrace. There was a pool of water collecting at the far end, likely gnawing away at the old surface. She was certain there would be a leak in her house in a couple of days. Sighing heavily, she made a mental note to add the repairs to the list of needs she was running out of money to pay for.
Ginni began to shiver, partly from the cold and partly from fear. The thought of the debtors hounding her family filled her with icy dread. She looked down at her wet clothes. Her rose-colored kurti was sticking to her like a second skin, the pajamas stained with dirt. She should go inside and change into something dry. But there was something in this desperate moment that kept her on the terrace.
She stood there, trying to breathe past the panic coiling in her chest. Her lashes lifted to behold the wild fury of nature ravaging the surroundings. A memory stirred faintly, bringing the bittersweet taste of nostalgia in her mouth. She remembered being a child, skipping along wet roads and jumping into puddles on the way home from school. The disapproval on her mother’s face seeing a drenched Ginni, and her father’s booming laugh that had made her break into helpless giggles.
He had loved this weather, often running with her to this terrace and dancing in the rain, much to the amusement of their neighbours. Ginni smiled, her eyes becoming misty. He had taught her that the rains were a celebration with old Hindi songs and the smell of his piping hot pakoras wafting from the kitchen. It had been a long time since then.
Her smile froze on her face, the stinging yearning for her father’s love nearly bringing her to her knees. If only he was here…
Unknowingly, she began to rub her chest with a hand, as if the motion could soothe the ache in her heart. It was almost cathartic to be alone, allowing the misery and terror she had felt for months to show on her pale visage. It was nice to be able to breathe slow and deep, away from the hopeful eyes of her family, who entirely depended on her for strength and direction.
She still couldn’t believe that they wanted her to sell their dhaba. The very thought of it made her want to weep. Her father, Khushwant Singh Grewal, had been a masterful culinarian of his time. He had built the dhaba with his skilled hands, working deep into the night to build his dream of leaving a lasting heritage for his children. It was his labor of love, a way of looking after his family long after he was gone. After his Alzheimer’s diagnosis, her father had entrusted her with the responsibility of keeping his legacy alive. But she had never felt the full weight of it till today, when her family had dared to insist on selling her father’s last dream.
It was all because of him. That devil of a man.
Aditya Raj Singh.
A chill went through her as if a monster had stirred at his name. She remembered his cold eyes, standing on the threshold of her dhaba, offering a deal that could tempt the saints. It had certainly won her family to his side. Right there, in front of Aditya, her brother had pleaded with her to accept the offer. When she had looked towards her mother, in those old eyes, Ginni had read the answer. It had felt as if someone had twisted a knife through her heart.
She slumped against the wall, her spine rounded gently in defeat. How long must she battle this alone? And could she really blame her family for wanting to accept the offer? Their dhaba business wasn’t covering the huge debts her brother had taken for his failed ventures. After months of people knocking at their door and threatening violence, her family had begun to lose hope. Even the devil’s offer sounded like a benediction to them.
Ginni hugged herself, remembering the derisive smirk on her nemesis’ face today. Just as her mother had begun to accept his new offer, Aditya Raj Singh had turned to look at her. It was a look that singed Ginni’s pride. In that one look was the declaration of his victory, his satisfaction at finally breaking down her family’s resolve. They were all worth pennies to him, his mocking gaze had said.
“Everyone and everything has a price tag, Miss Grewal,” he had told her once. “You and yours will be no different. I promise you that.”
White hot anger laced her veins, consuming her mind with pent-up rage and humiliation. She screamed at the skies, at the Gods, at the fate that had snatched a father away from his family. The thunder swallowed the sounds, even as the rain battered the roof over her head.
Money.
That’s all men like Aditya cared about. She had understood that money was important in this world, but had never known the ugliness of what it could do to a person’s conscience. Her parents had raised her in a warm home filled with love and the sweet nectar of a simple life. She had been raised to aspire, but never sell her soul for paper.
But now…Now her family was at the mercy of the vultures. She should never have trusted her brother with their earnings. She should have stopped him when the first get-rich-fast scheme failed. But alas, his impassioned entreaties and her secret longing to lean on someone elder had overcome her reluctance to invest in risky schemes.
Ginni stood up gingerly, absent-mindedly squeezing out the water from her drenched kurti. She wondered what she was going to do now. The logical choice would be to take that vile man’s generous offer for the dhaba, and start life afresh after clearing their debts. After all, she knew everything about the food business and could set up another dhaba elsewhere. But at this thought, her heart grew heavy again with a piercing sadness. Would she really have to part with the precious place that contained her father’s last memories? Could the Gods be that cruel?
Absent-mindedly, she grabbed a towel out of the bucket and began the tedious process of drying her long, dark hair. The sky thundered again, a loud roar that made her jump. Just then, her gaze landed on the adjacent terrace and she nearly shrieked in fright.
A pair of ominously dark eyes met hers. Ginni sucked in a sharp breath, her mind going blank. The devil himself was watching her, his face devoid of any expression.
To be continued…