Nandini held her bag close as the road grew increasingly congested because of the bustling crowd and the vehicles trying to push ahead through the narrow lane. Her umbrella stayed in the bag despite the steady drizzle. Small stones and other pieces of debris poked at her feet frequently, making her slow down at times, but she didn't stop walking. Once she got through this rough patch of road, she could enter the short, serene path that led to the small shrine of Goddess Kali.

It was one of the temples that she and her friends visited every year during Navrati, the nine days when the divine mother was worshipped across India. But she had begun frequenting it every Friday because the beautiful idol reminded her of the fierce goddess whose glorious temple was perched atop a hill. And the goddess was the same everywhere, wasn't she...the mother who loved her children unconditionally and would destroy anything that threatened to harm them.

Nandini's speed picked up as she neared the two small shops just outside the temple. The shopkeepers didn't ask her what she wanted. They knew by now. The man in the first shop gave her a small plastic basket contains miscellaneous items of worship. The woman who ran the next store gave her a beautiful garland of red hibiscus. She paid for both, and then turned towards the temple.

An old man was waiting near the its entrance, a sturdy stick in his hands and a blanket wrapped around his thin body. He still radiated compassion. Yet, this time, the wise eyes also contained sorrow and regret. He gave her an immeasurably sad smile, and shook his head slowly. Then he turned and ambled away, eventually disappearing into the crowd.

Nandini heard someone asking her to take shelter because of the rain. Someone else was shouting at her for blocking the path.

She didn't respond to anyone. After she felt strong enough, she proceeded towards the temple. 

Long ago, her grandfather had explained to her the unique and extraordinary connection between a family and its ancestral tutelary deity, the kuldevata. It was the kuldevata who protected family members, generation after generation, her grandfather had said. And if a person offered sincere and pure prayers to the family deity, they would be showered with celestial grace as well as the blessings of the ancestors, which would act as a powerful shield against the biggest problems...

Inside the shrine, Nandini made her offerings, and then moved back slightly to allow others to do the same. 

Her watery gaze was fixed on the deity. As always, she felt transported to the holy sanctum of the Goddess Aadya, with the beautiful energy in the air, the brass ghee lamps, and the fragrance of incense and flowers...and the one she loved by her side...

Pouring all her emotions into words, she shut tearful eyes and prayed for Prithvi.

*************************************

The monsoon wept its heart out with an unusual pathos into the soil of Shamli that year. Everyone was glad at first, because it meant there wouldn't be any issues with water supply. But then the grumblings began about the disruption caused in their daily routines, especially with roads getting flooded at times. Soon, the torrential rains were the main subject of discussion almost everywhere.

During all those discussions, like an automaton, Nandini murmured the weather-related complaints that were expected of her.

It wasn't that she hadn't experienced the difficulties that others had. She too had waded through waterlogged streets on some days, the buses that took her to college or elsewhere in the town were often late, many autorickshaws would refuse to ply in the bad weather, and the vehicles often got stuck in traffic.

But somehow, the problems were failing to register on her mind. Even when she was in the midst of tiresome situations, she felt only like a disinterested witness. And the sense of detachment...of utter disconnection from life wasn't limited to her travelling experiences. It had become an everyday reality.

She attended college regularly, spent time with her friends, and helped her grandfather and mother whenever she could. Her tuition classes progressed smoothly, and she also continued to oversee her brother's schoolwork and tease him whenever the occasion demanded.

Yet, everything in her life seemed to be happening to someone else. Someone who looked like her and behaved as she did...but it wasn't her. She seemed to have been exiled from the world of the living, and was now standing at the outskirts of her own life, watching events unfold dispassionately.

When she received praise for always being calm and collected, Nandini almost laughed aloud. Whom could she tell that her tranquillity was actually a complete numbness that was increasing with time.

But her superficial composure was tested severely each time she happened to hear the name that her heart murmured unceasingly but her lips didn't utter. In the house...in the college...in the neighbourhood...in the market place...if she overheard the name, or even read it in a book, it would leave her frozen for a few minutes...

Thankfully, though her grandfather and mother sometimes talked about Prithvi affectionately, no one specifically spoke to her about him. Not even Sankatmochan.

Despite his obvious excitement and happiness, he didn't mention Prithvi when he cautiously told her that he was going away for some days to meet a friend.

After about a week, Nandini was returning from college and had just stepped into the yard when she heard Sankatmochan's voice. She darted quickly to one side of the door, and feeling pathetic and horribly guilty, tried to overhear the conversation.

She had arrived at the time when Sankatmochan was enlightening her family about the people in Prithvi's newfound family and was also enthusiastically answering every curiosity-laden question from her mother and grandfather. He praised Priyamvada to the skies for being a wonderful, compassionate woman. He expressed heartfelt admiration for Uday Singh, and spoke affectionately about Rajeshwari, describing her as a very sweet and happy little woman. Distaste and fear were evident in his tone when he mentioned Indrajit and Rajyavardhan Singh, but he hastily went on to talk about Sumer Singh, and the strict but extremely kind Kadambari who loved Prithvi selflessly. Then he spoke admiringly about the beautiful mansion where he'd stayed, and from the description, Nandini understood that the family had shifted out of Aadyabhoomi...

Heart slamming in her chest, she waited for Sankatmochan to mention Prithvi but then felt hopelessly certain that he had already done so before her arrival.

As she was about to move from her spot, she heard her grandfather ask eagerly if Prithvi would visit Shamli anytime soon. Sankamochan's voice was heavy with regret as he answered...

Prithvi would have loved to visit...but he was very busy and would not have any time on his hands for the next three or four months. The family was planning to go abroad...perhaps for a year. They intended to travel to many countries. They couldn't leave immediately though, because there were so many arrangements to be made – financial and otherwise. Then there was also the matter of Adityaraj's will. The circumstances of his death and the subsequent events had left everything in a mess. Priyamvada wanted everything to be set in order before they left on the trip. With the huge responsibilities that had landed on his shoulders, Prithvi was getting very little time for rest. Sumer Singh and Kadambari were struggling to even make him eat his meals on time...

When Sankatmochan came out of the house after about fifteen minutes, he saw Nandini standing in the same place. Shocked by her condition, he couldn't think of the right thing to say. And by the time his brain suggested the usual phrases, she had turned and fled to the backyard.

Five days later, Nandini tentatively suggested to her grandfather that it wasn't right to charge rent for Ayodhya since the tenants were not going to return in the foreseeable future, and also that they should pay Sankatmochan a good salary for working diligently in the temple. Her grandfather informed her ruefully that he had spoken to Prithvi about both the issues, and Prithvi had warned him that he would pay double the rent each month – and make Sankatmochan pay for the food he was hogging from the Bharadwaj kitchen - if the topics were raised again.

Then her grandfather started to talk about Prithvi with great affection and respect, and elaborated on the talks he'd had with Sankatmochan and Sumer Singh regarding how wonderfully Prithvi was taking care of his whole family.

But his talk was interrupted by Prakash, who was angry about the mysterious disappearance of one of his favourite sweets, barfi, from the refrigerator. The argument that erupted between her suspiciously defensive grandfather and her outraged brother allowed her to escape discreetly to her room. If the fight had been delayed by a minute, she would have had to give a huge explanation for breaking down all of a sudden.

********************************

Night and day succeeded one other in their usual rhythm.

Everyone else appeared to be advancing smoothly and purposefully with their lives. She alone was stranded in the past, reliving the most painful moments of her life again and again in a never-ending loop.

It did, however, become easier for her to smile and laugh as time went by. She knew her friends – even Rishabh, who had evidently been told some essential details – were watching her progress closely and she could see from their growing relief that she was conveying the impression of moving on.

Conversations too stopped requiring effort. That proved helpful when she set out to convince her grandfather and mother to allow her to chop her hair to half its length because she was finding it difficult to manage the long, heavy locks. Although they were appalled at the idea, she managed to persuade them somehow.

There was a funereal atmosphere in the house for three days post her return from the salon with hair that stopped at the middle of her back.

*******************************

On a cool night in the month of November, Nandini waited till her family had gone to sleep, and then, at about eleven O'clock, she slipped out of her house noiselessly with certain items in a bag.

In the previous months, she had celebrated major traditional festivals with her family, friends and neighbours with as much artificial enthusiasm as she could portray. However, there were some extremely special festivals that she did want to celebrate...and she wanted to do so alone...

She was aware of the risk she was taking tonight. While there were hardly any lights in the neighbouring houses, and the entire locality seemed deserted, things could still go wrong at any minute. She imagined hearing her name called out by either her family or neighbours. They would be shocked and suspicious and would demand an explanation. And if her flimsy answers didn't satisfy them, she could land in big trouble.

But the ire of loved ones was the smallest danger that could befall her at this hour of the night.

Their locality was considered to be very safe. Nonetheless, she had taken the precaution of carrying a sharp kitchen knife and fiery red chilli powder in her hands, and was keeping an apprehensive watch over the surroundings.

When she reached the tree in front of the shrine, she paused to gaze at the lamp that was burning in the alcove. Her determination had been stronger than her anxiety from the second she had resolved to have this tiny, private celebration of the first of the most important days of her life. Now the faint nervousness too had disappeared. She felt calm and strong.

Nandini laid down her weapons at the base of the tree, and then walked slowly to the exact spot where a young man had stood a year ago.

She remained still for a while, then moved forward to the doors of the temple and sat down on the steps. In the light from the bulb hanging over the closed doors of the shrine, she carefully took out a brass plate and seven earthen lamps from her bag. A bottle of oil, a matchbox and a packet of cotton wicks were placed near the lamps.

With loving care, she arranged the lamps on the plate, making each lamp face the spot where she had stood minutes ago. She poured oil into them and arranged the wicks.

Nandini picked up the matchbox, then hesitated and kept it back down. She lifted one lamp and walked to the old tree.

She lit the lamp with the flame in the alcove, then walked backed cautiously to the steps, sheltering the burning lamp with her right hand. Soon, the remaining six lamps too were aglow, casting a lovely radiance on the surroundings.

Nandini sat on the steps, with one hand protecting the lamps from gusts of wind, and the other hand grazing across her cheeks frequently.

The breeze was sometimes weak, and sometimes strong. The flames flickered wildly several times...

...but they refused to be extinguished.

***************************************

OVER FOUR YEARS LATER

***************************************

The cold winds sent a shiver run through many of the commuters who were disembarking from the bus on a late evening in January. The last person to embark from the bus was a young woman. She stepped back, and as the bus started moving, she waved cheerfully at a lady sitting in the second seat of the bus. The woman waved back with a smile.

Most people were hurrying home, eager to escape the unusual chill. The young woman wrapped her grey stole around herself more tightly but strolled at a leisurely pace.

When her house came into view, she slowed down. She was tired and hungry, and wanted nothing more than to have a cup of tea, eat something and relax for some time. The first and second wishes could be fulfilled, but the third had become impossible.

There were many kinds of misfortune in the world. Not wishing to go home at the end of the day was probably one of the biggest...

Braced for yet another unpleasant evening, Nandini walked reluctantly towards Vrindavan.

*******************************

The shining lights of the chateau and its exquisite exterior made it appear magical to anyone gazing at it from the outside. Those who were blessed with the fortune to be invited to the intimate dinner party inside the mansion would have sworn that the enchantment was greater on the inside.

And the source of the magic was not the setting. It was the hostess.

A dazzling woman draped in a gorgeous ivory silk saree...rubies and diamonds sparkling in her ears and around her delicate throat and hands...her dark brown hair glistening in the light of the chandeliers...

The opulence of the beautiful hall, which glowed with crystal and silver, couldn't hold a candle to the luminous presence and charisma of Priyamvada Singh Rathod.

She had invited thirteen affluent and socially elite families to the chateau tonight. The guests were of ages ranging from eighteen to seventy-five. Each one of them was certain that they were the queen's favourite person in the room.

Priyamvada didn't move about much in the hall. The guests waited eagerly for an appropriate moment and approached her. Holding a glass of dark red wine, she interacted with each person with entrancing warmth and esteem. She knew precisely what to say to every single guest, how to make them feel cherished and happy, and how to make them laugh.

Most believed she was an angel in human form, though that didn't stop several of them from hating her vehemently. And who could blame them for being bitterly jealous? There were few things that society found more offensive than a woman who had nearly every happiness in life. And what burnt their petty little hearts the most was that she had an incomparable son like Prithvi who obeyed most of her orders without question.

Funnily, even the ones who despised her did not want to leave her side, trapped by a helpless fascination that they couldn't understand. Yet, at some point, they would invariably feel uneasy, and would make way for others. And a short time later, they would be drawn to her again....

And so, the lovely party went on until late in the night, with the clinking of glasses and the murmurs of refined conversations.

Priyamvada was aware of every undercurrent in the room. The burning resentment that the women were concealing under the mask of admiration, the base desires that the men were harbouring under the guise of respect, the forced confidence that the youngsters were projecting to hide their desperation to impress...

She laughed silently at the buffoons even as she pampered their pitiful egos.

But there were some undercurrents that pleased her, such as the restless looks being cast towards the door, the forlorn eyes that were searching for Prithvi in vain, and the pangs of love that had afflicted the hearts of at least two good-natured, sophisticated and perfectly eligible young women...

Smiling contently, Priyamvada took another sip of the delicious wine.

*************************************

The fire burned bright in the small clearing. Around it, eight men were sitting in scruffy chairs, forming a circle.

They conversed a little now and then about their work or the latest developments in the area. But by and large, they remained quiet and savoured the drinks in their glasses. They were tough, self-respecting, world-weary men who earned their living through hard work. This hour, when they sat around the fire with their friends in companionable silence, was among the most comforting parts of the day for most of them.

The buzz of a phone caused seven of them to look at the youngest member of their group.

The recipient of the call transferred a tall tumbler to his left hand and took his phone from the inside of his black coat. He looked at the name on the screen and cut the call.

The men around him were not surprised. While they knew only a few facts about the young man, they had realised some time ago that he detested being at home and nearly everything associated with it.

Apart from that, they knew only three things about him. He was from one of the wealthiest families in the area, but he didn't behave anything like the insufferable ***** of his social class. Secondly, he didn't smoke and wouldn't consume anything stronger than hot black coffee regardless of how unbearably cold it was. They had also learnt very recently that he was the source of the funds that had been flowing into the schools and social welfare institutes in this grim, neglected part of the small town.

But the only reason he was sitting along with them was that, despite the vast external differences, he had seemed to be a part of their motley group from the first time he had come across them.

Sparse conversations took place for some more time. Then, as an hour passed, the men got up one by one and left for their houses until only one of them was left.

When the fire started to weaken, he fed it kindling to give it more vigour.

His phone rang again. Muttering a swear sword, he answered the call this time and listened for a moment.

"I'm at the beauty parlour. Getting a facial and a manicure," Prithvi replied seriously.

He grinned at the response, then he apologetically said, "You're right. It's unforgivable. As punishment, I should be cut out of the family. Promise you'll help me with that, and I'll never skip a party again."

The line went dead.

Amused, Prithvi kept the phone back in the inner pocket.

Then the smile faded, and black emotions shrouded his face again.

The temperature continued to fall steadily. But the cold outside could not rival the iciness of his inner world...

***********************************