Hadbadi mein chapter likh diya hai..koi galti ho toh shama kar devein..🥲🙏

Just as Rashmi stepped inside the house, she hugged Mala without wasting a moment, like a child finally meeting her mother after years..her face buried in Mala's shoulder, and Mala held her back just as tightly, one hand moving over her hair.

"I missed you so much," Rashmi said into her shoulder.

Mala pulled back just enough to cup her face in both hands. "Even I missed you." She looked at her for a moment. Then her eyes moved past Rashmi's shoulder.

Kaveri and Lala Ji stood very still, just inside the doorway. Both of them looking only at her. Their eyes not just looking her, they were scanning her. Their eyes screamed that they were shocked with her presence.

But Mala didn't give much attention towards it instead gave them a warm smile. Rashmi turned introduced them.

"Mala Aunty, she is Kaveri, my friend Dhananjay's Chachi. This is Ritwik, his cousin. And Lala Ji, his Chacha. And she," she turned back with a fond smile, "is my best friend. My Mala Aunty."

Mala folded her hands. "Namaste."

Then she walked to Ritwik. She didn't say anything. She simply reached up and touched his cheek, with motherly affection. Ritwik, who shrugged away most touches as if it burnt his skin, went still. He didn't pull back. Something in her touch held him there, some warmth that he was missing deep down but didn't know whom exactly he missed. Yet he let her keep her hand against his cheek for a moment before she withdrew.

Mala them looked at Rashmi, she asked, "Rishabh nahi aaye?"

(Rishabh didn't come?)

"Haan, vo bhai ko, Dhananjay ke saath kuch kaam tha." Rashmi informed.

(Yes, he had some work with Dhananjay.)

"Theek hai. Aap sabko kamra dikha dijiye. Humne do kamre saaf kara diye hain. Ek mein Ritwik reh lenge, aur doosre mein Kaveri Ji aur Lala Ji."

(Alright. Show everyone to their rooms. We have had two rooms cleaned. Ritwik can stay in one, and Kaveri Ji and Lala Ji in the other.)

Mala spoke, considering them as a couple and Ritwik as their son.

Kaveri's immediately cut her, already sensing what she meant. "Nahi, mai Ritwik ke saath rahungi."

(No, I will stay with Ritwik.)

Rashmi bit her lips, she only made the confusion. She leaned toward Mala and dropped her voice. "Mala Aunty, they are not couples. Ritwik Kaveri Aunty ka beta hai. Lala Ji saath aaye hain."

(Ritwik is Kaveri Aunty's son. Lala Ji just came along.)

Mala's eyes went slightly wide. "Maaf kijiyega, mujhe laga.."

(I am sorry, I thought..)

But Kaveri only shook her head, unbothered, her focus was still on Mala. Multiple questions arising.

Soon, rooms were sorted, bags set down. Everyone bathed and gathered for dinner, and afterward drifted naturally toward sleep.

Ritwik slept quickly, his breathing slow and even. Kaveri sat beside him for a while watching him, caressing his head touching his cheeks right where Mala did this evening, by the mid night she lay down. But the ceiling was all she looked at. Sleep was no where in her eyes.

After some time she rose, quietly, and walked down the corridor to Lala Ji's room. She stood outside the door for a moment, her hand raised but not yet moving. Then she knocked.

Footsteps. And then the door opened. Lala Ji looked at her, surprised, his eyes going immediately.

"Thakurain aap yahan? Ritwik Baba theek hain na?" His voice laced with concern.

(You here, Thakurain? Ritwik Baba is alright, isn't he?)

"Vo theek hai. Mai andar aa sakti hun?" Kaveri spoke calmly.

(He is fine. May I come in?)

He nodded, stepped back and let her in. Kaveri entered and stood in the middle of the room. The door remained unlocked behind her. For a moment neither of them spoke.

Then Kaveri said, quietly, "Kaveri."

Lala Ji looked at her. "Ji?"

Kaveri turned her head towards him and said,

"Kaveri, naam hai mera. Mere naam se bula sakte hain aap. Na ki us insaan se jude, usse jude kisi bhi naam ya rishte se."

(Kaveri is my name. You can call me by it. Not by any name tied to that man, or to anything connected to him.)

He nodded slowly.

Lala Ji had spent his life in Digvijay's shadow, assigned to his service since he was young, as his personal assistant trusted with everything except the freedom to form his own opinions. Because he was not made of the same material as the Thakur brothers. He had his own sense of what was right, kept carefully to himself. He had been married once, at very young age, and lost his wife early, and after that he had simply never looked at another woman.

And the women of Thakur Haveli, he had always treated with a quiet, unspoken respect that asked for nothing back.

He kept his eyes on Kaveri now, for the first time after providing years of service to that house, he looked at her. And he noticed, there wasn't just something in her eyes, there was alot she was holding, she had suffered and today standing here.

He lowered his lashes and after a moment he said, "Aapko kya lagta hai? Vo.. Badi Thakurain hi hain?"

(What do you think? Is she.. the elder Thakurain herself?)

Kaveri exhaled slowly. "Samajh nahi aa raha. Unki shakal Jiji se milti hai, magar unhe vo bees saal purani koi baat yaad nahi. Yahan tak ki vo sochne lagi hain, hum dono.." she stopped.

(I can't understand it. Her face matches Jiji's, but she remembers nothing from twenty years ago. She even seemed to think that we two..)

Lala ji nodded and spoke, making an assumption,

"Aisa bhi toh ho sakta hai ki shayad vo apni yaaddaasht bhool baithi hon."

(It's also possible that perhaps she has lost her memory.)

Kaveri sighed.

"Bhagwan jaane. Par agar ye sach hai, toh mai bahut khush hun." A small smile played on her lips.

(Only God knows. But if it is true, then I am very glad.)

But Lala Ji seem confused with her smile, "Aisa kyun?"

Kaveri looked at him, and the smile that came was faint and full at the same time.

"Aap nahi jaante honge, Lala Ji. Par Thakur Haveli ki un diwaron ke peeche Jiji ne kitna kuch saha tha. Unhe paanch saalon mein maine itna khush nahi dekha tha, jitna yahan aate hi dekha. Unki muskaan. Shayad vo bhool tak gayi thi ye muskaan, par vo muskaan dekhi hai maine unke chehre par aaj. Agar Jiji vo saari baatein bhool gayi hain, aur ek nayi zindagi jee rahi hain, khushi ke saath, toh mai bahut khush hun. Bas mujhe dukh hai unke bacchon ke liye. Jinhone ye bees saal unke bagair kaate. Dhananjay, Ganga, mera Ritwik aur Durga."

(You would not know, Lala Ji. But behind the walls of Thakur Haveli, Jiji endured so much. In five years I never saw her as happy as I did in just the moment of seeing her here. Her smile. Perhaps she had forgotten how to smile, but I saw that smile on her face. If Jiji has forgotten all of that, and is living a new life, with happiness, then I am very glad. I only feel sorrow for her children. Who have spent these twenty years without her. Dhananjay, Ganga, my Ritwik, and Durga.)

Kaveri stopped, but confusion grew inside Lala,"Durga? Vo kaun hai?"

(Durga? Who is she?)

.

.

.

The Next Morning. Mishra Ji's House.

Kaveri was in the kitchen before anyone else woke up. She had found the chai patti, and had the adrak and ilaichi already crushed by the time the water came to boil.

Mala came downstairs and stopped in the kitchen doorway.

"Arey, aap ye sab kyun karne lagi.. Aaram karti. Aap mehmaan hain humari."

(Oh, why are you doing all this.. You should rest. You are our guest.)

Kaveri smiled and held out a cup. "Mehman hain, bojh nahi. Socha aapki kuch madad ho jaaye."

(A guest, not a burden. I thought I might be of some help to you.)

Mala took the cup and wrapping both hands around it, she brought it to her lips, taking one sip she spoke.

"Vaise bhi hum ye sab nahi karte. Bacche aur Mishra Ji hume ek bartan haath nahi lagane dete. Khaana banana toh door ki baat, sach kahein toh hume chai tak nahi banani aati."

(Besides, we don't do any of this. The children and Mishra Ji don't let me touch a single vessel. Cooking is out of the question, honestly I don't even know how to make tea.)

Kaveri's hands slowed.

She looked at the woman across from her. This woman whose hands had once moved through a kitchen the way a river moves, certain of its course. Who had taught Kaveri the very ratio of ginger to cardamom that was steaming in that cup right now. Who had run an entire household, managed a husband, raised children, managed in-laws, with the particular invisible competence of women who are never thanked for whatever they do..

And she was saying she did not know how to make chai.

Mala sipped and blinked with mild surprise. "Hm..Adrak ilaichi waali chai. Hum toh pehli baar pee rahe hain. Yahan toh log oopar se doodh dalte hain. Ye wali acchi lagi hume toh."

(Hm. Tea with ginger and cardamom. I am having this for the first time. Here they just add milk on top. I liked this one.)

Kaveri's lashes dropped.

She had taught her to make it. Standing side by side at the chulha, the first month after Kaveri came to the haveli, young and frightened and not yet knowing where anything was. Her Shrimala Jiji had shown her, measuring nothing, knowing it all by feel. For the first time. She was saying it was the first time.

Mala noticed the shift in her face. "Kya hua? Sab theek hai?"

(What happened? Is everything alright?)

Kaveri lifted her eyes and smiled. "Haan. Theek hai."

Then, carefully,she asked, "Mishra Ji aur Rashmi, aapke kya lagte hain?"

(Mishra Ji and Rashmi, what are they to you?)

The warmth on Mala's face deepened into something quieter.

"Khoon ka koi rishta nahi humara. Par shayad dil ka hai, bhawaon ka hai. Bacche ek hafte kya bahar rahe, mujhe toh bechaini hone lagi thi."

(There is no relation of blood. But perhaps one of heart, of feeling. The children were barely gone a week, and I was already restless.)

Kaveri kept her eyes on her face. "Bura mat maniyega, hum itne sawaal kar rahe hain. Par Mishra Ji, unse kya rishta hai aapka?"

(Please don't mind, I am asking so many questions. But Mishra Ji, what is your relationship with him?)

Mala thought about it. Genuinely thought,

"Theek theek toh hume bhi nahi malum. Shayad hum dost hain. Ya ek doosre ke shubh chintak. Ya phir.. pata nahi. Kabhi socha nahi." She paused. "Par haan, unhone humare liye itna kuch kiya hai, is janam mein toh karz nahi utaar payenge."

(Honestly I don't know myself. Perhaps we are friends. Or well-wishers of each other. Or perhaps.. I don't know. I never thought about it. But yes, he has done so much for us. This lifetime will not be enough to repay it.)

She let out a small, slow laugh, and in that laugh was something unguarded and warm, the kind that belongs to people who have stopped performing happiness and simply feel it.

Kaveri watched her. Just watched. Her chest was doing something complicated that she had no name for yet, something that was partly grief and partly gratitude and partly the simple ache of watching someone you love be happy without knowing who they once were.

"Aap kabse hain yahan?" She raised another question.

(How long have you been here?)

"Pandrah saalon se." Mala replied sipping the tea.

(Fifteen years.)

Shrimala had died twenty years ago. The numbers shifted in Kaveri's head. They did not match.

Mala set down her cup and continued,

"Usse pehle paanch saal hum coma mein the. Jahan tak hume malum hai, hum marne ki sthiti mein the, jab Mishra Ji ko Ganga kinare mile the. Unhone humara ilaaj karwaya. Par jab hosh aaya toh hum apne ateet ki saari yaadein bhool chuke the. Apna naam tak yaad nahi tha hume. Bas yaad the do naam, jo har raat sapne mein aate the. Ab bhi har din wohi ek sapna hota hai."

(Before that I was in a coma for five years. As far as I know, I was in a state close to death when Mishra Ji found me on the banks of the Ganga. He arranged for my treatment. But when I regained consciousness, I had lost all memory of my past. I did not even remember my own name. Only two names remained, which came in my dreams every night. Even now, every single day, the same dream.)

Kaveri's breath had gone very quiet. "Kaisa sapna? Kiska naam?"

(What kind of dream? Whose names?)

Before Mala could answer, Rashmi came through the kitchen doorway, still soft with sleep, and walked straight into Mala and wrapped her arms around her.

"Good morning."

Mala's hand went to her hair. "Good morning."

She looked at Kaveri over Rashmi's shoulder. Then she turned to Rashmi and said, "Beta, apne papa ko neeche bula lo. Nashta aaj Kaveri Ji ne bana diya hai."

(Beta, call your father down. Kaveri Ji has made breakfast today.)

Rashmi nodded and disappeared back up the stairs.

Kaveri looked at the space where the sentence had been and the answer had almost come, and she lowered her eyes and breathed slowly.

Then she looked at Mala again. With a small smile she spoke,

"Aap na, hume kisi ki yaad dilati hain. Humari Jiji ki. Hubahu waisi hi shakal hai. Pehli baar dekha toh aisa laga humari Jiji hi aa gayi hain."

(You know, you remind me of someone. Our Jiji. Your face is exactly like hers. When I first saw you, it felt as though our Jiji herself had come back.)

Mala's expression softened with gentle sympathy. "Oh. Kahan hain ab vo? Kya hua unhe?"

(Oh. Where is she now? What happened to her?)

"Vo ab is duniya mein nahi hain." Kaveri said it simply. "Par humare paas bahut saari yaadein hain unki. Unka beta, Dhananjay. Unki beti, Durga."

The names left her mouth and fell into the air between them.

And something happened on Mala's face. Something very small, barely a flicker, the realisation. Her lips parted slightly. Her eyes went somewhere inward.

But before the thread could pull tight, Mishra Ji appeared in the doorway, bright-eyed and slightly surprised to find both of them already in the kitchen.

"Arey, Mala Ji, Kaveri Ji. Aap dono yahan?"

(Oh, Mala Ji, Kaveri Ji. Both of you here already?)

Mala turned to him and her face shifted back into its warm, everyday expression, the moment sealed over. They began to talk, their ease with each other was the ease of people who stayed together for many years.

Kaveri watched her. Watched both of them. And began to connect all the dots.

Later that morning, Ritwik was taken to the hospital. The specialists received them. And his treatment began with Rashmi being a helping hand.

Mala came along with Kaveri. But by eleven she had to leave. And then it was Kaveri and Lala Ji, sitting in the long corridor outside the closed door, waiting.

Kaveri's hands were folded in her lap. Her back was straight. But her eyes were darting to every door that opened, every footstep that came down the hall.

Lala Ji watched her without appearing to. He noticed, after a while, that she was holding herself very tightly. That her shoulders had risen. That she had not eaten anything since morning, and they had been sitting here for a long time.

He got up quietly. Came back with a blanket from the small rack at the corridor's end. He stood beside her for a moment, then carefully draped it around her shoulders without a word.

Kaveri looked up at him. He had already looked away, and he sat back down beside her, leaving the blanket entirely in her hands to do with as she chose.

She pulled it tighter around herself. She hadn't realized until that moment how cold she had been.

Time passed. The corridor stayed quiet except for footsteps and distant voices. At some point Kaveri's head began to feel heavier than usual. She did not say anything. She simply sat with it, watching the door, her thoughts looping through prayers she barely shaped into words.

And then her head dropped.

It came to rest against Lala Ji's shoulder, and she was still.

He looked at her. Her face was flushed in a way it hadn't been an hour ago. Her breathing was shallow and too warm.

His hand hovered near her face for a moment, uncertain. Then he tapped her cheek gently.

"Kaveri Ji.. Aankhein kholiye."

(Kaveri Ji.. please open your eyes.)

Nothing. He tapped again, a little more firmly. Her face didn't change.

Lala Ji made his decision in the same breath. He gathered her carefully, one arm beneath her knees and one behind her back, and lifted her. He walked to the nurse's station, his steps quick and even, and said simply, "Inhe bukhar hai."

(She has a fever.)

The doctor came. Fever, as he'd known. Medicine was administered. She was settled onto a spare cot in a small side room, a light blanket over her, her breathing gradually steadier.

That night, her body burned with the fever and her mind did not rest. Even in sleep she was not still. Her brow creased and smoothed. Her hands moved against the blanket. Once, in whatever dream she was inside, she reached out and her hand found Lala Ji's.

Her fingers closed around his.

He looked at her sleeping face. At the lines of worry that illness had not quite smoothed away, the tension of a mother sitting tense for her son even in unconsciousness. He looked at her hand around his.

And he did not remove it.

He sat in the chair beside her cot through the full length of the night. He did not sleep. He did not eat or drink anything. He simply stayed, one hand held in hers, watching over someone he didn't know he was allowed to or not...