[66]RANVIJAY
AFTER 6 MONTHS,,
The winter had softened into a pleasant spring, the haveli courtyard filled with blooming marigolds and the laughter of children playing outside.
Amisha stepped through the main door, school bag slung over one shoulder, her simple cotton saree slightly dusty from the short walk from the car.
She had rejoined her teaching job at the village school two months ago (now that Aviraj was eating khichdi, mashed fruits, and dal, and no longer fully dependent on breastfeeding).
Teaching felt good again-like reclaiming a part of herself.
But the moment she entered, she heard familiar cooing from the living room.
Dadi sat on the sofa, Aviraj on her lap, a small bowl of mashed banana and khichdi in her hand.
The little boy (now six months old, chubby, bright-eyed, and full of mischief) was grabbing at the spoon, making a mess.
Amisha smiled, dropped her bag, and walked over.
"Dadi... main aa gayi."
She scooped Aviraj into her arms.
He immediately grinned, arms reaching for her, babbling happily.
Dadi laughed.
"Aaj Aviraj ne kya kiya pata hai?"
Amisha raised an eyebrow, kissing Aviraj's cheek.
"Kya kiya Dadi ab nanhe chor ne?"
Dadi leaned forward, eyes twinkling.
"Abhiraj ko iske aeroplane fek ke maara!"
Amisha's eyes widened.
"Ohh... laga hoga na?!"
Dadi nodded.
"Haan thoda laga... aur Abhiraj ne daanta bhi toh yeh mahashay rone lage.
Tab se main khila rahi hoon."
Amisha looked at Aviraj, mock-stern.
"Aviraj! Papa ko maara? Bad boy!"
Aviraj blinked innocently, big hazel eyes wide, then mumbled something incoherent (baby talk, but clearly trying to defend himself).
He leaned into her chest, nuzzling, and said in his cute, garbled voice:
"Sawwwory..."
(Sorry.)
Amisha melted instantly.
"It's okay, beta.
Chalo Papa se milte hain."
She stood, Aviraj on her hip, and headed upstairs.
First to their bedroom (dropped her bag, adjusted her pallu).
Then to Abhiraj's home office.
The door was open.
Abhiraj sat at his desk, papers spread, but looking up the moment she entered.
He smiled (that soft, warm smile reserved only for her and their son).
"Arre aa gayi tum school se?"
She nodded, walking in.
"Haan... thodi der pehle."
She hopped up on the edge of his desk as usual (old habit), Aviraj still on her hip, now reaching for the pen in Abhiraj's hand.
She took Abhiraj's hand (the one with the small scratch and dried blood).
"Arre... bohot lag gayi?"
Abhiraj glanced at it casually.
"Arre koi na... aaj kal toh mujhe Aviraj bohot maarta hai, pata nahi kyun."
He made a fake sad face at the baby.
Aviraj looked at him, then at Amisha, then back at Abhiraj.
Mumbled seriously.
"Sobby Pap...a."
(Sorry Papa.)
Amisha laughed, applying a small bandage from the drawer.
"Theek hai na?"
Abhiraj nodded.
"Theek hi tha... halka sa laga hai."
Then Aviraj twisted in her arms, reaching toward her chest, babbling insistently.
"Bhoo doodu..."
(Give me water)
Amisha sighed, half-laughing.
"Chalo... main jaati hoon bhoo pilaati hoon Aviraj ko."
She jumped down from the table, Aviraj waving bye-bye to his Papa.
Abhiraj watched them go, smiling.
The little troublemaker and his beautiful mother.
His world.
Complete chaos.
Perfect happiness.
Amisha carried Aviraj on her hip, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water after playing in the courtyard.
The kitchen was cool and spacious, the faint smell of afternoon chai lingering.
Shushila stood near the counter, her six-month bump prominent under her loose kurti, hand in a dibba of mango achar.
Amisha paused, smiling.
"Arre tum yahan kya kar rahi ho, Shushila?
Araam karo na."
Shushila turned, cheeks flushed, a guilty little smile.
"Nahi... mujhe kuch khana tha."
Amisha raised an eyebrow.
"Kya khana hai?"
Shushila held up the achar dibba shyly.
"Bas... thoda achar."
Amisha laughed softly, understanding completely.
She placed Aviraj on a high chair with a sippy cup of water to keep him busy, then handed the achar dibba to Shushila.
"Le... khao."
Shushila started eating happily, eyes closing in bliss at the spicy-sour taste.
Then Karishma waddled in (two months pregnant, already craving everything).
"Arre tum khud achar kha rahi ho?
Main bhi achar khane hi aayi thi!"
Both pregnant bahus laughed, sharing the dibba like sisters.
Amisha shook her head fondly, picked up Aviraj again (he was done with water and reaching for her), and slipped out the back door.
The back courtyard opened to the fields (golden wheat swaying, a few peacocks strutting in the distance, cows grazing lazily).
Mother and son stood at the edge, Amisha pointing.
"Dekho beta... peacock!"
Aviraj babbled excitedly, tiny finger pointing.
"Coo... coo!"
Amisha smiled, kissing his cheek.
Then a familiar voice shouted.
"AMISHAAA!"
She sighed, already knowing.
Turned.
Ranvijay (the seven-year-old from the naming ceremony) came running from the lane, school bag bouncing, face lit up like he had won a prize.
He stopped in front of her, panting, grinning.
Amisha crouched to his level.
"Arre Ranvijay... phir aagye?"
He nodded vigorously.
Then a shadow fell over them.
Both looked up.
Abhiraj stood there (arms crossed, face stern, eyes narrowed at the boy).
Ranvijay gulped.
Amisha stood, hiding her smile.before abhiraj could scold him.
Ranvijay spoke, voice low but firm.
"Maine aapko clear kar diya tha na do din pehle...
ki Amisha se shaadi nahi,apki beti se karunga."
Ranvijay puffed his cheeks, stubborn.
"Aur maine bhi clear kiya tha...
nahi!nahi amisha or nahi meri beti!"
Abhiraj's face darkened.
Amisha tried to intervene.
"Arre itna gussa kyun ho rahe ho... bachha hai."
Abhiraj made a face (half jealous, half possessive).
"Bachha hi toh bol raha hai meri beti se shaadi karega!"
Ranvijay looked up at Abhiraj defiantly.
"Karunga!"
Abhiraj leaned down slightly.
"mae karne nhi dunga."
Amisha bit her lip to hide her laugh.
The little boy and the big man (both fighting over her and a daughter who didn't even exist yet).
She shook her head.
Men.
Always the same.
No matter the age.
The sun had softened into late afternoon gold, the courtyard quiet except for the occasional bird call and the distant lowing of cows.
The family had settled on the wide stone benches under the neem tree-tea served, plates of snacks half-eaten.
Abhiraj sat on one bench, Aviraj in his lap, the baby happily chewing on a soft biscuit, drooling on his father's kurta.
Amisha sat beside him, but in her lap was Ranvijay-the seven-year-old troublemaker perched proudly, legs swinging, grinning ear to ear.
After the earlier scolding from Amisha ("Dono lad rahe ho jaise do chhote bachhe!"), both Abhiraj and Ranvijay had gone quiet.
No more fighting.
Abhiraj's face was blank ????, eyes fixed ahead, jaw tight.
Ranvijay was the picture of victory, leaning comfortably against Amisha.
Abhiraj finally spoke, voice flat.
"Woh wahan kyun baitha hai?"
He nodded toward Ranvijay without looking.
Amisha answered calmly, stroking the boy's hair.
"Usko yahan baithna tha... isliye baitha hai."
Ranvijay beamed wider, snuggling closer.
Abhiraj's expression didn't change.
Then the driver appeared at the courtyard gate, looking worried, cap in hand.
"Sarpanch ji... aaj late ho gaye."
Abhiraj nodded.
"Ranvijay ko ghar chhod dena."
The driver turned to the boy.
"Chalo beta, ghar chalte hain."
Ranvijay shook his head stubbornly.
"Nahi jaana!"
(Ranvijay comes to amisha evertime.he plays withs his mind and escapes from driver and come to amisha.so bechara driver always comes behind him to take him home back.)
Abhiraj's voice turned sharper.
"Nikal yahan se."
Amisha shot him a glare.
Abhiraj caught it, paused, then switched to fake sweetness.
"Jao beta... ghar pe padhna bhi hoga na?"
Ranvijay crossed his arms, still stubborn.
Amisha leaned down, voice calm and reasonable.
"Jao ghar.
Padhoge nahi toh paise kaise kamaoge?
Kamaoge nahi toh shaadi kaise hogi?"
Ranvijay's eyes widened.
He jumped down immediately.
"Haan! Main jaata hoon!"
He waved bye to Amisha, ran to the driver, and off they went.
Abhiraj watched him go, muttering.
"Yeh padhe ya kuchh bhi kare...
main toh permission nahi dunga meri beti ke liye."
Amisha turned to him, eyebrows raised.
"Aapko kyun yeh ladka pasand nahi hai?"
Abhiraj shrugged, face still ??.
"Pata nahi.
Bas... mujhe yeh ladka pasand nahi."
Amisha laughed softly, shaking her head.
Aviraj babbled in his lap, waving a sticky hand.
Abhiraj looked down at his son, then at Amisha.
The jealousy lingered (funny, irrational, but very real).
Because even at seven years old,
Ranvijay was competition.
And Abhiraj Shekhawat didn't share.
Not his wife.
Not his future daughter.
Ever.
Guys please suggest me the name of amisha abhiraj daughter.me do story likhne vali hu megna and vedant.and amisha abhiraj daughter and ranvijay.
In next it will be note with their photos okay.