by Reet Singh
He'd been so engrossed in thought, he didn't know when Mohini came to stand in front of him. It was only when she snatched the fork out of his hand and clucked over the red weals on his palm, did he come back to the moment. 'What is wrong with you?' she asked, glaring up at him and rubbing at the redness.
'Nothing.' It was pointless involving her in his past. Or in his future.
'Liar.' She was so close he could see the flecks in her irises. She still held on to his hands and the power in her grip told him she wasn't prepared to take any bullshit from him.
'Tell me,' she insisted, her tone unyielding.
'I have a headache,' he improvised.
She'd called him a liar a minute earlier and he might as well earn the sobriquet. In any case, his fib was more of a diversion than an outright lie since he could feel the beginnings of an unpleasant tightening at his temples.
'Really? A headache? Well, I have the perfect cure for that,' she responded, and led him, half resisting, out of the kitchen.
'Don't be nervous,' she taunted, quite misreading his hesitation. 'It doesn't involve chopping off your head. Or the use of leeches. Or of snake venom.'
Aalok’s pretend headache was fast disappearing but he kept that fact from her. He was intrigued by her 'perfect cure'. In any case, there was very little he could do to resist her when his brain said one thing and his body did exactly what it wanted.
They were in the main house now, and Mohini came to a stop in the lounge. Urging him towards yet another of the ubiquitous cane chairs that dotted the property, she advised him to make himself comfortable. 'I'll be back in a bit,' and she waltzed off through an inner door that he knew from past explorations led to her bedroom.
Aalok, left alone with nothing better to do, tried to relax into the cushions but a faint unease permeated his being. He shouldn’t be hanging out with Mohini beyond the call of basic courtesy - especially when he had nothing to offer her, and most especially when he found himself so inconveniently drawn to her.
Such an old fashioned word - drawn - where had that come to mind from? He'd never been drawn to a woman before. Attracted yes, drawn no. Was there a difference? Probably not. He was just getting spooked. It was definitely propinquity. Maybe a bit of lust. He had no need to worry.
It would all sort itself out when he left for home - just as soon as he'd spoken to the Sarpanch about that drunk, Shamsher Singh. Aalok's anger rose up again and he jumped to his feet before it could choke him.
Enough! He took several deep breaths and began pacing.
The fragrance of coconut and a tantalizing mix of unidentifiable spices assailed his nostrils. Inhaling deeply in reluctant appreciation, Aalok turned towards the source of the aroma and discovered Mohini. She waved a tiny copper pot at him. 'The magic potion,' she quipped, as she approached him.
Aalok, curious about the redolent concoction in the copper pot, made his way back to the designated chair.
Mohini spread a towel over his shoulders and then palmed a healthy portion of gooey stuff from the pot. 'All right,' she said, hovering by his side just within his field of vision. 'Tell me where it hurts.'
'Everywhere,' he fibbed, unable to resist.
She punched him lightly on the shoulder. ‘You have such a one-track mind. For your kind information, I am a self-proclaimed headache specialist and not a masseuse. Will you please tell me which part of your head hurts before this stuff loses its super-power?'
Aalok pointed to a random spot on his scalp and mentally crossed his fingers because it wasn't nice to lie to her. His head was fine even if his thinking was all scrambled up - which was probably why he was submitting to her ministrations instead of just saying goodnight and going off to a solitary bed.
Thoughts of bed, solitary or otherwise, went right out of the window the second she touched him. His lids drooped and he allowed himself to enjoy the sensations evoked by warm scented oil and gently probing fingers. It was incredibly soothing but also disturbingly evocative.
His mother had made it her calling to oil their heads every Sunday, with an extra session for him when he copped one from his father. The symphony created by busy fingers and fragrant oil always calmed him down, which is why, even though he no longer lived with his mother, he had a barber come in every now and then to do the needful.
Mohini was doing the job well, quieting his thoughts and lulling him into believing that all was well with his world, expect that her fingers teased in equal measure, probably without meaning to.
Nerve endings in his scalp, confused by her proximity, insisted on sending signals that made him pray her hands would move lower, and continue downwards. She'd mentioned his one-track mind and she'd been right.
Aalok rolled his shoulders. 'If you could extend the same courtesy to my neck,' he rasped, 'that would be great.'
A man could hope couldn't he? Never mind if it was the stupidest thing to do.
§§§
Mohini poked at Aalok's neck to confirm the truth of his assertion. The muscles were stiff as board. Tight under her probing fingers. 'Sure,' she said, helping herself to some more oil from the pot. 'Why are you so tense anyway?'
When Aalok merely grunted, she sighed, shook her head and tugged at the neckband of his tee.
'You'll have to take this off if you want me to work on your neck.'
She thought he froze for a second, but in the next moment he'd ripped off the tee and tossed it on the rug.
Mohini gulped. Big mistake. She hadn’t thought it through.
She stared at his perfectly sculpted back, then her gaze roved over the massive shoulders, and she bit her lip. The oil threatened to cool in her palm, so she reached out tentatively and, silently calling herself all kinds of fool, proceeded to knead and massage.
As she'd expected, the rigidity in his neck and shoulders began to respond to her expert pummeling. What she had not anticipated was that his head would loll back and come to rest against her ribcage. Heat shot through her and she wavered, not at all sure about pulling away, even though he was getting oil all over her pajama top.
'Tell me about your sisters,' she prompted, wincing because the words came out all breathy and uneven. It was a ruse, of course - a pathetic ploy to distract herself from the electricity that zinged about merrily under her skin.
Aalok straightened and Mohini dragged in a deep breath hoping it would cool her blood before he noticed that she had melted in a pool of lust at his feet.
'Some other time,' he responded. 'First tell me why Ria doesn't live with you.'
'Oh,' she said, and her fingers stilled. 'Of course she stays with me. Why would she not?' Grabbing the towel off the back of the chair, she wiped her hands vigorously. 'She's my daughter - she lives where I live.'
'I just ... because she's not here ...'
'Oh! Well, Ria has to start school some time soon and my mother thinks it's a good idea that she do so in Delhi. They went school hunting.' She fidgeted with a roll of absorbent paper before tearing away a generous strip and proceeding to wipe oil off the back of the chair.
'And you don't approve because?'
'No, no! I'm fine with it ... '
Aalok stood up before she finished speaking and took the remnants of completely shredded tissue out of her hands. Wagging it under her nose, he said, 'Something tells me you're not happy with your mom's plan.'
Mohini snatched the tissue back and threw it in the waste paper bin. It was annoying how observant he was. She hadn't spoken about her fears to anybody but they were eating away at her. She felt Aalok's eyes on her. He slipped on his T-shirt as he waited for her to speak.
Her throat was parched. In any case, anything she said would sound irrational when the terrible anxiety was based on a past that had no meaning today - and yet the terror was real.
‘What is it, Mohini?'
Mohini's lips twisted. 'I can't go back there.’
'Then don't. Explore other options.'
'There are none, really - that's the thing.'
Her vision clouded. She blinked rapidly and felt him place a wad of tissues in her hand.
Mohini gulped past the lump in her throat. 'I have to consider Ria. As my mother rightly says I can't hide away for ever. But I'm seriously petrified of going back to Delhi. What if ...?' She shivered as goosebumps prickled her skin.
Aalok pursed his lips. 'Petrified? Of what? What is the worst that could happen? If anyone had wanted to hurt you they would have done it that night. Or they would have tracked you down here and ...' He stopped when she shuddered. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...'
'It's not that. I understand that part - if I had posed a threat to them they would have taken me out too. But ... what if ... what if someone walked up to me in Delhi and said they'd known Govind? What if his parents turned up? Or a brother? A sister? What if he’d lied about being an orphan?' Mohini clenched her hands together so tightly that her fingers went numb.
'Why is that scary? Wouldn't that be great?'
'I don't know. How can I predict anything? Who was Govind? What was he? What if his family is powerful and ... and despotic? What if they're also from the mafia and they hate me and want to take Ria away?'
Aalok didn't take long to poke a hole in her theory. 'They would have done it by now. You seem to be rather negative about the whole thing.' When she opened her mouth to rant, he held up a hand and said, 'Hear me out. The cops have put it into your head that the murder was a gang-war sort of thing.'
'Maybe it wasn't that. Think about it. Consider the fact that there is no evidence Govind ever existed. He might have been an intelligence agent. A spy or something. I mean, its not far-fetched to believe that a governmental agency could remove all traces of an individual in minutes. I doubt if the mafia could.'
Mohini gaped at Aalok. 'That sounds so bizarre.' She pressed her temples with fingertips that she could barely feel. 'I never thought of it like that but, honestly, anything is possible. Still, it doesn't really help - it's the worst mess in the world because I will never find out. They closed the case because they had no leads.'
'All the more reason for you to face your fears. Go out there and let whatever happens happen. I can tell you first hand that it makes life more bearable if you confront issues instead of running away from them.'
He was facing her but his eyes were unfocused, the expression on his face bleak. Despite his earnest appeal to her he seemed to be eons away in another time and a different place. Was he referring to his father?
Mohini squinted up at him but he remained strangely unreachable. Ritvik had mentioned an abusive father - had Aalok stood up to the abuse and come out all right?
She wasn't so sure. He didn't look very happy in that moment. His face was rigid and the mouth compressed to a thin line. In a minute, though, he shook off the curious mood, unclenched his fists and made eye contact with her. 'Face your fears, Mohini,' he repeated.
'I don't know,' she said, not caring that she'd been saying that a lot lately. 'I don't know if I can do it. I'm not ready - it's too soon.'
She began pacing. 'She's grown so fast, I've not had time to wrap my head around it. I'm thinking the best thing is for Ria to go to the village school for a start.'
She half expected Aalok to interrupt her - she'd never gotten beyond this point during discussions on the topic with her own family.
'She'll learn her alphabets well enough, Punjabi and English, and she'll get to hang out with other children. That way, I'll gain a few months before I have to make any major decisions, but,' Mohini shook her head, 'my mother thinks I'm selfish to deny my daughter the urban lifestyle that I've enjoyed. What do you think? Am I being selfish? It is a question of only a few more months ...' She stopped pacing and turned to Aalok.
The big man looked at her in pensive silence for a bit. When he spoke there was a flinty gleam in his eye. 'How many times have you been to Delhi since that night?' he asked.
Fifteen
Aalok waited expectantly but Mohini showed no signs of responding to his query - at least not verbally. She'd definitely heard him because, although she averted her face, he saw the color ride up her neck until she was almost as pink as her pajamas.
As far as he was concerned, his suspicions were confirmed but he needed her to understand that she was still in denial. He called her bluff. 'Never, I'll bet. You haven't ever returned to Delhi since then, have you? What makes you think a few more months will help when you haven't been able to pick up the courage in three years?'
Mohini flung him a dirty look but he saw beyond it to the confusion and pain that she couldn't mask quickly enough.
'Quite the psychoanalyst, aren't you?' she sniped. 'Just for the record, the reason I haven't gone back is because I haven't needed to.'
She flounced away, but was back before he could say anything. 'I travel all the time. I can tell you that I've ventured out as far as Amritsar, and even Ludhiana, to sell our products - so it’s not as if I'm holed up here licking my wounds or something.'
She wagged a finger at him. 'People love the merchandise. I've been awfully busy but you wouldn't know that because you've only been around a day and a half - and yet you’re merrily presuming things and imputing motives and passing judgment...'
She stopped to draw breath and Aalok took advantage of the opportunity to move closer and gently grab her shoulders. Looking into her blazing eyes he enunciated as clearly as he could, 'You have to stop hiding behind excuses. I'm not trying to score points here or psychoanalyze anything. I've been there - well, maybe not in quite the same place - but I know what I'm talking about. Get out of here and slay your demons. It's the only way.'
Mohini, her mouth tight and expression militant, glowered for a bit before she went limp in his grasp, surprising him. He hoped it was the anger leaving her body.
Moisture glistened on the tips of the the cutest, stubbiest eyelashes he had ever seen - strange that he had never noticed them before considering how many different ways he had kissed the provoking woman since yesterday.
Her eyelashes, bravely curling despite their abridged length, were just like her - obstinate, pithy and alluring.
Mohini moved suddenly, startling him. She eased out of his grip and commanded in a low monotone, 'Wait here. There's something I have to do. I'll ...' and she stumbled off to disappear into her room.
Aalok cursed under his breath - he shouldn’t be meddling, but there was a force stronger than him at play here. If only he could figure out how to stop it from consuming him.
Ten minutes later he was still there wondering where Mohini had gotten to. To help pass the time, he examined the room he was in. L-shaped and cavernous, it housed all sorts of memorabilia. There were dozens of family portraits hanging on white, plastered walls, while dark, vintage wooden shelves and ornate niches were crammed with knick-knacks from all over the world.
A replica of the Eiffel tower rubbed elbows with that of the Taj Mahal, and there was even a very fine model of the Chicago skyline. Somebody in this family traveled a lot. Her grandfather, perhaps?
Squinting at the photographs, Aalok espied a tall, autocratic man in several of them and he made a mental note to himself to ask Mohini if that was her late grandfather, although it hardly mattered when he was planning to be off and away come morning.
Since she showed no signs of appearing any time soon, he sauntered over to take a look at the gigantic, roof-to-floor bookshelf that occupied an entire wall - a ladder on rails was conveniently placed to allow easy access to the top shelves and he was delighted to notice some classic tomes of photography.
He pulled out an atlas and had barely turned a page when he heard what sounded suspiciously like a sniffle. It was followed by another more distinct one, and he put the book back in its place.
Walking over to the curtains that were resolutely drawn across the entry to Mohini's room, Aalok called out her name. There was no response even a full minute later so he tried again. 'Mohini? Are you all right?'
'No,' her muffled reply only just made i
t to his ears. Jerking the curtains aside, Aalok strode in but stopped a foot inside the threshold, not sure of what to make of the sight that met his eyes.
Mohini sat cross-legged on the rug by her bed. A large cardboard box lay open in front of her and she clutched a red ribbon and a sheaf of papers to her heart. Her eyes were wet though she looked composed enough. She gestured to him, patting a spot on the rug beside her, and he walked all the way in and hunkered down by her side.
'He wrote to her,' she whispered, pointing to the papers she held. Her tone was reverential and she looked at Aalok with what he imagined was expectation.
Who had written to whom? It was all Greek to him so he settled for raising his eyebrows and contorting his face into what he hoped was an expression of understanding and encouragement.