Chapter 23: Chhote
Khushi
"Babua, this party is just so grand!" Bua-ji gushed, gesturing appreciatively at the organised chaos surrounding them, "Do you host it every year?"
"Di hosts it every year," Arnav-ji replied softly, "I only supply the grounds."
"Ahh, and here she is!"
Anjali-ji — No, Di! — joined their small circle and exchanged greetings with the elders. She held a hand protectively over her belly.
"Chhote!" Di studied her brother with exaggerated concern, "Have you taken ill? What are you doing?"
Arnav-ji leaned away as she tried to take his temperature, "Di!"
"You must be very sick," Di giggled, "I thought you'd spend the day inside, as always."
"It's not like ..."
"No," his sister grinned, "I see how it is. A new bride, new in-laws, new Chhote."
Laughter rippled through their audience as Arnav-ji grimaced. Di enveloped them both in a warm embrace, "This is your first Holi with us, Khushi-ji, I'm very happy Chhote is with you."
It was only when Di had turned her attention to Jiji and Jija-ji that Arnav-ji spoke directly to Khushi.
"Khushi, are you okay?"
"Yes," Khushi replied in undertone, using the sleeve of his shirt to guide him a few steps away, "Why are you ... I mean ... you said ..."
"Your phone is in the bedroom, charging where you left it."
Her confused question died on her lips as she remembered the excuse she'd used to escape from Shyam-ji.
"You heard?"
"I saw," her husband corrected, "and I will not allow him near you."
A burst of relief swept through her at his words.
"Arnav-ji ... I ..."
"Nani!" Anjali-ji's happy call diverted Khushi's attention to where Nani-ji stood, speaking to some of her guests, "Let's go, she'll be very happy to see that you all came."
Arnav-ji started to follow Di across the grounds.
"I'll see you later," Khushi waved.
"What?"
"I have a surprise for Nani-ji. I think she'll like it."
#####
"Khushi-bitiya, Bua-ji has named you aptly: Sanka Devi."
Khushi stood, still dressed in the men's kurta and holding a fake moustache, and engulfed the other woman in a hug.
"That's enough," Nani-ji wiped her tears, "Enough crying. We're going to play Holi. But look, your face remains bare even though your clothes are coloured!"
"Yes, yes saasu-ma!" Mami-ji shouted with glee, "Drown this Phati Sari in colours!"
Khushi squealed, trying to break free of Nani-ji's unexpectedly strong grip, "No, no Nani-ji!"
"You're absolutely right, Nani-ji!" Khushi froze as the hated voice drifted to her, "it won't do for her to celebrate Holi without colours."
Khushi's heart hammered as Shyam-ji strode confidently towards her, menace in every step. Her legs felt suddenly weak as he snatched a platter of powder from a nearby table. Red again, and this time she knew it was no accident. It was a message that only she could understand. Revulsion and fear coursed in her veins, mingled with disbelief that he would try this here, in front of both their families.
But then, who would suspect the gesture for anything other than what it seemed — the beloved damaad of the household graciously welcoming its eldest bahu in the absence of a father-in-law?
Panic unfurled within Khushi as Shyam-ji dipped his fingers in the powder, "No, Nani-ji, I don't want—"
"—You'll have to, bitiya. It's not right if everyone else has colour and you don't."
"But—"
"Khushi-ji."
She turned to her tormentor with a prayer on her lips, watching his red-stained hand as it inched towards her. Khushi closed her eyes, leaning away and trying to make herself as small as possible, and awaited his hated touch.
It never came.
After a few agonising moments, she opened her eyes to find that someone now stood between herself and Shyam-ji. Arnav-ji, whom she'd noticed standing on the other side of the gathering as she'd danced, shielded her from their Jija-ji. Breathing a sigh of relief, Khushi stepped closer to the protection he offered.
"I'll do it Jija-ji", his voice, though soft, was edged with a warning, "I'll apply gulaal to Khushi. I am her husband after all."
Her breath stalled and pulse raced anew. Hope dared to bloom in her heart.
"I am her husband after all."
Turning, he streaked the red powder across her cheek without fanfare, and she was unable to hide the tremor that wracked her form. His hand was warm. She forced her eyes to remain open as he repeated the action on the other side of her face, and saw that his gaze softened with some emotion she couldn't read.
His eyes held her captive as her heart seemed to drown.
"Chhote?" Di stepped forward, "But you never play Holi with us!"
"Well, there are many things Chhote used to do, and now doesn't do, after his marriage to this Phati Sari," interjected Mami-ji, "a complete turn over!"
"Make-over, Ma," Jija-ji corrected with affection, "Make-over."
"Khushi-bitiya, won't you apply colour to Chhote?"
Startled, Khushi looked at the man in question. He shook his head slightly.
"Nani-ji, he doesn't want—"
"—Not everyone is lucky enough to apply colour to Chhote," Di smiled, "but I'm sure he'll allow his wife."
Uncomfortably aware that Shyam-ji still stood a few feet away, Khushi approached her husband. It suddenly seemed like the most intimate of things to apply colour to him in front of such a crowd. Di offered the platter of powder with a grin.
When she turned to him, her eyes desperately seeking the permission her lips could not ask for, he gave a small shrug of acquiescence. He was not happy but he was not opposed either. He seemed resigned.
In all their time together, Khushi could count the number of times she'd touched his face on one hand. His stubble tickled. His chest rose and fell sharply as he seemed to lean into her touch. Colour bloomed across her cheeks to match the powder now streaked on his. It was over before she was ready for it to be.
"Rani Sahiba!"
Khushi watched the warmth leech from her husband's eyes. She hadn't realised how relaxed he'd been until she saw the tension return to his shoulders and neck. Shyam-ji seemed to have rallied after his momentary defeat.
"Rani Sahiba, didn't you have something for Saale-Sahib and Khushi-ji?"
"Oh yes, Khushi-ji I have something for you!" Di turned to lift two tall copper glasses from the tray that Hari Prakash-ji held, "Thandai, for my bhaiyya and bhabhi."
"No," Arnav-ji's tone was sharp.
"No, thank you, Anj—Di."
"Come on," Di pouted, "for me ... and if not for me, then for the tiny life who is celebrating her first Holi with us."
At this mention of his unborn niece, Arnav-ji sighed and reached for the glass closest to him. Khushi only followed suit when she'd caught his eye and received a small nod of reassurance.
"This is not bhaang?" Arnav-ji asked warily.
"Don't you trust your Di, Chhote?" Di grinned, "And you, Khushi-ji, don't you trust your nannad?"
"I do," Khushi reassured her sister-in-law, "Look, I'm drinking it."
She downed the entire glass, some part of her eager to show Di that she did trust her, and glanced at Arnav-ji when she finished. He held out his empty glass for his sister to inspect.
Di laughed gleefully, "Oh you shouldn't have trusted your Di, Chhote, and you shouldn't have trusted your nannad, Khushi-ji."
"What!?"
"It was bhaang?!"
"Yes," Di giggled, "Have fun!"
Khushi turned to her husband, aghast, as he hiccuped in shock.
Oh no. Devi Maiyya please help us!