Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
DHRITHI
There were ghosts in this house, alive and dead. Hushed whispers, vivid memories, and a silence that seemed to bite followed her through the house. She’d asked Ishaan if he’d like to come in and he’d flashed her his irreverent grin as he said, “Sorry Goody. You couldn’t pay me enough to set foot over the threshold of that monstrosity.”
“Are you worried Varun’s spirt would haunt you?” she’d smiled, unable to tell him she didn’t want to go in alone.
His smile faded as he took in her expression. “I don’t think he’d have the time to do that. He’s too busy haunting you, isn’t he?”
As always, Ishaan’s perceptiveness had taken her by surprise. He spent so much time being abrasive, obnoxious, and the joker of the group, that it was easy to forget that a devastatingly sharp brain lurked under it.
“Madam, what would you like for dinner?”
Dhrithi started out of her thoughts and turned towards the chef hovering near the doorway to the formal living room. Including him, Varun had employed seven live in help, their quarters running the length of the rear compound wall. How many days had this man stayed holed up in his kitchen, ignoring her screams and pleas for help? How many times had they shut their doors so they couldn’t see or hear what Varun was doing to her? She continued to watch him and his chef’s hat quivered a little under her steady scrutiny.
She wanted to sack them all. She wouldn’t forget, couldn’t forget, how they’d all looked the other way over the years, enjoying Varun’s extravagant bonuses and ignoring her desperate tears. But when her own family hadn’t stepped in to help her, had instead sacrificed her on the altar of their greedy, money grubbing goals, what could she expect of people who needed the money for their basic survival? Which was the only reason they still had jobs and had been recalled to do them.
“I’m not hungry,” she said evenly, walking away from the room and heading towards the massive, curved staircase that led to the upper floors. She’d just placed her foot on the first step when the doorbell rang.
Another uniformed helper appeared out of seemingly nowhere and went to open the door. Dhrithi moved to stop him but before she could, the door was opened and her family streamed in. All three of them. A genuine smile lit her face as she watched her brother march in behind her parents. But it faded as the import of their presence sank in.
“Didi.” He came over and stood in front of her, his sharp eyes roving over her. “Have you recovered?”
“I have,” she said gently, knowing he was expressing concern without knowing the best way to go about it. Her brother had high functioning autism and his ability to comprehend and convey emotion while having improved over the years was not quite there.
“Because most people die of post-surgery infection and that can show symptoms days after the surgery.”
“I just had my checkup Dhanush, and I’m fine. No sign of infection at all.” She took his arm and steered him towards the formal living room where the chef still stood. She ignored her parents who decided to shamelessly follow them in anyway.
“Tea for them,” she told the chef briefly and he nodded in assent, disappearing in the direction of the kitchen.
“I’m so glad you came to your senses,” her father said, the minute they were seated. “Occupying this property was the best idea you’ve had. If they try to throw you out, we’ll make a big hue and cry over them tossing a poor widow out on the streets.”
“How did you know I was here?” she asked.
Her father rolled his eyes. “I always know where everyone is, even you.”
Was he tracking her? How? Was he the one who’d given Varun’s friends the address of Amay’s flat? So many questions but she knew better than to ask them. Her father wouldn’t deign to answer.
Dhrithi leaned back on the couch, crossing one leg over the other and surveyed the people who were supposed to love her more than anyone else in the world. Had they ever loved her? She remembered a fairly normal childhood, not overly into emotion and familial bonds, but there had been no abuse either, nothing starkly dramatic anyway. But even benign neglect was neglect, a fact she’d come to realise later in life.
She remembered crying in her mother’s arms after Varun hit her the first time. Her mother had stroked her hair, brought her tea, and told her the best concealer to use to cover up the bruises. Her father, well the less said about his reaction the better. He’d told her if her marriage wasn’t bringing her happiness to look elsewhere, just to be discreet about it.
“If they don’t give us what we want, we’ll file a case, Dhrithi.”
Her father was still expounding on his five year life plan. Her mother was frowning down at her phone. Dhrithi leaned over to see what her mother was doing and found her playing Candy Crush. Dhrithi’s eyebrows shot up as she saw that her mother was at level 14378. She was pretty proud of her mother for committing to the game with that level of diligence. She hadn’t done it in any other aspect of her life.
“What we want?” Dhanush asked. “Have you asked Didi what she wants?”
“Yeah Dad.” Dhrithi smiled. “Have you?”
Her father shot her an irritated look. “What do you want other than to behave like a spoilt brat?”
A spoilt brat? Dhrithi started to laugh, holding her sides as laughter exploded out of her and tears came to her eyes. Her brother stared at her, clearly wondering if she’d lost her mind.
A helper came in with a tea tray and started serving everyone tea and snacks. The Chef had outdone himself, she noted as she saw the variety of homemade munchies arrayed on the tray. She wondered if he knew how to make corn chips. She made a mental note to ask him to make some before she moved out.
“Dhrithi?” her father prodded, even as he munched on a butter biscuit, crumbs coating his luxuriant moustache.
“You can make whatever noise you want.” Her father beamed appreciatively at that response. Dhrithi leaned forward and took a small Bakharwadi piece for herself. She bit into it, loving the flavours that exploded in her mouth. She swallowed and added, “I won’t be party to any of it.”
Her father’s smile dimmed. She watched his mental gears turn as he considered how to tackle her next. His face took on a benevolent, condescending look as he put his cup of tea down and sat forward.
“Dhrithi beta, your Ma and I are only looking out for your best interests.”
“You left me in the hospital,” she reminded him mildly. “Told me I was not welcome in your home, essentially left me on the streets to fend for myself, days after I had major surgery.”
“Left you on the streets,” he scoffed. “So much melodrama.”
Her mother let out a high-pitched girlish giggle, her only contribution to the conversation so far.
“You think I don’t know how much money you have in that account of yours? The one that Varun deposited your allowance into?”
Surprise had her sitting forward too. “How do you know what is in my account? Only Varun and I have access to it.”
Her father waved a dismissive hand in the air. Time to change banks, she thought.
“My point is,” he said with a sneer. “You were not on the streets.”
“Statistics say that people who are cared for by loved ones recover faster from injuries.” Dhanush’s clinical voice cut through the conversation. “Didi didn’t have that. She only had the money.”
Dhrithi looked at her father, trying to suppress her smirk and failing. “Yeah Dad. Pay attention.”
“This is about your brother and his future, Dhrithi.” Her father’s voice shook with suppressed emotion. “You know we have to safeguard him against a time when we are not there to take care of him. How can you be so selfish?”
“Actually, that’s not true.” Dhanush chimed in again. “I have an Ivy league degree and a well-paying job. I can take care of myself.”
Dhrithi raised her eyebrows as she met her father’s gaze. She didn’t quite have Ishaan’s eyebrow game, but she was doing her best. “Back to you Dad. What’s the next strategy you want to try?”
“You want to abandon us like this?” Incensed, he rose to his feet, a shower of biscuit crumbs falling to the carpet as he did so. Just how many biscuits did he eat? “How can you abandon your retarded brother and your old parents like this?”
“HE IS NOT RETARDED.” All pretense of civility disappeared as Dhrithi rose to her feet to face her father, rage pulsing through her. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that, in his presence or otherwise! Dhanush will always have me batting for him. Now and in the future. Just like he’s had me to support him in the past.”
She took a step forward forcing her father to take a startled step back, away from her. “As for the rest, you abandoned me first. Ma and you abandoned me the day you pushed me into a marriage with a narcissistic psychopath for money. You abandoned me every single day after that when you saw what he did to me, and you did nothing about it. He would have killed me, Dad. If he hadn’t died that night, he would have killed me one day and all you would have said was, ‘Oh no, the golden goose is dead.’”
“The stupid goose is already dead even if it’s still breathing.” Disgusted with her, he shook his head and stepped away, snapping his fingers at her mother. “Get up. We’re leaving.”
Dhanush and her mother rose, following him to the door where he stopped and turned to face her, one last time. “If you continue to be stubborn, you will lose us forever.”
Dhrithi shrugged. “I never had you to lose you.”
“Not me,” Dhanush interjected. “You will not lose me.”
Dhrithi smiled a little, squeezing his shoulder in farewell and then she stood there in that ornate, over the top living room and watched her family leave her.
And then she was alone again. Just her and the ghosts.