Birthright
Jai
Dad stood in the hallway, his face drawn and tired. Beside him, Ayaan shifted uncomfortably, hands shoved in his pockets.
And behind them both was Rekha.
She was dressed immaculately, as always. Blue sari, understated jewellery – the usual picture of composure. But the way she avoided looking into my eyes betrayed her. She knew exactly why she was here.
‘Jai,’ Dad said.
I stepped aside without a word, letting them file in.
Ananya was already seated on the couch. She looked up as they entered, her expression carefully neutral, but I saw the tension in her shoulders.
Rekha’s gaze landed on her. Recognition and calculation surfaced in her expression before she refocused her attention.
I took a seat beside Ananya. Dad and Rekha took the couch across the coffee table. Ayaan sat cross-legged on the armchair on the side.
Awkwardness settled in the room like an impermeable winter fog.
I couldn’t bring myself to offer water or tea. Or attempt the pleasantries that might’ve softened the edges of their callous behaviour. They could say their piece and leave.
‘Lehenga Bazaar has taken down Eternal Weave,’ Dad said finally. ‘They also want to compensate the Mahalas. Fifty lakhs. If you drop the lawsuit.’
‘That decision is Sharanji’s to make,’ I said.
‘If you talk to him—’
‘No.’ The word came out harder and quicker than intended. The only reason he was even mentioning LB was to protect Rekha. ‘I didn’t realise that, along with HoA’s CEO, you were Lehenga Bazaar’s advocate too.’
His jaw tightened. ‘Fine.’ He paused. ‘Drop your lawsuit against Rekha then.’
A dry laugh escaped me. ‘No.’
Rekha’s composure cracked ever so slightly, her face tightening around the eyes and mouth.
‘Jai.’ Dad’s voice wore down to something rawer. ‘She is my wife. You cannot sue her. Once the word gets out, the media will rip us apart. Our reputation—’
His words slammed against the icy walls of my temper. ‘And I am your son.’ My voice cleaved the moment in two. ‘You kicked me out. You don’t get to come to my house and lecture me about reputation.’
He stared at me, shock breaking across his face – or perhaps the belated realisation that I was no longer the boy who would absorb his expectations without a whimper.
Ayaan didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He stared at a fixed point somewhere between the coffee table and the floor, his jaw tight, doing the thing he had always done when there was conflict – going very still and hoping it passed over him.
‘I’m trying to find a solution,’ Dad said. ‘Just tell me what you want.’
I leaned back in my seat. ‘An apology.’
Silence.
My father had never apologised to anyone in his life. Maybe that was the problem. He had gone through life without a shred of self-reflection, expecting other people to bend backwards for him. And they always did.
Perhaps I was at fault too, for never taking a stand for myself. For wordlessly accepting the crumbs he called love.
‘You should already know that I’m sorry,’ he finally said, his tone frayed. ‘We all are.’
I glanced at Rekha. She sat still, her spine straight, hands in her lap, looking at the wall behind me.
‘I doubt that.’
‘I am.’ Her eyes finally met mine. ‘Sorry.’
‘I’m not the only one you need to apologise to.’ I reached for Ananya’s hand.
Rekha’s eyes flicked to our linked hands. Then to Ananya.
‘I apologise,’ she said, her voice perfectly measured and hollow.
Ananya scoffed.
‘Rekha,’ Dad said under his breath, a warning threading through his words.
She glanced at him, then back at Ananya, and swallowed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and this time there was an inadequate dash of realness beneath the words. ‘You were ...’ There was a brief pause. ‘It wasn’t fair to you.’
Ananya was quiet for a moment.
‘Why did you do it?’ Her voice was steady, but I felt her bruises. ‘You didn’t even know me. I had nothing to do with any of this.’
Rekha’s lips pressed together. ‘It wasn’t personal,’ she said.
Ananya turned her hand over and laced her fingers through mine. ‘Wasn’t it?’
Rekha said nothing. For a moment, her composure slipped – revealing a darker trace underneath. Pain. Or regret.
‘You hate me that much?’ I asked. I felt my ribs cinch tighter.
‘I don’t hate you,’ Rekha said. Her voice was even. Almost tired. ‘I never hated you.’
‘Then what?’
Her mask of composure fractured. Just enough to reveal the capacity for softness she possessed and reserved only for Ayaan and Dad. For the first time in my life, it felt directed at me. ‘It’s not that simple.’
‘It felt simple enough from where I was standing.’
‘I married into a family that had already decided who I was – a witch, for getting pregnant and shackling Vikram into a marriage,’ she said, her voice gaining an edge.
‘A replacement who would never measure up to his perfect dead wife.’ She exhaled sharply, her composure slipping another degree.
‘So I did what I had to do. I protected myself. And my son.’
Her hands trembled before she pressed them flat against her thighs. ‘I’m not the evil stepmother from your childhood nightmares, Jai. I never laid a hand on you. Never said anything cruel.’
‘No,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘But you were ... cold. Distant. Which is worse, because it’s hard to name.
Harder to prove.’ The words scraped out of me, harsh and broken.
‘I spent years thinking something was fundamentally wrong with me. That I was unlovable. Do you have any idea what that does to a child?’
‘I could have done better,’ she said, and the admission seemed to cut into her, costing her. ‘With you. When you were young. I could have—’ She stopped. Started again. ‘It wasn’t about you. Not really. But I understand that it felt that way.’
‘And when I grew up?’ My voice dropped, but the anger beneath it was molten. ‘When I became a threat instead of an inconvenience? That’s when you got strategic. You spied on me. Stole months of my work. My proposal. Handed it straight to a competitor like it meant nothing.’
The words hung between us, sharp-edged and damning.
‘That’s not a mother protecting her son,’ I said, each word deliberate. ‘That’s you eliminating competition. That’s you hating me enough to destroy me so Ayaan could rise.’
‘What?’ Ayaan’s head snapped up, his eyes cutting across the room to her. ‘You did this for me?’
‘Not just for you.’ Rekha’s hand shot out and grabbed Dad’s arm like a lifeline. ‘Tell him. Tell them both.’
The muscle in Dad’s jaw ticked.
‘Tell us what?’ I demanded.
Dad remained silent for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was slow.
Heavy. ‘After Pankti died, I … I was in a bad state,’ he started slowly.
‘Couldn’t focus on work. Made bad decisions.
Almost lost everything your Dadaji had spent his life building.
’ He paused, his gaze fixed on his hands.
‘That’s when Rekha got … our marriage was quick.
Unexpected. Her father was furious but gave us money to pay back some debts and expand House of Advani.
Forty crore. It was what took us national. ’
My stomach dropped.
‘It took me years of blood and sweat, but HoA took off. And when I tried to pay him back, he only took a part of it.’ He finally looked at me, and there was something defeated in his eyes. ‘And kept fifty-one per cent of the factories.’
The room spun. ‘He what?’
Dad’s nod was barely perceptible.
‘And he’s dying,’ Rekha said, her voice barely a whisper.
Her words slammed down like a wall.
Ayaan’s head whipped towards her. ‘What?’
She didn’t look at him, her red-rimmed eyes locked on me.
‘He’s dying. Cancer. And his will ...’ Her voice cracked, and for the first time, she looked afraid.
‘His will says that his stake in the factories only transfers to Ayaan if he’s named CEO and heir of House of Advani.
Otherwise ...’ She swallowed hard. ‘Otherwise, he sells them. To the highest bidder.’
The silence that followed was absolute.
‘What are you talking about?’ Ayaan’s voice was strangled. He was gripping the armrest so hard that his knuckles went bone-white. ‘I don’t ... You sabotaged Jai because of money?’
‘It’s not just money!’ Her voice rose, trembling with desperation.
‘It’s everything. That money, in this day and age, is seventy per cent of our liquid capital.
It’s money your father and I deserve to spend on our retirement after working hard our whole lives.
And spending crores to buy back what should already be Ayaan’s – what is legally his birthright – would cripple us. ’
‘My birthright?’ Ayaan stared at her, horrified. ‘You destroyed Jai’s work. You blackmailed someone. You tore this family apart over—’ His voice broke. ‘God, Jai, I didn’t know. I swear to you—’
‘I know,’ I said steadily, and meant it.
Ayaan was a lot of things. Spoilt. Carefree. Oblivious. But malicious and two-faced weren’t among them.
He turned back to Rekha. ‘How could you do this to him? You raised him. He’s my brother.’
‘And you’re my son.’ She faltered mid-sentence, unable to continue. ‘I … I couldn’t let you lose what should be yours. What you’ve earned—’
‘I haven’t earned anything.’ Ayaan’s laugh was bitter and broken. ‘That’s the whole problem, isn’t it? You’ve been clearing the path for me my entire life. And now I find out you did it by sabotaging Jai?’ He shook his head.
Rekha’s face crumpled.
‘If you’d told me,’ I said into the heavy silence, my voice barely above a whisper, ‘I would have stepped away. I would have given it up. All of it.’
The words settled between us – simple, honest, undeniable.
Rekha seemed to crumble, barely holding herself together.
‘I wanted to tell you. Both of you. But Vikram—’ She looked at Dad, accusation darkening her face.
‘He had this misguided notion that he owed you something. That he hadn’t been present enough when you were growing up.
That his grief, his work, his absence had damaged you.
’ Her voice turned sharp, bitter. ‘Never mind that he was absent for Ayaan, too. Or for me.’ She shook her head.
‘He refused to tell you the truth. He insisted on giving you both an equal shot at something that was never meant for you.’
I felt Ananya’s fingers tighten around mine. An anchor in the storm.
Dad sat perfectly still, staring at his hands like they held answers.
‘And you didn’t know? What was she doing?’ I asked. A large part of me knew he didn’t, but I needed the confirmation.
Dad looked up, his face stricken. ‘No.’ He glanced at Rekha, caught between betrayal and devastation. ‘I thought if I gave you both a fair chance, the most deserving person would win.’
Ayaan looked away.
All of us knew it was me. But I knew my little brother. The potential he had.
I swallowed. ‘Then why didn’t you tell us?’ My voice cracked. ‘About the will? About what was at stake? Ayaan would’ve worked harder. He—’ I shook my head. Nothing about this was fair.
‘I didn’t want to put that pressure on you two.
And didn’t want you to feel like you had to step aside to make it easier for us,’ Dad said.
‘The money … it was a price I was willing to pay.’ He looked at Rekha.
‘I–I knew Rekha wasn’t the mother you deserved.
I saw how you suffered. But I was too afraid to stand up to her back then.
Afraid she’d leave. Afraid it’d all go away. ’
Rekha flinched.
The pressure inside me became unbearable.
‘By the time I found the courage to do something about it, you were already gone,’ Dad continued. ‘So far away I couldn’t reach you anymore.’ He looked at me, his eyes shining. ‘I thought this was my chance to make it up to you.’
He’d known. He’d known what I was going through, but chose to remain silent for fear of losing his money and status.
Something within me fractured.
The three-year-old who’d lost both his parents in every way that mattered.
The ten-year-old who’d believed that love was earned.
The twenty-one-year-old who’d thought he needed to work at his family company to have a relationship with his father.
They all went silent.
‘I know an apology won’t fix this,’ he said, suddenly looking every one of his fifty-five years. ‘And I know I can’t undo the damage. But I’m here now, asking – begging – for a chance to try. To be the father I should have been. The father you deserved.’
I wanted to feel something.
Forgiveness. Understanding. Even pity.
But all I felt was tired.
‘I don’t know if I can give you what you’re asking for,’ I said finally. ‘Not right now. Maybe not for a long time.’
He nodded slowly, pain etched across his face.
‘But I’m not going to carry this anymore either.’ I exhaled, and it felt like releasing a breath I’d been holding for years. ‘I’m done being angry. Done letting this consume me.’
I looked at Rekha. At my father. At Ayaan, who sat frozen, looking like his world had just been rearranged.
‘If Ananya has accepted Rekha’s apology, I’ll drop the case against her. And the first step to forgiveness will be to revive Rivaayat with full funding and board approval.’
The relief was visible on his face.
‘I cannot promise that Sharanji will drop the lawsuit against LB or that Rekha won’t be dragged into it,’ I continued, ‘but I’ll talk to him. Have them double the compensation amount. That and Rivaayat should be enough to sway him.’
He would’ve been happy to have his name back on kauseya weave, but they had the means to do this, and he deserved it.
‘Consider it done.’ He nodded. ‘Does this mean you’ll come back to our company?’
I shook my head. ‘Ananya and I are starting our own company.’
He blinked. ‘That’s – that’s good. If there is anything I can do to help or—’
‘We’ll be fine.’
He looked between us, his eyes giving nothing away. Then he nodded once, slow and weary.
‘I do want to forgive you,’ I said softly. ‘But it’s going to take time. I’ve been doing the heavy lifting for twenty-five years.’ I held his gaze. ‘It’s your turn now.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
Rekha turned to Ananya. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and this time her voice was stripped of all pretence. ‘What I did to you was cruel and unfair, and you didn’t deserve any of it.’
Ananya, her hand still in mine, didn’t speak for a few seconds. ‘I don’t know if I’ll ever fully forgive you for it. But I ... all of us need to move on from this. So, I accept it.’
Rekha’s eyes closed briefly, relief washing over her face.
Dad looked between us. ‘It was nice to meet you, Ananya,’ he said. Then turned to me. ‘I’m proud of you, beta. I always have been.’
The words hit harder than I expected.
I didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
The tightness in my chest finally loosened after they left.
Ananya turned to me, her eyes searching my face. ‘You okay?’
I thought about it. Really thought about it.
The anger was there. The hurt. The years of accumulated disappointment, loneliness, and desperate wanting. They didn’t magically vanish.
But underneath it all was something else.
Peace, maybe. Or the beginning of it.
‘I will be,’ I said.
And for the first time in a long while, I actually believed it.