Chapter 49 A Vardhan Never Just Rents
Even peace feels like a deal when you've spent your life negotiating chaos.
- Vritant Vardhan
Vritant entered the club and made his way to Table No. 7 - his usual spot, the one that had seen more secrets than witnesses.
His opponent was already waiting.
"Ready to lose, Vritant?" the man smirked.
"My deck, your game," Vritant said coolly, sliding a leather case across the table.
Neil stepped forward, expression unreadable, and opened the case. Inside lay a crisp deck of cards - matte black with silver edges.
"Only one rule," Neil announced, voice echoing faintly under the chandelier's hum. "Play with sir's deck."
The opponent raised a brow. "Special cards?"
Neil smiled faintly. "Fifty-two cards, but the seven of diamonds and seven of hearts are missing. Two jokers added. Sir's rule."
The man nodded, intrigued, and took the deck - unaware that when you played with Vritant Vardhan's cards, the real gamble was never on the table.
They began to play. The room dimmed into a haze of cigars, murmurs, and muffled music. Chips clinked, cards flipped, and tension sat between them like an old spectator.
Round after round, the stakes grew higher.
And for the first time in a long time - Vritant lost.
The opponent smirked and leaned back, counting the money with exaggerated delight. "Guess the legend bleeds after all."
Vritant calmly leaned forward, elbows on the table, gaze locked.
"Legends don't bleed," he said coolly. "They just let idiots think they won."
The legend lost 10 crores in one blow.
The opponent grinned, smug and glowing in his false victory. "Ten crores down, Vardhan. Guess luck doesn't bow to power."
Vritant leaned back in his chair, rolled his cuffs, and smirked faintly.
"Luck doesn't bow to power," he said, "it just waits for entertainment."
He stood, adjusted his blazer, and added with that lazy, lethal calm - "Keep the money. Consider it tuition for the lesson you just missed."
"I would've won," the man gloated, shuffling the cards, "because I bought this club yesterday."
"For 200 crores, to be precise?" Vritant asked.
The man froze. His smirk vanished as fast as his color. How did Vritant know? And if he did-why did he still lose?
But ego loves an audience. He turned and shouted, "Free drinks for everyone! The legend finally fell!"
Vritant pushed his chair back, straightened his blazer, and walked out-calm, unreadable. Neil opened the club door; Rawat was already waiting by the car.
"Sir?" Rawat asked quietly.
"Transfer the money," Vritant said, sliding into the backseat.
In the rear-view mirror, he caught sight of a few men standing by - Sudarshan Rao's men. His smirk deepened.
"PM sahiba's men are here," he said. "Inform them I lost ten crores. I want this club sealed by tomorrow morning."
Neil's brow twitched, realizing what was happening. Vritant hadn't lost the game - he'd just changed the board.
"If they need reasons for the raid," Vritant continued, his voice low and measured, "send them the documents I forwarded you."
He looked out the window as the club lights faded behind him.
"Some games," he said under his breath, "are meant to be lost... just to bankrupt the winner." Vritant hadn't lost the game. He was simply playing the one no one else knew existed.
??? V ? A ???
He walked into the Hall of Fame - the underground detention wing that had nothing to do with fame. The air reeked of rust, sweat, and confessions no one would ever hear again.
He stopped before a cell and unlocked it.
Dr. Aman looked up, tied to a chair, voice hoarse. "Sir... please tell me, what's my fault?"
Vritant leaned against the opposite chair, gaze steady, voice calm. "Why were you with my wife during the riots?"
"Sir, I told you already," Aman said, repeating the line like a prayer. "My schedule was with ma'am. We were supposed to visit the new hospital."
Vritant nodded slowly. "And then the riots broke out. She left in her car. You went with her, right?"
"Yes, sir. As soon as we heard the news, we sent her in the car so she could reach home safely."
We.
Vritant tilted his head. "We - as in you and who?"
"I and ma'am's driver, sir. We just wanted her safe."
There was a pause. The kind that made even silence nervous.
"Did you like her?" Vritant asked suddenly.
"In our hospital, everyone admires ma'am," Aman stammered. "She's kind, calm, hardworking-"
"Do you like her?" Vritant repeated, tone colder.
Aman swallowed hard. "Sir, I respect her. I want to be like her. There's nothing-"
"One last time," Vritant said softly, leaning closer. "Did you look at my wife?"
"No, sir," Aman whispered, eyes wide.
Vritant straightened, expression unreadable. Then, without raising his voice or his pulse, he said, "Good."
A thud echoed through the walls. The sound of pain, muffled and brief - followed by silence.
He adjusted his cuffs, took out his handkerchief, and wiped his hands. "That's for lying," he murmured and tossed the cloth aside.
As he stepped out, his eyes fell on another cell.
Ashish was inside - muttering, laughing, talking to someone who wasn't there.
Vritant stopped outside his cell. "Ashish... beta," he said quietly.
Ashish's head snapped up. He ran to the bars, eyes wild. "Papa!" he screamed.
Vritant smiled faintly - that cruel, satisfied kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"So... he thinks I'm his father," he said to himself. "Perfect."
He turned, his expression settling back into calm authority.
"Stop giving him the drug," he ordered, voice flat, almost bored.
Then he walked out of the Hall of Fame - as if nothing inside it had ever happened.
??? V ? A ???
His car stopped in front of Vardhan LifeCare, and he saw Adhrita stepping out of the hospital. She looked utterly exhausted, the kind of tired that clung to the bones.
He got out, and before he could say a word, she ran straight into his arms and sighed against his chest.
"Tired?" he asked softly.
"Long surgeries," she murmured, closing her eyes as if his voice alone could let her rest.
He took the bag off her shoulder, opened the car door, and guided her inside. Once she sat in the backseat, he slid in beside her and gestured Rawat to start driving.
Adhrita rested her head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. Vritant reached forward and pressed a button - the glass partition slid up, sealing them in quiet privacy.
The city's chaos dimmed outside the tinted windows. Inside, there was only the rhythm of her breathing and the faint scent of antiseptic and jasmine clinging to her scrubs.
He looked down at her - the woman who could heal others yet had no idea what she did to him - and for a fleeting moment, the storm in his chest went still.
He gently brushed a few strands of hair from her face, his eyes softening for the first time that day.
"You look exhausted," he murmured.
"I am," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "But this feels better than sleep."
He smiled faintly - the kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes but still belonged only to her. Outside, the city blurred into streaks of light and noise, but inside that car, there was silence - the kind that only existed when two people didn't need words anymore.
She curled closer, her breath warm against his neck. He leaned his head back, eyes half-closed. For once, power, politics, and paranoia all waited outside the car.
Only tenderness drove tonight.
As they reached home, she was fast asleep. He carried her to their room, laid her gently on the bed, and went downstairs to the kitchen.
Aasha Tai and Maharaj looked a little surprised to see him there.
"Heat the food," he said quietly.
Maharaj nodded and began reheating it while Aasha Tai prepared the tray.
"Baba, I'll take it upstairs," Maharaj offered.
"No," Vritant said simply, taking the tray himself.
He went back to the room, placed the tray on the side table, and sat beside Adhrita. He gently shook her shoulder, but she turned to the other side.
"Ace, have dinner," he said softly.
"I won't," she mumbled in her sleep, frowning.
Vritant smiled faintly and made her sit up; her head rested on his shoulder as she dozed off again. Patiently, he fed her one bite after another.
"Jaan, eat properly," he murmured, and she lazily opened her mouth for another bite.
When she finished, he made her drink a little water.
"Jaan, at least change," he said.
"You make me change," she whispered drowsily.
He smiled, went to the dressing room, and came back with one of his T-shirts. Gently, he helped her out of her top and slipped the oversized shirt over her. She pressed a sleepy kiss to his cheek.
He tucked her in, covering her with the comforter, and planted a soft kiss on her forehead and cheek.
"Good night, jaan," he whispered.
Then, taking a small gift box from his pocket, he opened it to reveal a pair of delicate silver toe rings. He sat near her feet, lifted the comforter slightly, and kissed her toes.
He whispered softly, almost like a vow only the night was meant to hear -
"So even when I'm not beside you, I'll still touch the ground you walk on.And the next time you get angry and you stomp your foot, it'll still sound like my name."
He slipped the toe rings on gently, careful not to wake her. The silver caught the dim bedside light - delicate, almost shy - just like her when she first entered his world.
For a long moment, he simply sat there, watching her sleep. The same woman who could silence his chaos just by breathing.
He brushed a strand of hair away from her face and smiled faintly after planting a soft kiss on moles of her neck.
"Good night, Hritmine," he murmured, and switched off the light.
??? V ? A ???
He went to his private study and stood before his brother's photograph. Taking it off the wall, he retrieved a small recorder hidden behind the frame and plugged it into his laptop.
A familiar voice filled the room - "Please take care of him."
Adhrita's voice. Soft. Trembling. She had been talking to his dead brother, not him.
He smiled faintly, a hint of irony curling at the corner of his lips.
"I used to bug you enough," he murmured to the photo. "Now even your sister-in-law's joined the club. She's... a little too sentimental about me. Please tell her to forgive me. I know my accident still bothers her-but you know me better, right?"
He hung the frame back on the wall, straightened it with precision, and turned to his desk.
Picking up his phone, he dialed a number.
"Where's Shweta bua?" he asked.
"In Mumbai, sir."
"And Anamika chachi?"
"In Delhi. Her next meeting is with Shweta Malhotra - your bua's hosting a party there," the voice on the other end replied.
"Keep tracking, Jack," he said coolly and cut the call.
He set the phone down just as Shaurya walked in with Karma trotting beside him. The dog leapt into Vritant's lap, curling up instantly.
"Good night," Shaurya said with a faint smile, yawning.
"Good night, Papa," Vritant replied softly, his hand absently running over Karma's fur as the room fell silent again.
He took a blank sheet of paper and uncapped his pen. At the top, in bold strokes, he wrote:
RashtraDhara Party (RDP) and beneath it, after a brief pause, he scribbled the slogan -
"Jahaan desh sirf ek vichar nahi, ek zimmedari hai."
(Where the nation is not just an idea - it's a responsibility.)
He looked at the words for a long time - RashtraDhara Party (RDP). Then, with a faint smirk, he scratched out the earlier slogan and wrote a new one beneath it in bold strokes:
"Rajneeti nahi, RashtraNeeti."
(Not politics - national ethics.)
He leaned back in his chair, tapping the pen against the table.
Then, almost to himself, he smirked.
"If you love the lotus, you learn to stand in the mud."
Just then, Rawat knocked and entered.
"Yes, Eklavya Rawat," Vritant said without looking up.
Rawat froze for a second - Eklavya Rawat? He couldn't remember the last time Vritant had used his full name.
"Sir, your island is ready," Rawat informed.
"Thank you," Vritant said simply.
That thank you hit harder than any order ever had. Rawat just nodded, masking his confusion, and left quietly.
Vritant got up, switched off the study lamp, and walked to the bedroom. Karma padded behind him, tail wagging low.
"Shh... she's sleeping," Vritant whispered, and Karma obediently curled up on his rug.
He changed into a T-shirt and shorts, then slipped into bed. As always, he rested his feet over hers - a quiet habit of claiming warmth, a small ritual of reassurance.
Adhrita stirred in her sleep and instinctively nestled closer. He smiled, wrapped an arm around her, and closed his eyes - for the first time that night, not as a Vardhan, not as a strategist, not even as a survivor. Just as a man who finally belonged somewhere.
??? V ? A ???
He landed in Mumbai and drove straight to Shweta Vardhan Malhotra's house. The butler bowed slightly and hurried inside to inform Shweta and Anamika of his arrival.
They turned from the living room sofa, half laughing at some conversation, when they saw him entering with that familiar, mischievous smile.
"Good evening, aunties..." he greeted, arms slightly open in mock formality.
Shweta immediately got up and hugged him. "You were supposed to come yesterday!"
"Yeah, I thought I'd wait till Anamika chachi reached, so I could meet both my favorite women together," he said, dropping comfortably onto the sofa like it was his own home.
"Vritant, you here?" Anamika asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Yes, chachi," he said smoothly. "Came to meet a long-lost friend."
Anamika chuckled. "You don't have friends, so stop joking."
He laughed, leaning back. "Aah, you caught me. But it seems you two are best of friends these days." His tone carried a teasing undertone - one that didn't go unnoticed.
"Vritant, what's going on?" Shweta asked, concern flickering as she sat beside him.
"What do you mean?" he asked innocently.
"You're not here for a kitty party," she said pointedly.
"That's why I love you, bua - you're the smartest one in the family. Sometimes I wonder, kahi main aapka nalayak beta toh nahi?" he quipped, and laughed at her glare.
"Shut up," she said, half amused. "Now tell us what you've come up with."
Anamika joined, settling on the opposite sofa.
"I and my sasurji were working on a project," he began, his tone shifting - calm but deliberate. "And guess what?"
"What?" Anamika asked.
"I found two very honorable names." He looked between them, pausing long enough for tension to build.
Shweta frowned. "Whose names?"
He smiled - that cold, dangerous smile that meant trouble.
"Once upon a time, my brother and I were kidnapped from Mumbai's Chowpatty." He leaned forward. "And guess who helped those terrorists?"
"Who?" Shweta asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Shweta Vardhan," he pointed at her. "And Anamika Vardhan," he turned to her.
Anamika's face went pale for a second before anger rose to replace it.
"Are you mad, Vritant?" she snapped.
He only smiled wider - the kind that said the game had just begun.
Vritant tilted his head, resting an elbow on the armrest and tapping his ring finger lightly - a gesture that usually meant he already knew too much.
"Mad?" he repeated with a half-smile. "No, chachi. Madness needs chaos. I'm far too methodical for that."
"Don't talk in riddles, Vritant," Shweta warned, her tone uneasy now.
"Riddles?" he chuckled softly. "No riddles today, bua.
Just revelations." He leaned forward, his voice calm but sharp enough to cut glass.
"You know what's fascinating about power?
It doesn't always come from the Prime Minister's chair.
Sometimes, it sits quietly in family living rooms- sipping herbal tea and pretending innocence. "
"Enough, Vritant," Anamika snapped. "You think you can just barge in and-"
He raised a hand, silencing her effortlessly. "Please, chachi. Don't raise your voice. I've seen ministers tremble when PM sahiba raises an eyebrow. You're not built for that league."
"You should tell yourself enough is enough!
" Anamika's voice cracked through the silence.
"Vedant died eighteen years ago, Vritant.
He's been dead longer than he was alive!
He lived what-twelve years? And you're still grieving him?
Neither are you living, nor are you letting anyone else live!
If you keep digging into the past, you'll end up burying your own future.
You're not grieving anymore-you're punishing everyone around you for the pain you can't let go of! "
Vritant didn't flinch. He just tilted his head slightly, eyes cold and steady.
"Is that so?" he said, his voice calm, almost too calm.
"Then why can't you accept that Aaradhya is no longer your daughter-but your elder sister-in-law's puppet?
Don't you still whisper that Vedashree Vardhan stole your only daughter?
Wasn't that the real reason you tried to steal her only son-to keep me for yourself? "
His voice hardened. "If you couldn't handle the pain of separation, what right do you have to tell me to move on? My half soul died so I could survive. Vedant lent me this life-and every breath I take is borrowed from him."
Anamika's jaw clenched. "People die and families move on.
Look at you-you neither move on, nor let anyone else!
And now you're accusing us of that incident?
I carried everyone's burden when you and your parents locked yourselves away, drowning in grief.
You should be thankful. And as for Aaradhya-Vedashree bhabhi snatched her from me the moment she realised she hadn't just lost one son... but both."
Vritant's laugh was bitter, almost cruel.
"Really? Then why don't you move on from Aaradhya?" he asked. "Pretend she was never your daughter. Pretend she was Vedashree Vardhan's. Forget her." He took a step closer. "Not so easy, is it?"
He exhaled slowly. "My brother gave his life for me. He left me this life. So tell me, Anamika chachi... why did Aaradhya leave you?"
Her silence trembled in the air.
"Oh, right," he said, voice laced with venom.
"Let me remind you. She defended that rapist MLA and blamed a seventeen-year-old girl for ruining his reputation.
That girl committed suicide, remember? Because your precious daughter's channel ran the story that she couldn't face 'reality'.
The truth was that the MLA raped her.
But Aaradhya didn't dig deep enough. She supported him blindly. "
He leaned in, tone razor-sharp.
"And when she found out the truth-did she face it? Did she take responsibility? No. She ran straight to you. And you covered her tracks like always."
He straightened up, voice dropping to an almost lethal calm.
"Moral of the story, chachi-if you could go to any length to save your daughter, even when she was wrong, don't preach to me about grief."
He took a slow breath.
"My brother gave his life for me-for this country-for its people. And you already know," he said, his gaze locked on hers, "your life exists only because they chose him. They were ready to kill every Vardhan that day. But they spared you because he stepped forward."
He turned away, voice soft but edged with finality.
"So don't talk to me about letting go, Anamika chachi. Because the truth is-you're breathing because my brother stopped."
"What do you want me to do then?" Anamika's voice trembled, wounded and angry.
"Just be thankful I didn't start collecting the debt for every breath you owe because of my brother," Vritant said flatly.
He turned to Shweta, eyes cold. "I just found out you and Shweta bua were involved in that kidnapping."
"I swear on Aryan, I had nothing to do with it," Shweta cried.
"Fine. Then Aryan will come with me to face whatever punishment you think fits." His tone was a threat wrapped in silk. "I know your weakness, bua ji."
"Don't hurt him," she blurted, panic cracking her voice. "If you think I'm the culprit, take me-take me instead. I'll disappear. No one will ever know." Tears tracked down her cheeks.
Vritant's face softened for a heartbeat - a crack in the armour. "Agar mera Vedu hota..." she began, voice breaking, remembering. The name split something open in him; his fa?ade cracked.
"Well, he's not alive anymore, Shwetuu bua," Vritant said, and turned away.
"Just one time, Vritu..." The nickname tugged him back. He stopped, looked at her, and without a word went to her and hugged her hard.
"What about me, Vritant?" Anamika asked, voice raw. "I am just a mother without children now." Pain lay in every syllable.
He stepped out of the embrace and faced her. "I came to find out if you had a hand in it. You would go to any length to save your children - but you wouldn't kill us for it."
"Haaan beta," she whispered, coming forward despite herself. "For you, I'd kill- but I could never lose my child." She wrapped her arms around him, trembling.
He held her back - not with triumph this time, but with something quieter: acknowledgment, sorrow, a complicated, brittle mercy.
??? V ? A ???
He sat at Marine Drive, eyes fixed on the restless waves. The sea reflected the same chaos that lived in him - loud, endless, and unanswerable.
Adwait Agnivanshi walked up and sat silently beside him. No words, no greetings - just the weight of two men who had seen too much.
"Still fighting with yourself?" Adwait finally asked.
Vritant exhaled slowly, gaze unmoving.
"Zindagi ne fir se waha laa kar khada kar diya," he said quietly, "jahan mera dushman sirf main hoon."
"Ghar gaye the?" Adwait asked.
Vritant nodded.
"Ruke?"
He shook his head.
Adwait leaned back, eyes on the horizon. "Aasman thodi tha ki ruk nahi paaye... ghar tha, naa?" he paused, voice softer now. "Ya darr hai ki koi tumhaara tinka-tinka jod kar tum mein apna ghar bana rahi hai? Aur agar usne bana liya, toh phir kya hoga?"
A faint smile curved on Vritant's lips - tired, ironic. "Yeh kaisa pyaar hai, Adwait... jo tumhe jodta hai, usse hi tod dete ho?"
Adwait chuckled under his breath. "Shayad bhagwan ne issi liye doctor biwi di hai."
Vritant laughed - the kind of laugh that cracked the silence, not the pain. The sea kept roaring, but between them, there was a peace only old wounds could bring.
"I can see raffu on you," Adwait said, his tone soft but teasing. "Biwi ne bade pyaar se silai ki hai. With doctor's precision."
(Raffu - Patching work)
Vritant looked at him, half-curious, half-amused.
"Thread is invisible," Adwait continued, "but the way she stitched the tear... it looks beautiful."
He smiled - that rare, dimpled smile that made even silence feel understood.
"Why can't I see it then?" Vritant asked.
"See in your wife's eyes," Adwait said quietly. "Trust me, you'll find the most honest reflection there."
For the first time that evening, Vritant smiled - not out of habit, but from somewhere deeper.
"Seems like Iva's completely rubbed off on you," he teased.
Adwait chuckled. "My wife's a fashion designer too - she knows her raffu well."
They both laughed - the kind of laughter that didn't erase the pain, just made it easier to carry.
??? V ? A ???
As soon as he sat in his jet, his phone buzzed.
"What the hell did you do, bastard?" the voice roared from the other side.
Vritant leaned back, unbothered. "What happened, Mr. Winner?" he asked in that calm, mocking tone that made people want to punch walls.
"Government officers raided my club and sealed it! I lost 200 crore!" the man shouted.
Vritant chuckled softly. "Oh no... the price of winning, huh?" He adjusted his cufflinks, his voice smooth as sin. "See, I lost 10 crore yesterday-did you see me crying? No. Take it like a man, or at least try acting like one."
Then, with a lazy smirk, he added before hanging up,
"Next time, read the fine print before playing with a Vardhan. The house never loses-it just waits."
And he cut the call.
Then Neil entered the cabin and handed him the tablet.
"Sir, drugs and fake currency were seized from the club. You were right as always. Also, the department released twenty percent of the seized amount-so, ten percent of two hundred crores."
Vritant raised a brow, a slow smirk forming. "Aah, life is a game, Neil. Yesterday I lost ten crores, and today the money doubled." He leaned back in his seat, eyes glinting with mischief.
"Invest in Vardhan Investing Gambling Pvt. Ltd. - where even losses pay dividends," he quipped and laughed, the kind of laugh that carried both arrogance and charm in equal measure.
??? V ? A ???
Vritant returned to Delhi, and a few quiet days passed before it was finally time for their honeymoon.
"Can you at least tell me where we're going?" Adhrita asked as they walked toward the jet, her suitcase trailing behind.
"Nope. It's a surprise," he said with that usual calm confidence and gestured for her to board first.
The jet sliced through clouds, and hours later, the view below turned from silver-blue skies to endless turquoise. When they landed, the salty air of Lakshadweep wrapped around them.
"Wow, Lakshadweep!" she gasped as her heels sank into the soft, white sand.
"You love water, right?" he asked, glancing at her. She nodded, eyes gleaming.
"I always wanted a beach house..." she whispered, half to herself, watching the waves shimmer like spilled glass.
Vritant smiled faintly, then gave a subtle nod to Rawat. Within moments, a sleek white yacht glided to the dock, waiting for them.
Adhrita frowned, confused. "Let's go," he said, extending his hand.
"What? Are we not staying here?" she asked, disappointment flickering in her eyes.
"Nope," he said simply, his lips curving in a secretive smirk.
She reluctantly followed, settling beside him on the yacht's deck.
The wind tangled through her hair as they drifted away from the mainland.
She stared back at the vanishing island, pouting slightly, while he just watched the horizon - as if knowing what waited ahead would make her forget every other place on earth.
After some time, the yacht slowed. Before them stretched an untouched private island, glimmering beneath the golden hour sun.
The waves lapped gently against a curved shoreline where palm trees swayed in the soft breeze.
A modern beachfront bungalow stood in the center - ivory walls, glass balconies, and a pathway of lanterns leading straight to the ocean.
"Welcome home," he said, stepping off first and turning to offer her his hand.
"Home?" she repeated, blinking at him as she stepped onto the soft, powdery sand.
Her eyes widened as she took in the view - the secluded stretch of coral beach, the sound of gulls overhead, and the bungalow that looked straight out of a dream.
The waves kissed her ankles, and the cool sea breeze carried the faint scent of jasmine from somewhere nearby. She turned slowly, taking it all in - the sound of the surf, the sky ablaze with sunset, and the calm in his eyes that matched the ocean before her.
"You rented this?" she asked, still stunned.
He shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting.
"Rented?" he said, glancing at the horizon where the sun melted into gold. "Ace, I don't rent sunsets."
She kept staring at the sunset, the sky painted in molten gold and fading pinks, waves kissing the shore in a rhythm that felt almost sacred.
He walked up behind her, silent but certain, and wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned back against him, the warmth of his chest meeting the cool ocean breeze.
For a long moment, neither spoke - just the sound of waves and the hush of the wind weaving between their breaths.
Then, with that familiar smirk ghosting his voice, he murmured near her ear,
"Careful, Mrs. Vardhan - stay too long in moments like this, and even the sea might start envying you."
So much for a quiet honeymoon - turns out, even paradise isn't safe from a Vardhan's overachievement. She wanted a beach house, he gave her an island-compromise, Vardhan edition.
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