The air banged hard against the windows; the storm brewing in Nagpur was oblivious to the one within Chavan Niwas. The ancestral home of the Chavan family stood tall and proud, at odds with the elements, much like the newly married couple staring each other down.
“Sai, kyun tum baar baar jhagadne pe utar aati ho?” Virat Chavan was saying, exasperation lacing his usual gentle voice. “Iss ghar mein ek din, sirf ek din, chahiye mujhe shaanti ka. Kya iska bhi haqdar nahi hoon main?”
His rebellious wife gaped at him from across the room, streaks of dried tears on her cheeks. Her throat was raw from a round of screaming matches with his family again today, and there he was, imploring her to behave again.
“Virat Sir,” she rasped, then cleared her throat. “Kya aapke sukh chaen ka theka sirf maine le rakha hai? What about your family? What about Pakhi didi, jinko mujhe taane maarne se fursat nahi milti? Aap kab unn sab ki harkaton ki zimmedaari lenge?”
Virat sighed, leaning wearily against the wall. Today, he didn’t care who was right and who was wrong. He had spent a long day at work with hardened convicts, and all he wanted was a little peace, a little quiet to wrap up the day. His family had already learned not to cross him when he looked like this. His volatile wife would learn the same.
“Maine tumhari zimmedaari le rakhi hai, Sai,” he told her, his voice velvet over steel. “Tum kab meri taraf apni zimmedaariyan nibhana seekhogi? Or is this a one-way relationship where I care about you and you don’t give a damn?”
“Relationship?” A mirthless smile graced her lips. Standing across from him dressed in an off white kurti, she looked like an enraged angel. “Aap iss deal ko relationship kehte hain? Have you forgotten, Virat Sir? Aapke aur mere beech koi relationship nahi hai. Lagti hi kya hoon main aapki?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw as he straightened. The olive green of a police officer’s uniform added to the forbidding anger on his face. She was testing his patience and he didn’t have much this time.
“Stop this nonsense!” he gritted out. “Yeh kya bakwas karti rehti ho tum?! I know we had a deal, but kadar karta hoon main tumhari. Woh kadar jo tum mujhe kabhi nahi dikhati. Ek deal mein bhi imaandaari hoti hai, vishwas hota hai. Kahan hai woh imaandaari tum mein, Sai? When are you going to grow up and act like a wife?”
The outrage she felt at his words rendered her speechless for an instant. But, ACP Virat Chavan knew from bitter experience that nothing would keep the fiery woman quiet when provoked.
Sai clapped dramatically, her eyes shining with hurt and anger. “Wah, pati dev, wah! Kya dialogues maare hain aapne. Baat baat pe aap jo meri maturity, meri integrity ko question karte rehte hain, aap hi bataiye ki when did you accept me as your wife?”
She walked towards him, resentment on her face. “Aur yeh bhi bataiyega ki aisi kaun si wifely duty maine fulfil nahi ki hai aaj tak? Main toh woh bhi karti hoon jo koi biwi karne ki himmat nahi rakhti – I live with your lover under the same roof!”
“Sai!” His tone had a sharp note of warning. A warning she wasn’t going to heed. Not tonight.
“Woh kaun si biwi hai jo har din ki beginning apne sasuraal ke taanon se karti hai, aur raat mein…” She stepped in front of him, an unrelenting line to her mouth. “…raat mein apne pati ko uske ex-lover ke saath ghoomna bardaasht karti hai?”
“Enough!” he roared, gripping her arms suddenly. She stood still, stunned into immobility. He stared into the hellfire that were her eyes, unable to believe the venom she had within. “Jo mann mein aa raha hai bakki jaa rahi ho!”
Sai struggled, trying to dislodge his hold on her. “Galat kya kaha maine? And yes, please shout louder. Aap thoda zor se chillayenge toh aa jayengi aapki pyari Pakhi aapko support karne.”
A ferocious haze took over his vision. He wanted to shake her, hurt her, knock some sense into her. Virat gripped her harder, his fingers digging into her skin. She flinched, glaring daggers at him. “Tum yeh jo zeher ugal rahi ho, do you even know who you are speaking to?”
“Yes,” Her words were a wounded whisper. “Main uss insaan se baat kar rahi hoon jo Pakhi didi ko uss yoga camp mein mila tha! The one who fell in love with her.” She pushed at him, a sheen of tears in her eyes.
Virat loosened his grip but held on firmly, noticing for the first time how small she looked, how breakable. “Woh pyar jo aap dono aaj bhi ek dusre se karte hain. Farak sirf itna hai ki Pakhi didi apne feelings chupa nahi paati, aur aap dikha nahi paate.”
His hands let go of their own volition, his face a mirror of her pain. Sai turned away from him, her slender shoulders shaking in silent sobs. “Iss sab mein meri kya jagah hai aapki life mein, Virat Sir? Kis haq se khud ko aapki biwi and aapko mera pati kahoon? Jab aapke dil mein meri koi jagah nahi, toh iss deal wali shaadi mein aapka kya haq banta hai mujhse kuch bhi expect karne ka?”
Virat reached towards her, then paused; hesitant to bridge the distance between them. Lowering his hand, he swallowed, trying to speak past a lump in his throat. “Tumhe…kisne kaha…ki mere dil mein tumhari koi jagah nahi hai?”
He saw her stiffen at his words. She turned slowly, a question in her red rimmed eyes. He could tell she didn’t believe him. “Aap kehna kya chahte hain?” she asked him like a lost child. His heart constricted unbearably. “Kya aap Pakhi didi se ab pyar nahi karte?”
“Sai…” He stepped closer, cupping her tear streaked cheeks. She looked surprised at his gentle touch. “Pakhi aur mere beech sirf izzat aur dosti ke siwa aur kuch nahi hai.” His dark eyes stared down into hers, imploring her to trust him just once. “She is not the woman I want.”
His thumbs swept over her tears tenderly. “She is not the girl who makes me laugh at her stupid jokes,” Virat continued huskily. “She is not the person jiske saath saari duniya bhool ke I can be just myself. Jiske saath meri saari khushiyaan judi huyi hai.”
Her wet lashes swept lower as he pulled her face close. “Jo na ho mere aas paas toh mujhe neend nahi aati. Jiski ek muskaan pe main apni saari zindagi qurbaan kar sakta hoon.”
“Virat Sir…” she breathed his name. Her sooty eyelashes lifted slowly as she searched his eyes in disbelief.
He smiled, placing a gentle kiss on her nose. “Yeh sacch hai ki main apni feelings sab se chupata hoon. Par tumhari kasam, Sai, main sirf uss ladki se pyar karta hoon. Aur kisi ka koi haq nahi hai mujh pe.”
“Aap…Mujhse…?” Her expressive face lit up with hope and joy. She swivelled suddenly, trying to hide the rosy tint on her cheeks. He folded his arms, waiting patiently. “Kaun…kaun hai woh ladki, Virat Sir?”
His lips quirked at the corners. It was interesting to see his troublemaker of a wife acting coy. “Hai ek ziddi adiyal Jhansi ki rani meri life mein.” She looked back at him, her eyes narrowing in affront. “Jisse main beintehaa pyar karta hoon.”
Loud thunder drowned out his last words. But as they looked at each other, Virat knew Sai heard his soft whisper. Her face scrunched like she was going to bawl. “Arre re, tum fir se mat rona! It will flood the house in this storm!”
At his amused laugh, she threw herself into his arms suddenly, squeezing him tight like he was her anchor. Words weren’t necessary anymore.
As Virat held his wife in his arms, he felt an odd sense of peace. Like this was what he had been born for. To hold this woman. To adore this woman. To fill her days with only happiness and laughter.
Virat Chavan felt complete. Like he was finally home.
* * *