Nightmares and Regrets

Arnav woke feeling hot and clammy. His hair was damp, and his shirt had soaked through. He rubbed at his chest with his t-shirt attempting to dry himself off in vain. He didn’t often have nightmares anymore; the comforting presence of Khushi’s leg flung over his thighs, her small hand enclosed in his own or her back pressed up against his chest usually circumventing them.

This one had started the same as they all did. He was 14, dressed for his sister’s wedding: parading and peacocking in excitement. He had been a spoiled and pampered child, never known genuine hurt or pain before that day. The gunshot shattered the atmosphere and Arnav reached out a hand to try to save his mother. Then he saw it wasn’t his mother dying from a gunshot but Khushi. Khushi in a red and blue lengha falling from a three-storey rooftop and collapsing on the ground with her limbs hideously out of sync with her body. He was now an adult Arnav, dressed in a black three-piece suit, no longer spoiled and pampered but arrogant and cruel. This new Arnav - instead of reaching out to Khushi and helping her - walked around the body grinning and taunting her. “Tumhare hone ya no hone se mujhe koi farq nahi padta. You don’t even exist for me.” The dead Khushi on the floor opened her eyes and looked straight into his with loathing. And that was when he woke up. Sweating and suffering.

He sat up and drew a shuddering breath before looking back at Khushi who was sleeping peacefully. Her hair was plaited but mussed and she had one hand under her cheek. She always looked so much younger when she slept and so much more innocent. He put a hand gently to her cheek needing to feel the warmth of her breath against his skin to reassure himself that she was alive, and it was only a dream.

Occasionally in solitary moments like this he regretted pursuing her again, making her fall in love with him again, making her marry him again. She deserved so much more than him. So much better. But, as deserving and worthy as she was, he was infinitely more selfish and covetous.

Khushi might deserve a husband who had never hurt her, never said a bad word to her, had fallen in love and accepted her at first sight but Arnav Singh Raizada wanted Khushi Kumari Gupta and he would have her. He couldn’t breathe without her, wouldn’t survive without her and so she had had to accept him as both her Raakshas and her Rajkumar. The Raakshas had snatched up the forgiveness and love Khushi had too quickly and too easily offered him while the Rajkumar had struggled to find adequate words of apology.

There were still a few hours before the household would wake and so he settled for rubbing down the sweat with a towel and changing his t-shirt before taking a drink of water and returning to bed.

He lay on his back and closed his eyes with a small sigh. A hand crept out and gripped his bicep and at the same time a knee nudged at his thighs, trying to find passage to thread themselves through. Arnav lifted his arm without opening his eyes and let Khushi snuggle into his side.

“Aap theek hai?”

“Hmm, just a bit hot” he replied, not wanting to worry her.

There was a pause and Arnav felt Khushi shuffle against him before he felt her lips against his cheek. Khushi lingered on the kiss before returning her head to his shoulder and stroking his chest with her hand.

“Aap jaante hai na, ke hum aap se bohot bohot pyaar karte hai?”

Arnav’s sigh was louder this time, and Khushi must have felt the deep exhalation in his chest. “I know Khushi, I know.”

He understood what she was leaving unsaid - what she always left unsaid. Khushi who loved him so much had forgiven him so easily. Arnav could not find it within him to do the same.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, never fully falling asleep for the rest of the night but feigned slumber when Khushi’s alarm rang, and she fluttered around the room in a hurry to get ready for the day. He followed slowly half an hour later, his steps unusually hesitant to reach her side.

All his senses were attacked on entry to the dining room and he grimaced at the scene before him. A banner proclaiming “Happy Wedding Anniversary” was tacked up across the ceiling, the table was full with fried goods and sweets and desserts and there was excited chatter amongst all his family who were rivalled by the number of heart shaped balloons jostling for space in the room.

Anjali noticed him first and made her way towards him smiling. “Happy wedding anniversary Chotte! I can’t believe it’s been a year. Congratulations.”

Her offered hug was half-heartedly accepted while his eyes sought out Khushi’s. He inclined his head ever so slightly and she came to stand at his side just as Nani also reached him. “Happy anniversary Chotte, happy anniversary Khushi. May your marriage always be this blessed and happy.”

Arnav stiffened and cleared his throat. “I don’t want to celebrate today,” he said abruptly earning himself looks of consternation from his sister and grandmother. He tried to remove the gruff quality from his voice and started again. “Khushi and I, we should celebrate our wedding in August, not today.”

He hadn’t consulted Khushi on this decision, nor even looked in her direction – once again he had put his own self-interests above hers.

Mami who had been listening eagerly and always keen to find fault joined the conversation. “Of course Arnav, your real marriage was not until August, until then you had been living without any pheres for six months. Only my Akash was really married on Valentine’s day last year.”

The words “really married” pierced at Arnav’s heart as he remembered his words to Khushi a year ago when he had forced her to marry him. “I’ll never accept you as my wife, nor will I ever give you the respect of a wife.” He looked at Khushi, wondering if he had again hurt her by making a decision that affected them both with no consultation.

Khushi was not looking at him but smiling brightly at Mami and took her hands in her own “Isn’t that lovely Mamiji? Today can be just about Jiji and Jeejaji and celebrating their love on Valentine’s Day. Besides,” she added turning to Anjali, “you know Arnavji doesn’t like to share.”

Anjali looked perplexed but shook her head softly and smiled. “Whatever you two want Chotte.”

Anjali, Nani and Mami turned to join the others. Khushi took a step as if to follow them before turning back to Arnav. She took his hand in hers and squeezed. “Six months or one year, koi farq nahi padta Arnavji. Humare toh janmo ka saath hai.”

The knife in Arnav’s heart fell out and he felt it being enveloped in love. She was right, they were destined to be together. She was always going to fall into his arms, his life and his heart. They were always meant to be together; he had just delayed the inevitable in his desperation to control his own destiny.

It didn’t matter that he couldn’t forgive himself, because Khushi had.