Part 5 – Fallen

Pallavi ran down the long winding staircase, her mauve gown brushing against the carpeted surface. Servants turned to stare as she dashed towards the large oak door. It opened with a loud, ancient groan. The bright sunlight blinded her for a moment and made her pause at the threshold. She took in sharp, ragged breaths, shielding her face from the glare of the sun.

Murmurs rose behind her, followed by the plodding footsteps of her maid. Ignoring Rama’s frantic calls, she strode towards the lawns of RR Mansion. Unlike the gaiety of Holi, there was organized chaos around the majestic place. Workmen were everywhere, fixing the sprinklers, tidying up the area, bundling up the decorations. Some of them paused, perhaps to greet her, but her blazing eyes made them reconsider.

She marched right upto the garden shed. Her fists were clenched so tight that her knuckles turned white. The tiny door was wide open and a nauseating smell of fresh paint emanated from it. As she stepped in, her mouth opened in a silent gasp. 

The room was empty. 

Except for a cupboard in the corner, it was completely devoid of all the Holi paraphernalia and heavy cartons that she remembered. The walls had been painted into a dull beige, the floors scrubbed clean till not a speck of dust remained. It looked so different from the place she remembered from yesterday that her knees went weak.

Pallavi didn’t even register the pain as she hit the floor, staring blankly at the repainted canvas of the shed. Then she looked at the ostentatious diamond twinkling on her finger. It was a ring worthy of belonging to the wife of Hyderabad’s fearsome Don. There were times in the recent past when she had stared at it in gentle adoration, even revelled in this mark of Raghav’s possession. But today, the sight of it sent bile up her throat. She bent over, retching dryly. Her forehead felt clammy to touch.

She had seen the CCTV footage of both the parties. The sight of herself talking to thin air like a deranged woman had sent cold prickles of dread down to her feet. Farhad, looking sorrowful, had handed her the proof of Raghav’s travel to Bangalore. She had avoided his sympathetic gaze as she sifted through the flight tickets, boarding pass, hotel bookings, even a personalized email from the Managing Director, thanking their “esteemed guest” for staying with them. She had combed through all the documents, emails and WhatsApp chats, saved for her in a folder titled “PRaghavR”. The thought of it still made her livid. Raghav had named the folder, as if she had no identity beyond him. But the contents themselves were thoroughly consistent and irrefutable.

She had then opened his phone, corroborating each screenshot saved in the folder with the actual message on the screen. By this time, her eyes had begun to hurt and her head had started to throb. Cold fear had consumed her as Pallavi had considered the possibility for the first time – everything had been a dream. Seeing Mandar, meeting Raghav in the shed, the moments they had shared…The proof was there that none of this happened. It was all so crystal clear. 

And she didn’t believe a word of it.

Perhaps, she was delusional. What more evidence did she need to know that she had been hallucinating all along? That she had first conjured up her ex-husband, who had been declared dead for five years. Then she had created a whole Holi romance with Raghav Rao, her mysterious nemesis that she had married. After months of pining for him, it was only natural that she had imagined words she had wanted to hear and dreamed of his elusive touch in striking detail.

In this very room, her husband had branded her with his name. He had written Raghav Rao on her bare back with gulaal and she had felt scorched, singed with his very essence imprinted into hers. 

But it had all been a dream.

“Madam?”

Pallavi jumped as Rama ambled into the room. The old woman stood a few feet away, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. There was an awkward silence that Pallavi had no energy to break. “You okay, maa?”

“I need nothing,” Pallavi said, her voice deathly quiet. She wondered how pathetic she must seem to her, kneeling on the floor, shoulders slumped in defeat. No courage to even meet her gaze. And then, from her downcast eyes fell a drop, landing on her open palm. She lifted her palms to her face, giving into heart rending sobs that shook her slim frame.

Rama made dismayed sounds in her native tongue, hovering in and out of the shed. “Main ek din nahi hona toh aisa…” she mumbled, running towards the other side of the room. As the cupboard creaked open, something crashed loudly to the floor. The old woman exclaimed in Telugu, raising her hands in prayer to her ancestral deity. Grabbing a clean cloth from the stuffed cupboard, she threw the fallen items back into it haphazardly. These workers, Rama thought grimly, leave them unsupervised and they don’t do a thing properly.

When she turned towards her distraught mistress, her orbs widened in fear. Pallavi’s stormy grey eyes were staring at her, an open mouthed look of horror on her face. “Madam?” she enquired, hesitantly approaching her still form. “Pallavi madam?” She gingerly shook her shoulder, getting no response. With another loud exclamation in Telugu, Rama ran outside, looking for help.

There was an eerie silence in the shed. In those quiet moments, Pallavi felt like her whole world had been torn apart. Her mind whirled to this time in the shed a day ago.

Cupboard opening…items falling to the floor…

Raghav trying to shake off clouds of pink dust…

Fistfuls of darkened indigo in her hands…

Raghav’s deep voice saying, ‘This is permanent colour. Do hafta tak colour nahi jayega.’

Trembling in shock, she stared at her indigo stained palms. The colour was faded but it was an unmistakable mark of her gullibility. 

She snorted once, twice and then laughed. Laughed till the tiny room reverberated with the agonizing sound. Laughed till her tears dried on ashen cheeks and her head slumped with exhaustion. Pallavi fell silent as anger, raging white hot anger, began to race through her veins like acid.

“Vahini,” Farhad burst into the room, looking like he had run all the way from the mansion. “Vahini, what happened? Aap theek hain?” He fell beside her, turning her by the shoulders to face him. 

Pallavi gazed at his beloved face, his betrayal twisting her insides. This was a man who called her his sister-in-law in her native tongue to make her feel at home. This was the man she had trusted like she would her own brother.

“How dare you…” she snarled. “How dare you do this to me, Farhad?!” Her voice rose an octave. Farhad recoiled from the hatred in her gaze.

“Vahini, what-?”

“Vahini?!” she laughed, a coldness in the sound that he had never heard before. “You call me Vahini, and betray me in the same breath! You and your precious Annalooked me in the eyes and lied to me in the worst way a woman can be lied to.” Her words choked on a sob. “Aap dono ne mujhse…mera khud pe se vishwas cheenne ki koshish ki. The belief I built in me after years of betrayal by others. How dare you, Farhad…”

“No-” Farhad protested, looking anguished. But she won’t let him utter more lies.

“When I was little,” she spoke brokenly. “I was dumped on the doorsteps of a dingy orphanage. I grew up there, with my tiny circle of friends, till my older stepbrother found me. I was overjoyed, thinking that I finally found my family. But he coldly informed me that he was merely fulfilling the last wishes of my dead mother. He got me married to an acquaintance within weeks, when I was barely 18. I became a good wife, a good daughter-in-law, desperate to please everyone in Mandar’s family. They became my family, the ones I would live for, and die for in a heartbeat. I thought I was happy, that I had everything I had any right to expect…” she paused, a sad smile on her lips. 

“And then, Mandar died. The first man I ever loved, I thought he died…He left me alone, with a hole in my heart where he used to be. With relationships that didn’t work like they used to when I held the position of being his wife. I was an outsider again in my own home. Mandar left us large debts that gave Baba, my father-in-law, two heart attacks. I was handling the home, the business and bearing veiled accusations from society about being the bad luck that killed my husband…” 

Farhad squeezed her shoulder. She shrugged off his hand, turning away from the guilt on his face. “I built myself up with my own strength from the time I learnt to walk. I worked day and night on the sari business, till I managed to pay off the debts. I held my head high, even when men would paw at me like scavengers, looking for a weak and vulnerable widow. I was a widow…but I was never a weak woman…not until-”

“You’re not weak, Vahini!” Farhad spoke forcefully from behind her. She turned towards him in surprise. “Nothing that Anna did was to make you feel weak. He only wanted to protect you-”

“He wanted to cage me!” Pallavi snapped. “He wanted me in chains forged in his name. He wanted me to depend on him till I forgot to trust myself. Aur kitna jhoot bolenge aap, Farhad? Kitne aur jhoote saboot dikhayenge mujhe?” Stepping closer, she looked up at his face. “I thought you were like my brother…someone I could trust.” Her eyes glistened like a wounded dove’s. “…but I was wrong. I have never had a brother.”

Farhad stiffened as if she had slapped him. As she stepped past him, Pallavi almost missed his agonized whisper. “Don’t do this. I beg you. Anna is a dangerous man, Vahini.”

~

Pallavi felt him before she saw him. His presence filled their bedroom like an all consuming darkness, crawling up the walls and creeping along the cold marble floors. It tugged at her skirts, urging her to turn and meet his eyes. She resisted, stoically looking away from the door, where he stood silently watching her.

The darkness tugged at her chest, chiding her for the times she had felt lost in a crowded room, till he soothed her with his mere presence. The stubble of his jaw brushing against her forehead as they swayed to the music. It reminded her of silent conversations, when nothing had spoken except their eyes. The stimulating banter that had left her enraged at first, and then intrigued about the mysterious man that was her husband. It whispered to her of a long held desire…a secret yearning to belong to someone…and how wanted she felt when she was in his arms. There had been a strange comfort in knowing that if she raised her eyes, she would see her own loneliness reflected in his dark gaze.

With sadistic precision, the darkness that was such a part of her husband, raked a gnarly finger through her ravaged heart…reminding her, tormenting her, till Pallavi nearly hissed at the pain. Through it all, he stood there by the door, unhurried and deliberate in his scrutiny.

Her hands stilled, clutching an old maroon shawl to her chest as if it would insulate her from his betrayal. Shield her from the blackholes of his eyes. The shawl had belonged to her erstwhile mother-in-law, the only mother she had ever known in this wretched life. The first time Sharda Aai had placed a hand over her head, Pallavi had been a new bride, filled with hopes and dreams of having a family of her own. At the first touch, she had felt as if the lost child within her had found everything she had been looking for.

It was her Aai who had taught her the ways of a household, gently guiding her every time she faltered. When Pallavi had lost Mandar, Aai had often held back her own grief to wipe her tears. She had given her the courage to shun the garb of widowhood society wanted to bestow on her. ‘My daughter is meant for greater things,’ she had defended fiercely to everyone. Aai had encouraged her to handle the family’s sari business, shielding her from censure and ridicule, even from within her own circle of family and friends.

In return, Pallavi had vowed to give Aai her everything. All her dreams, all her desires, revolved around making her happy and keeping her safe. Everything she had done, including marrying the formidable Don of Hyderabad, had been for her mother. The moment Raghav Rao had threatened the safety of her Aai’s family, she had agreed to marry him without another question, not even one word of protest. Sharda Deshmukh had never known the extent to which her daughter had gone to protect her. And she would never know how far Pallavi had gone this time either. It was better this way. Some truths were kinder left unsaid.

She placed the shawl lovingly in the suitcase, on top of everything she owned from her past life. In her wardrobe were the expensive sarees, the bespoke designer dresses, the lavish gifts that she had received for being Raghav Rao’s wife. To her, they weren’t worth a thing. She would only take what she had brought here. Nothing more.

As if he was tired of waiting, Raghav stirred from the shadows, stalking towards her like the monster he was. Pallavi stiffened, but he passed by her, pausing at the giant glass windows of their bedroom. As he pulled the heavy drapes apart, the evening light greedily shrouded his tall form. It touched him with a kind of fawning reverence, setting off the fiery tints in his dark hair. 

She watched his long, graceful fingers, caressing a glass of brandy in thoughtful silence. His broad shoulders were squared, as he gazed at the preening beauty of the massive front lawns. The lock of hair that she used to find so endearing, shadowed his enigmatic eyes. Raghav Rao, even in this pensive pose, resembled a powerful emperor, overlooking his vast kingdom. Realizing she was staring, Pallavi turned back, pulling the flap over her suitcase.

“Why?” he asked finally, his question a deep rumble in the quiet room. 

She swallowed, her hand hovering over the zip of her suitcase. Drop by precious drop, she felt her confidence ebbing away. She wasn’t prepared. Damn it, she wasn’t prepared at all.

“Why are you wearing those rags, Pallavi?”

She whirled towards him, stung by this unexpected question. He took a sip of the amber liquid leisurely, not even sparing her a glance. Feeling a sudden urge to shake him, her hands balled into fists. She was wearing the blue sari that she had worn the day they had met for the first time. It was what she had worn many times as Pallavi Deshmukh, back when life had been deceptively gentle. 

Swallowing back a litany of angry responses, she closed the zip of the suitcase decisively. “These rags are all I own,” she said in a flat emotionless voice. “We should wear what suits us, don’t you think?”

A mirthless smile graced his lips as he placed the glass on the dresser. It was a smile that terrified and raised her hackles all at once. 

“You have made your point, Pallavi,” he spoke coldly, still without looking at her. “Now I will make mine. I will not have you dressed like this ever again. Ardhamainda?!”

“Why?” she dared to ask, bristling at his tone.

And then Raghav turned, levelling her such an icy look that she took a cautious step back. How could a man be this coldly unapologetic, this unapproachable, she wondered sadly. After everything he had done, she had expected him to be furious, raging about his deception, out of his mind with worry about what she would do next. But there he stood, throwing her orders about her own clothes.

Raghav appeared coldly implacable, boring holes into her being. But inside, he was seething. When he looked at his wife, it was all he could do to bridle in his temper. There she stood, chin held high, decked out like the defiant widow he had met a year ago. 

Mandar’s widow, reminded an insidious voice within him, gutting him like a knife.

Pallavi’s ethereal face was devoid of colour, with dark shadows under her grey eyes. Anger had brought out spots of colour on her pale cheeks. She wore no jewellery, not even her wedding ring. Her lustrous hair was tied in a messy bun, a stray lock tantalizingly brushing her collarbone. She looked so beautiful, so fragile, that he ached…He ached like he had every day since he had met her…every night since he had known that her ex husband was alive.

When Farhad had told him that she knew the truth, his chest had hollowed like all light in his life sucked into oblivion. He had nearly lost his mind. It was a risky gamble that he had played with her on Holi, spurred by desperation and dread. There had been no trace of Mandar since the night of the party, and Raghav had lived in constant fear that Pallavi would find her ex husband one day. She would choose Mandar, the man she had once loved, no matter the reasons for his disappearance. 

He knew her soft, forgiving heart. Her sense of duty was too high by the standards of this self-serving world. It had seemed important to reduce Mandar to a figment of her imagination, a ghost that Raghav could banish forever when she surrendered her heart to him.

He had wanted her to trust him above all else.

“Maine kuch poocha hai tum se,” his wife reminded him irritably.

Pallavi positively itched to break his veil of haughty composure. Raghav was leaning against the dresser, acting like her question was a pesky fly he could care less about. “You know,” she began softly. “I hated you from the first time I met you.” 

From the way he stiffened, ever so slightly, she could tell that her declaration had hit its mark. “You strode into my tiny shop, acting like you owned the world. Running roughshod over my assistants, shooing away my existing customers, being downright rude to me…That day, you bought the whole collection of these saris you call ‘rags’, just because your Amma liked them.”

“Pallavi, don’t.”

Ignoring his warning, she continued fiercely, “Our paths crossed again, far more times than I ever could have thought possible. You were infuriating, arrogant to the bone and determined to crush a business far smaller than yours. Deshmukh Sari Emporium was everything to me, and you nearly ruined it. Why? Kyunki main tum se darti nahi thi? Then, one day, you decided to marry me and blackmailed me till I gave in. Why? Because I didn’t swoon at the sight of you like your fangirls?” Her words were now mere breath, throbbing with the hurt and humiliation of his betrayal. “Is your ego really that fragile, Ghamandi Rao?”

He slid his hands in his pockets, studying her impassively for a long, silent moment. She held his gaze, her body shivering like a leaf in a storm. “I know you paid Baba,” she admitted brokenly. “First, you paid him for the shop I loved so much. Then you bribed the whole family for me, because your mother wanted you to marry a nice, respectable girl. She thought that having a wife would change you and make you a better man.” Pallavi laughed, a hollow empty sound. “Little did she know that you can’t change monsters.”

In two long strides, Raghav closed the distance separating them. She lifted her head, her body tensing as if bracing for violence. He stared into her glorious eyes, sparkling with defiance and unshed tears. “You can hang me for all my crimes, if you wish,” he said quietly. “But I will not let you absolve others of theirs.”

He cupped her cheeks as she began to shake her head. “Yes, I paid the money to your Baba for your shop. The shop that means everything to you. You worked for it, invested your earnings and paid off all the debts that Mandar left you. When all the donkey work was done, your father-in-law planned to transfer it to his younger son. I am such a monster that I bought it for you as a gift, to give you when things aren’t bitter between us. Then I paid the rest of your family, so that they let their sole bread earner go without the emotional drama that would crush you. I wanted to give them an incentive to override your stubborn Aai’s objections to our marriage.” 

Raghav tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his intense gaze. “I am such a monster that I wanted to give you a wedding to remember.”

Pallavi stood there, shocked at this unexpected revelation and his tenderness. She stepped away from his touch, at a complete loss for words.

“I’m sorry that you hated me on sight,” Raghav said softly. “because I thought you were the strongest, most enchanting woman God had ever created. It was why we ran into each other as often as we did. I just couldn’t stay away. It was also why I wanted to marry you.”

She sucked in a breath, unable to believe her ears. There was such raw sincerity on his handsome face that her treacherous heart throbbed painfully. It was the single most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to her.

Pallavi shook her head, trying to collect her frazzled thoughts. “You…” she whispered, raising an accusing finger. “You lied to me. Deceived me at every turn. Concocted a whole elaborate scheme to make me doubt my own mind!” Her voice growing stronger, she grabbed the handle of her suitcase. “I thought I was going insane, dreaming of things that never existed. If you felt this way for me, even for a moment, how could you lie to me?!”

His gaze shuttered, daring to hide another damned secret from her. “I did what was necessary,” he said with finality, stepping away from her. Raghav picked up the glass from the dresser, downing the brandy in one go.

Choking on a sob, Pallavi turned away. His callousness and his sheer lack of remorse burned her to the quick. “I thought we had something between us,” she said hoarsely, wheeling her suitcase to the door. “Something beyond the mess our lives have been. Something worth fighting for. But I was wrong…Goodbye, Raghav.” She spoke his name softly, rolling it on her tongue.

He didn’t say a word, but she could feel a subtle, unsettling shift in the dimly lit room. Just as her hand reached for the knob, there was a decisive click. It was loud enough to startle her in the pervading silence of the bedroom. For a moment, she was confused. But when she turned the knob, and it didn’t budge, she suddenly knew.

Rage consumed every cell in her body. Pallavi knew it wouldn’t open, but she turned the knob again, more aggressively this time.

“Open the door,” she stated icily.

“No.”

Pallavi breathed slowly, trying to dispel the fog of anger clouding her thinking. All she wanted to do was to grab and hurt him, like he had hurt her with his heartless actions. She exhaled, forcing herself to become calm in the damning silence between them. It was the sort of deathly quiet that preceded a lament. Darkness fell, cloaking the room in its eerie spell. She heard him move, heard the flick of the lamps and then the bedroom lit up in warm, diffused light.

When she turned back, she saw him. Truly saw him, for the first time ever. Raghav Rao, her husband, without his mask of cynical indifference and cold composure. He was prowling like a caged beast, bronzed skin glistening in the lamplight. He had removed his coat, and rolled back the sleeves of his cream shirt. She watched him murmur to himself, raking a hand through his tousled hair. There was a feral quality to his movement, like an animal on the edge.

He should have scared her, but she felt oddly elated. Her spirit lifted, as if the moment she had been waiting for had finally arrived.

“There you are,” she whispered achingly, taking a step forward.

‘There you are,’ cried her battered heart.

Raghav stilled, fixing his dark predatory gaze on her. “I gave you a choice,” he growled, low and deep. “I gave you a choice. And you chose to leave, Pallavi.”

“You gave me the illusion of a choice,” she stepped closer, her voice gentle but firm. “You said that you will not share me, even with the memories of another man. You said ‘come to me, when you are wholly mine.’ Tell me, Raghav…” She paused, bravely meeting his eyes. “Tell me, how do I become yours when you hide yourself from me every day? I want to see you, the whole of you. Why won’t you show me who you are? Do you trust me so little?”

“You chose Mandar.” He winced visibly, like the thought gave him physical pain. “You chose your ex-husband over me, and you dare to speak of trust?!”

“I did not choose him. That is not why I am leaving.” She stepped closer, her heart beating faster with every step. “You had no right to hide the fact that my ex-husband is alive. He made all of us, his own family, believe that he died for over five years. When I met him that night, he looked like he was in deep trouble. I need to know what happened all those years ago. I deserve to know why he disappeared! You have absolutely no right over my memories, Raghav. My past is a part of me. It is who I am. The people I have loved, the ones I have lost, all the bad and the good…I will never let you take that away from me. You have no right to want-”

Her words ended in a sharp gasp as Raghav grabbed the back of her neck. With a vicious jerk, he brought her crashing against his chest. Pallavi’s head snapped back from the impact, and she saw his eyes glittering down at her in glacial rage. He steadied her with a firm grip on the nape of her neck, a touch that was as sensual as it was frightening. A primal fear rose within her, making her claw at the hand holding her captive.

He allowed her the resistance, watching her struggle in icy contempt. “So much courage,” he spoke with soft menace, running a finger from her forehead to the tip of her nose. Pallavi was unprepared for the silky tendrils of desire curling down her spine. Glaring at him in defiance, she dug her nails into his wrist in warning.

Raghav gave a low laugh, a mocking sound that grated on her nerves. He adjusted his grip and began to caress a sensitive spot on her nape with his thumb. Pallavi sighed, goosebumps rising on her skin. Then she flushed in embarrassment, knowing he watched her every expression. “So damn beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself. 

Without warning, his mouth came down hard, capturing her lips in a scorching kiss that curled her toes. She stood there stunned, even as he backed her into the wall. His mouth moved punishingly back and forth over her lips, insisting, demanding a response. Dazed with the jolts of pleasure shooting down her body, Pallavi helplessly parted her lips. 

His warm breath mingled with hers, enticing her to give into this carnal dance. She resisted and tried to tear her lips away. His hand clamped the back of her head, holding her against his sinful mouth till she was a trembling mess of desire in his arms. As his tongue plunged suggestively into her mouth, her mind screamed a warning. 

She shouldn’t do this. She was playing into his hands…

 But it was too late. Her emotions careened crazily. She was lost, drifting in a sensuous storm of his creation. Pallavi deepened the kiss, kissing him back with all the blazing longing in her heart. Her hand rose of its volition, grazing his jaw tenderly. Suddenly, she felt him stiffen and then begin to withdraw.

“Raghav, don’t-” she protested.

“Tell me I have no right to want you,” he ordered furiously. Pulling his mouth from hers, he looked down at her with biting dark eyes. “Tell me that you never wanted to be my wife. You love him and despise me. Tell me this, Pallavi, and I will let you go.”

Even as he said the words, Raghav was aware of a haunting agony in his chest. He gazed into his wife’s languorous grey eyes, seeing the desire and tenderness that she couldn’t hide. When he touched her, she lit up like a thousand suns, burning him with her innocent passion. To be away from her was a torment he could not bear.

Despite his resolve to be patient, he had lost his control when she tried to leave him again. Fear had consumed him, driving him to imprison her in their own bedroom. He was incensed at her little speech about his rights and irrationally hurt when she called Mandar her family. He had wanted to teach her a lesson. Give her a glimpse of what she could have if she stayed. Remind her that she was his, by all the rights on earth and the skies.

But it had been a mistake.

 He should never have touched her. Never kissed her. From the first moment his lips had touched hers, he had lost all restraint. Her innocent caress had sent such a tidal wave of longing through him that it had nearly brought him to his knees. For a woman to wield such power over him was something he could not understand. What was it about Pallavi that turned him into a lovesick lunatic?

Raghav’s jaw tightened as he waited for her answer, knowing it would damn him, no matter the outcome. Pallavi was staring at him, an ache of shattering tenderness making it hard to speak. She swallowed painfully, tears filling her eyes. “I-I can’t.”

“You can’t tell me that you despise me?” he asked in a silky, ominous voice. “Why can’t you?”“Because,” she drew in a long, ragged breath. “Because I am in love with you, Raghav.” A tear fell on her cheek, running down to her trembling lips. She had spoken her truth. Finally, she had spoken her truth. The darkness seemed to quiver at her confession, seeming to retreat from the spaces between them. Pallavi closed her eyes, leaning against the cold, hard wall. There was a sudden easing in her chest, as if these words had set her free.

***