Nandini's house, Vrindavan, and the adjacent house, Ayodhya, which also belonged to her family, were proof of the family's golden past, when they had been quite affluent. But it was a long forgotten past. For almost a century, 'think and think again before you spend' had been an integral part of the family's thought process.

Ayodhya was as huge as Vrindavan. Both were one-storey houses with seven rooms, and a huge open-air terrace on the second storey. The terraces were connected by a little concrete bridge which was around four feet wide and five feet long and had little gates on both ends.  The houses were separated by a short wall, and there was a little gate in the middle of it that connected the houses. Both the houses had courtyards in the front, sizeable backyards, and a common compound wall, which was quite tall, with separate gates for each. The houses stood in a quiet corner of a big square, which was dotted with similar kind of houses and lots of trees. Nandini's family temple was in the centre of this square, and a few feet away from its door stood a huge banyan tree with a natural alcove in its trunk, a holy tree for some and giver of shade and rest to others.
 
Vrindavan and Ayodhya were both slightly shabby from the outside, with the paint chipping off in some places, as the family had found the maintenance of even one home, leave alone two, too expensive.
 
But thanks to years of dedicated and loving care by Sarojini and Nandini, Vrindavan sparkled from the inside. And now Nandini and her family were determined to make Ayodhya glitter too.
 
*******************
 
Dusk was falling in Shamli. Nandini lit the lamp in front of the Tulsi plant, and placed it in the alcove of the earthen structure that housed it in the middle of the courtyard. She circumbulated the holy plant three times, and prayed before it for a few minutes. Then she walked slowly towards the gate in their compound. 

Bhoothnath had gone to perform the evening pooja at their family temple and Prakash had gone along with him. People were returning home after a long day at their offices and familiar faces called out to Nandini and waved. She smiled and waved back but didn't step outside to join them.
 
The Garewal family's news about moving to the US had really distressed her. She had pretended to be happy and cheerful till Rajesh Garewal left, and the news of someone coming to rent Ayodhya had helped divert her attention to some extent. But the tuition children were on a break for a couple of days as their exams had just gotten over today. And now, there was nothing to distract her from the sad reality that the Garewals were leaving the country for three years.
 
Her father, Siddharth Bharadwaj had been amongst the most loved and respected men in Shamli and all homes in their locality considered the Bharadwaj family to be part of their own. If that was not enough, Nandini's nature had made her an adored daughter of all the households, and she had the freedom to walk into their homes whenever she pleased. So their family had never lacked for emotional support, and they had never ever sought financial assistance from anyone. But the Garewals had a special place in their lives, and Nandini, especially, had been very attached to them. Even though they had left Shamli two years ago, the thought that they were near enough to go meet or call had been very comforting. And now that support would not be there for a while.
 
She sighed and turned around and walked into the house. Prakash's math notebook was lying on the floor of living room. She picked it up and walked over to the dinner table where his school bag had been abandoned earlier in the day. She was placing the book in the bag when she noticed the letter lying next to it. The letter that Rajesh Garewal's wife had sent for her. She had kept it on the table while tidying up the room after he had left and had forgotten about it till now.   
 
Nandini picked it up and tried to open the envelope carefully without causing any unnecessary tear - it was as precious as the letter to her, and both would be lovingly preserved for years to come. Just then she heard the sounds of vessels from the kitchen; her mother was already making preparations for dinner. She pulled out a notebook from her bag, which had been lying alongside her brother's, placed the letter carefully in it for reading later at night, and replaced the book in the bag. Then she hurried off to help her mother in the kitchen.
 
***********************
 
Vrinda sat down on the floor, exhausted. Nishi, who was equally tired, was sitting against a wall in the same room. Nandini was sweeping and swabbing the last room, and she too planned to join her friends on the floor once this was done. Prakash had been given the responsibility of thoroughly dusting the furniture and he had taken 5-minute breaks every 15 minutes. One hour ago, he had left for a bathroom break and had not reappeared. Nandini strongly suspected she would have to dust the furniture all over again. It was not a very happy thought - they had been cleaning non-stop for almost four hours.
 
Nandini had telephoned Vrinda and Nishi the previous night to ask for help in cleaning. Both had jumped at the chance to spend the entire day at Nandini's home, which they simply loved, and eat her mother's food, which they loved even more. They had arrived at the crack of dawn and after a delicious breakfast served by Nandini's mother, had declared war on the dirt in the house next door. Thankfully, the house had been thoroughly cleaned two months ago for Diwali. So the task was still manageable.
 
Nandini finally finished with the work and went to join her friends. She sat down next to Nishi. It was nearing lunch time and her mother had already called out to them twice to come eat. But they didn't even have enough energy to walk over to the house that was just nine feet away. So all three were sitting in silence in a now clean room, recovering from their exertions.
 
The stillness was broken by Vrinda, who said, "So these two people who are moving in...tell us about them."
 
"They are Garewal uncle's friends. Sumer Singh and his nephew."
 
"What's the nephew's name?"
 
"I don't know. Uncle didn't say..."
 
"How old is he?"
 
"I think uncle said he is 19."
 
Nishi sat up with more interest and asked enthusiastically, "Any idea if he is good looking?"
 
"I didn't ask uncle that," Nandini said dryly, "I'm sorry I forgot the importance of that question."
 
"Hey, don't laugh at us," Vrinda said indignantly, "it's a very important and valid question. And for all this work that we are doing, that guy better be really good looking." She paused for a moment, then added, "If he's ugly then forget it. But if he is a hunk, be sure to tell him who cleaned the fans."
 
Nishi sniggered and said, "Yes, he will ask her - 'which fair maiden cleaned these fans?' and Nandini will say, 'Nay...that was not me, oh hunk... It was my friend Vrinda, who was already ugly to look at, but now, after cleaning all the fans, looks almost deformed'." Then she and Nandini burst out laughing, clutching each other.
 
This caused a temporary break in their relaxation as Vrinda sprung up from the ground and chased both of them around the house with a filthy duster in hand to 'clean them'.
 
 
********************
 Ayodhya was gleaming. Nandini, Vrinda and Nishi had cleaned and dusted every inch of the house. It was early evening by the time they finished, and all three took baths to wash off the dirt and dust. Afterwards, Vrinda and Nishi sat on either side of Bhoothnath, asking for some ghost stories. 

Bhoothnath was thrilled and obliged them with some of the most terrifying stories in his collection about all the mysterious and inexplicable events that had happened in and around Shamli, most of which were the products of his own rich creativity. Both of Nandini's friends sincerely regretted their request later, as every sound and shadow they saw seemed to be proof that a hideous ghoul was lurking outside the house to chew them up alive. 
 
When the car arrived to pick them up, Nishi and Vrinda were very reluctant to step out. Out came Bhoothnath's threads, which were tied on their wrists and made them feel a little braver. Nandini's mother had prepared snacks for them to take home. Just before they stepped out of the house, Nandini drew both of them into a tight hug, which they returned with equal emotion – they would have beaten her up if she had tried to express her gratitude for their help in any other way.
 
After they had left, Nandini sat with Prakash for a while, helping him with his homework. Once that was done, she went upstairs to her room on the first storey to lie down for a while - her hands, feet and back were screaming for rest.

Some time later, Sarojini went into her room to call her daughter for dinner and found Nandini fast asleep. She went up to the bed, covered her with the bedsheet that was lying at the bottom of the bed, and caressed and kissed her forehead gently. Nandini stirred and smiled at her mother sleepily, and then she caught the hand that was still stroking her head and pulled her mother down to sit by her side. She cuddled up with her mother's hand firmly clasped between her own, and went off to sleep again.

Sarojini sat by the bedside, lovingly gazing at her daughter's face. She looked so peaceful and defenseless in sleep.   
 
This last thought had barely formed in her mind when, without warning, Sarojini felt a sudden chill spread rapidly through her chest. An irrational fear for her daughter seized her heart. All her motherly instincts arose with a terrifying urgency, as she felt an overpowering need to shield her child from harm.
 
Then...as swiftly as it had come...the feeling vanished, and everything felt normal again. She was sitting by side of her daughter, who was fast asleep, safe and sound.  She tried to smile at her foolish thoughts but was unsuccessful.

And once again, her mind replayed those terrible moments when she had sensed that a shadow was slowly casting a veil over Nandini, hiding her daughter from view.....
 
 
*******************
 
 
The expensive-looking black car, aflame in the first rays of the morning sun, purred along a beautiful road that had forests on both sides. It had two passengers. One, a very distinguished looking middle aged man, was sitting next to the driver. The other passenger, a young man, was sitting alone in the back seat. The car was nearing the outskirts of Shamli.

The driver had been hired from the nearest metro, which was very far away. His instructions were to drop the passengers at Shamli, return to the metro and drop the car at a specific address.

"Stop the car," the young man commanded.

The driver immediately pulled the car over to one side. He had learnt early in the trip that it was in his best interests to do as the young fellow wanted without a second's delay and without asking any questions.

The boy, dressed in a white shirt and jeans, disembarked and walked over to the front of the car, surveying his surroundings, and leaned against the bonnet, with his arms crossed. The gray-haired, middle aged man also got out of the car and stood at a respectful distance from the boy.

"Is something the matter, My Lord," the older man asked deferentially.

"How long before we reach the house," the boy asked with his eyes on the road ahead.

"Around two hours, My Lord."

The young man turned his head slightly towards his right, where the driver, who had also hurriedly gotten out of the car, was standing nervously. He coldly said, "Leave us for a few minutes."

The driver almost tripped in his hurry to obey. After he was gone, the boy finally turned to face the elder man.

"I am asking this of you for the hundredth time, Sumer Baba. You have to stop me calling 'lord' in private also," he said irritably. "You know I hate it when you call me that. And someday it might slip out in front of others too."

"I am aware of your dislike. I will not do it again. I am sorry, My Lord," the senior man said quietly, then caught the boy's glare and gave a rueful smile.

"So far, we have somehow managed to maintain the act that I am your nephew. And now we are going to a new town where they have been informed that I'm your nephew. Don't you think someone might wonder why my mother's brother is calling me 'my lord'," the young man asked, frustrated.

"I will be careful henceforth, I promise."

The young man looked a little skeptical, but he didn't pursue the topic. He was sure Sumer Baba would continue to use the term in private...nothing he said could ever convince Baba to call him by his first name. But he was fully confident that the lapse would not happen in public. Sumer Singh had been playing two different roles perfectly for many years now, and he had never made a mistake.
 
The boy moved on to another pressing issue, "The family does know that we have chosen the house next door for some calm and quiet and they must mind their own business and not interfere in ours, don't they?"

"Yes, I had specifically asked Rajesh to inform them of that condition. But as today is the first day, we will have to meet them and spend some time at their house to discuss the arrangements for food and some other minor details."
 
"That can't be avoided I suppose," The boy said grudgingly, "but we will not spend more time than absolutely necessary. And please try and keep them away from me, Baba."
 
"Of course," the man said seriously, but there was an affectionate and indulgent smile in his old eyes.
 
"Hmm...we will not take the car to the house. It will draw too much attention," the boy said, frowning, "We'll go in a little, and then walk the rest of the way. We have just three bags...we'll carry those."
 
"That would seem the sensible thing to do, my -" the older man stopped abruptly, restraining himself in time.

"Alright then. Find that fool of a driver and let us move on."

When Sumer SIngh had left to follow the instruction, the young man looked in the direction of Shamli. He had sworn that he would not come back, not at any cost, and had tried everything possible to avoid returning to the town. But all his attempts had been foiled. It was almost as if something up there had been determined to bring him to Shamli.

If that was the case, then that something was just about to learn that this time, they had chosen the wrong person to impose a decision on. He had always made his own decisions, and written his own destiny.

No one - not even the powers that be – ever told Prithvi what to do without facing the consequences...