[46]WINTER NIGHTS
A huge bonfire crackled in the middle of the open courtyard, flames leaping high, throwing golden light and long shadows across the old stone pillars.
The scent of burning neem wood and roasting sweet potatoes filled the night.
Everyone was gathered in a loose circle around the fire (no formal seating, just pure family chaos wrapped in wool and warmth).
Dadi sat in her favourite cushioned wicker chair, three shawls piled on her lap, muffler up to her nose, holding a long iron rod with a fat sweet potato speared on the end, turning it slowly like a pro.
Rajveer Papa stood behind her, jacket zipped, one hand on her shoulder, quietly laughing at something she muttered.
Minakshi Ma and Karishma sat together on a long wooden bench, legs stretched toward the fire, sharing one big Kashmiri shawl like mother and daughter already.
Mihir and Shatish were perched on the wide marble railing, jackets open, competing over whose sweet potato would blacken first.
Shushila sat cross-legged on a durrie, close enough to the flames to keep warm, quietly breaking roasted peanuts and passing them around.
Megha was literally sitting on the stone table itself, legs Swinging.
And right in the centre, on the best spot (a low wooden takhat covered with a thick rajai), sat Abhiraj and Amisha.
Abhiraj leaned back against a little, one arm stretched along the backrest, the other wrapped loosely around Amisha’s shoulders.
He wore a thick black sweater and a muffler loosely looped around his neck (because Amisha had forced it on him with a stern “Thand lag jayegi!”).
Amisha was bundled like a burrito:
two shawls, one blanket over her legs, her seven-month bump making a perfect little hill under the layers.
She sat nestled into his side, head on his shoulder, both hands wrapped around a steel glass of adrak-elaichi chai.
Sweet potatoes were being passed around on a big brass plate (some perfectly golden, some hilariously charred).
Dadi poked her stick toward Amisha.
“Le beta, yeh wala tere liye (perfect hai, na zyada kala, na kacha).
Baby ko bhi pasand aayega.”
Amisha took it happily, blew on it, then immediately held it up to Abhiraj’s mouth.
“mu kholie.”
He took a dramatic bite, eyes on her the whole time.
“Sweet.”
Mihir tossed a peanut at Abhiraj. “Bhaiya, apne toh record tod diya. Das din bahar reh ke bhi wapas aate hi romance karte ho.hatho se khate ho”
Abhiraj caught the peanut mid-air, popped it in his mouth, and shrugged.
“Das din akele rehna padha tha.
Ab har minute ka interest bharunga.”
Amisha look at him like now shutup.
Karishma laughed, leaning into Mihir.
“Ab toh hum log bhi seekh lenge aap dono se.”
Rajveer Papa cleared his throat, pretending to be stern.
“Bas bas, yeh sab honeymoon baatein band karo.
Sweet potato khao.”
But he was smiling too.
The fire crackled higher when someone threw in more wood.
Sparks flew up into the starry sky.
Amisha sighed happily, snuggling deeper into Abhiraj’s side.
He tightened his arm, kissed the top of her head through the shawl when no one was seeing.
Dadi looked around at her children and grandchildren, eyes misty.
“Yeh raatein… yeh bonfire… yeh hansi…
isse kehte hain sukh, beta log.”
Everyone went quiet for a moment, feeling it.
Then Megha ruined the sentiment by yelling,
“Arre koi gaana shuru karo na!”
Mihir immediately started “Suraj hua maddham…” off-key.
Within seconds the whole family was singing (horribly, loudly, joyfully).
Amisha laughed until her eyes watered, clutching Abhiraj’s hand under the blanket.
He leaned down, lips brushing her ear
“Das din ke baad bhi… tere bina ek pal nahi reh sakta.”
She turned, kissed tapped his jaw softly.
“Toh mat raho.
Hamesha mere paas raho.”
The fire burned brighter.
The family sang louder.
(The bonfire was still crackling, everyone laughing over Mihir’s terrible singing)
Then it came.
A woman’s scream (sharp, terrified, cut off too quickly).
Silence fell like a stone.
Another scream, weaker, followed by the unmistakable sound of something heavy hitting the floor.
Every head turned toward the back wall.
The Rana house (their neighbours, middle-class family, shared compound wall).
Abhiraj was on his feet first.
Rajveer Papa right behind him.
The women instinctively moved closer to their husbands:
Minakshi Ma’s hand found Rajveer’s arm,
Karishma clutched Mihir,
Shushila stepped behind Shatish,
Amisha’s fingers tightened around Abhiraj’s sleeve.
Dadi’s walking stick tapped once on the floor, sharp.
“Chalo.”
No one argued.
The entire family moved as one toward the back gate that opened into the shared lane.
Abhiraj led, jaw already tight.
They reached the Rana back door in less than a minute.
Abhiraj knocked (three hard, deliberate knocks).
The door opened slowly.
Ashish Rana stood there, shirt half-buttoned, eyes bloodshot, breath reeking of cheap liquor.
He blinked, saw the entire Shekhawat family standing in the dark lane, and tried for a smile that looked more like a snarl.
“Kya hua, Sarpanch ji? Itni raat ko?”
Abhiraj didn’t answer.
His gaze moved past Ashish, into the dim room behind.
And there she was.
Poonam Rana (Ashish’s wife) stood in the shadows, trying to pull her pallu higher, trying to turn her face away.
But the light from the veranda caught her anyway.
Left cheek swollen purple
Corner of lip split and bleeding.
One eye already half-shut.
Finger marks on her throat.
Amisha’s hand flew to her mouth.
Minakshi Ma made a small, pained sound.
Abhiraj’s fists clenched so hard the knuckles went white.
His voice came out low, lethal, every word carved in ice.
“Dekho, Rana.
Yeh sab yahan nahi chalega.
Jahan main sarpanch hoon, wahan aurat pe haath uthana band ho jaata hai.
Aaj.”
Ashish swayed, tried to laugh it off.
“Arre sir… woh bas gir gayi thi… thoda sa jhagda hua…”
Shatish stepped forward, voice calm but deadly.
“Gir gayi thi?
Itna bada nishaan girne se banta hai kya?”
Minakshi Ma’s voice cut through, sharp as a knife.
“Haan, dikhai de raha hai kon ‘gir gaya’ hai.”
Poonam’s voice came from behind (small, trembling, terrified).
“Koi zarurat nahi, Sarpanch ji… hum theek hain… main gir gayi thi…”
A clear, desperate lie.
Everyone heard it.
Ashish’s eyes darted (he knew the game was up).
He forced a nod, hands raised in mock surrender.
“Ji… ji… ab se haath nahi uthaunga. Promise.”
Abhiraj stared at him for three long seconds (long enough for Ashish to feel the weight of what almost happened).
Then Abhiraj spoke, voice so low it was worse than shouting.
“Ek baar phir suna…
to sirf police nahi,me khud tujko samjaunga.”
Dadi turned, placed a gentle hand on Poonam’s shoulder for one second (just long enough to say, without words, “You are not alone”).
Then they walked away.
The whole family followed.
Door slammed shut behind them (Ashish locking it fast, as if a lock could save him from what he had just invited).
Back at the bonfire, no one spoke for a long time.
Dadi finally broke the silence, voice steady.
“Kal subah panchayat bulao, Abhiraj.
Aise mard ko sabak dena padega (sabke saamne).”
Abhiraj nodded once.
Amisha slipped her hand into his, squeezing tight.
He squeezed back
(harder than usual).
The fire crackled on.
But the warmth felt different now.
Protective.
Fierce.
Because in this haveli, no woman ever stood alone.
And any man who forgot that
would learn the Shekhawat way (the hard way).