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Word Count : 2890 

Song : Raat Akeli Thi  | Merry Christmas |

https://youtu.be/QbAJzzB1oBI

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25 | The Shadow On The Brass Flowerpot

Through the mantilla of her tranquilizing silence, Mahadevan realized the fact that she lived in the realm of retribution and he in the world of moral conundrum and redemption. She lived in the remembrance of the days when she was happy. He on the other hand lived in a constant battle to omit the memories of the days that made him feel empty.

His eyes keenly observed her as she detached her shivery hands from his tight hold. Wiping the sweat off her forehead, she averted her gaze from his, and then she promptly strode straight out of the study.

Mahadevan gulped. His jaws ticked as he blankly stared at the wall.

And in the spur of the moment, the very next second, he picked up the MacBook and violently slammed it right against the wall ahead. The MacBook destructively dashed against the wall, smashing itself into smithereens.

Eyes aglow in fury, his massive frame convulsed in wrath and displeasure. With swift movements of his sturdy legs, he hurriedly trod towards the familiar heavy oak vintage bookcase at the far right corner of the office.

Extracting out the bronze skeleton key from the drawer constructed at the centre of the ancient-looking bookcase, he inserted it into the keyhole that was situated just above the drawer and gyrated it on its axis. He then pulled the wooden handlebar located up on the left side of the bookcase and unlocked the door of the closed ancient-looking wooden unit. Next to the nine-teen leather diaries that were arranged symmetrically in the bookcase, was a silver antique embossed box. He longingly peered at it.

Taking a deep breath, he redirected his gaze from the box to look at the diaries kept beside it. His hands quivered as he gently picked up one, kept at the right end. Tenderly cradling the leather diary in his palms, he turned around, his back facing towards the bookcase. Leaning his head against the vintage wooden case, he glided down its uneven surface, eventually settling down on the floor.

Sighing, he kept on staring at the fluttering pages of the diary, his face blank yet mind clouded.

Later at night, he silently watched her as she got up from the bed with her leather journal and a pen clasped in her right hand. He abruptly clamped his eyes shut as she turned around to check up on him and Anirudh. The moment he felt that she had walked out of their room, his eyes opened on their own accord, absent-mindedly staring at the ceiling above.

Hinduja on the contrary knew that her husband was awake. Yet, ignoring his laid form on the bed she strolled out of their bedroom into the rooftop terrace of the apartment.

Perching herself on the outdoor swing, she skimmed through the folios of her journal to cease the movement of her nimble fingers on a blank page. Briskly, uncapping the pen in her hand, she firmly grasped it in her digits. And then, began the liberation of perceptions, and beliefs all in the deep, dark and contrasting shades of contentment, joy, and grief.

It was a sphere of reprisal and remembrance,

 in which dwelt she, 

Her heart a contradicting battleground of sorrow and glee, 

Memories of joy and pain intertwined, 

A soul seeking solace, peace to find.

He, on the other hand, lived in the realm of moral strife, 

Haunted by days that stole his inner light, 

A man of quandary, wrestling with dread, 

Yearning to forget, but haunted yet.

Their paths met in a dance of fate, 

Two souls adrift in a world of hate, 

She sought revenge, he sought redemption, 

Bound by their past, seeking exemption.

In this tangled web of love and loss, 

They found solace in each other's gloss,

 For in their union, they found release,

 A balm for their souls, a sense of peace.

- Hina

She gulped as a tear glissaded down her left cheek. Capping the pen, she then looked up to gaze at the canvas above, painted in the darkest hues of cosmic sigh. In the vast expanse of the darkened night, the sky was adorned with coruscating orbs so bright as if each one of them was a cabochon, a buoy shining high--- as if guiding souls lost in the vast endless sky. Yet here was the irony--- the dark night sky was also a cloak of enigmas, holding secrets of the universe so free as if it were the embodiment of celestial dance, a cosmic ballet---- a wonder to behold, night and day.

"How do I tell him, Mini?" She whispered, her eyes still fixated on the boundless inky expanse of the vault of heaven.

***

Mahadevan looked on as Hinduja quietly seated herself on one of the dining chairs.

"You are late?" Geeta let out the question germinating in his mind.

"Oh, no. I am not going to the office today. Instead, I have some official work outdoors, along with a colleague of mine. I'll be leaving for it in around ten minutes." Picking up two slices of the toast, she buttered them one by one. "Ani is still sleeping. He was quite irritated last night, so he slept late. . ." She was cut off by Geeta in between.

"Don't worry, duh! All his chores for today are my duty. Okay?"

"Alright." Hinduja smiled back at the middle-aged lady in gratitude.

"By the way, do you know about the Chopra family that lives in the Park Venile high rise hundred metres away from our Leela Sky Villas?" Geeta asked enthusiastically.

Hinduja chuckled. "Uhm, no."

"Revant Chopra and Banita Chopra?---Chopra Steels?" Mahadevan counter-questioned after her reply, with his right brow raised.

"Yes, them! And their family!" Geeta clapped her hands in excitement, her mouth all set to let out the juicy gossip reaching its saturation point in her stomach. "Arey, you won't believe what happened at the Chopra residence!"

Mahadevan and Hinduja both ducked their heads down to curb the chortles escaping each of their lips.

"What happened?" Raising her head, Hinduja asked.

"Someone stole the Chopra's heirloom necklace. It was worth forty-five crores!" Pulling one of the chairs back, Geeta settled on it. "But here is the twist!"

Suddenly the ongoing gossip piqued Hinduja's interest. "What sort of twist?" She inquired, clasping her fingers together on the table.

Mahadevan glanced at her while taking a sip of his coffee.

"It was Naval Chopra, the youngest grandson of Revant Chopra who stole the heirloom. Can you believe it!?" Geeta voiced out in disbelief.

With eyebrows knit together, Mahadevan trailed, "But there is no news in the business circle as such. How did you come to know about it? Moreover, how did they find out that it was Naval who stole the heirloom?"

Hinduja looked on while taking a bite of her buttered toast.

"Arey! That boy Naval is a completely spoiled hellion and mind you, he is very sharp too! He switched off the entire CCTV system of the Chopra residence before carrying out his plans but to his sheer bad luck, one of the Chopra family's cooks saw him while he was stealing the heirloom from Banita Chopra's locker. That cook kept quiet in front of the family out of fear for a few hours but when he sensed that the Chopras were about to go to the police station, he blew up Naval's cover immediately." Passing on a glass of water to Hinduja, she continued. "And about, how I know about all this when none of this is even in the news---well, all of us house helps have an information network!"

"You mean a gossip network?" Mahadevan questioned in amusement.

Geeta laughed sheepishly. "Arey, no Sahib! It's just an information network."

"Whatever suits your vocabulary, Geeta," Mahadevan replied in a tone of hilarity.

Geeta awkwardly waved her hand off. "Anyways, the Chopra family didn't let a word out about this matter. I guess, that's why no one in the upper circle is aware of this fiasco."

"Hmm, reasonable." Mahadevan muttered.

A ruminative expression flashed across Hinduja's face, as she glanced at Geeta for a second and then got up to leave. "Alright then, I'll take my leave. Bye, Geeta Didi!"

"Okay, bye!" Geeta shot back merrily.

Mahadevan peered at the quiet gait of his wife.

Hinduja quickly picked up her empty breakfast plate and walked towards the kitchen. Placing the plate inside the dishwasher, she advanced back to the dining hall, silently gathered up her office satchel from over the table and then ambled out of the dining hall into the family lounge area. Quickly clasping the straps of her flats around her ankles, she got out of their apartment.

Just as she was about to close the main door behind her, the familiar tall and muscled body of her husband loomed over her build.

"Come with me, I'll drop you." His voice boomed in the swanky and elegant interiors of the corridor.

"No need--"

"I said, come with me, I'll drop you." He reiterated in an unyielding tone.

Enclosing his sturdy fingers around her wrist in a firm grip, he tugged her towards the private elevator at the end of the corridor.

Ten minutes later, Mahadevan navigated his polished black Rolls-Royce Cullinan through the busy roads of Delhi, with a few of his security personnel on their toes in their respective Range Rovers behind the luxurious automobile.

"Should I drop you at the SIT headquarters?" He asked, glancing at her silent frame.

She shook her head, her eyes keenly observing the vista outside the window.

He sighed. "At least tell me, where should I drop you?"

"Kalindi Chowk." She muttered.

He nodded.

At ten a.m. under the scorching sunlight, when he pulled on the brakes in the said location, she quickly unlatched the seatbelt to get out of the car.

In a flash, he securely clasped his digits around her slender wrist.

"Talk to me." Swallowing the knot in his throat, he whispered softly. "Please?"

A desperate request. A distressed plea.

Like sand to dunes and air to breaths.

She turned her head around to look at him, their gazes intertwined in a battle of unsaid emotions.

And then her phone rang. She directed her gaze at the screen of her phone in uncertainty and then glanced back at him.

"I need some time." Mumbling out the said words she gently yanked her wrist from his hold and then took off from the car.

Mahadevan kept on staring at her slowly distancing gait, his visage deadpan yet eyes displaying different degrees of despondency.

Didn't she promise him that he won't feel lonely ever again?

Then why was it that he was feeling so isolated at the moment? As if he was abandoned? Left to fend off on his own again.

***

Gulping down a sip of water from her water bottle, Hinduja glanced at the known frame of the woman dressed in civvies sitting in the driver seat beside her.

Rukmini drove her SUV through the green lanes of the Mirandavile church road. Taking a neat left turn she navigated the SUV straight inside the gates of the episcopacy of North India. The historical edifice stood tall, a large off-white cross installed at its steeple.

"We are here, ma'am," Rukmini said while unlocking the car doors. "If am not wrong, this is the address that Father Emmanuel Alberto messaged you?"

Getting out of the SUV, Hinduja bolted the passenger side door behind her and then astutely scanned her surroundings. "Yes, this is it, the episcopacy of the Church of North India. Bishop Anoop Philip has his office here."

"Let's go inside then?" Rukmini suggested.

"Okay." She replied while bringing her left wrist up to check the time.

Rukmini advanced a few steps forward but then abruptly halted at her place as a pensive mien took over her visage. "Should we cover up our heads?" She asked.

Hinduja scratched the back of her neck in confusion. "I am not aware of the religious protocols of this place---but I think we should cover up our heads. It's better to stay prepared in advance than lamenting over our actions later on." Saying so, she swiftly took off the linen dupatta from over her left shoulder and then draped it gracefully around her shoulders and neck, covering her head modestly in the process.

Rukmini followed suit.

As they strolled through the vestibule of the massive Neo-Gothic style building, their eyes automatically gawked at the elegant and refined pointed arches, pinnacles, arcades and tourelles, absolutely awestruck at their exquisite architectural features.

"Excuse me, ladies? May I have the honour of knowing your names, please?" Taken aback by the sudden auditory intervention, both of them turned around to face a tall man with salt and pepper hair, dressed in a black cassock.

Hinduja and Rukmini glanced at each other for a second, their eyes involved in a silent conversation.

Redirecting her gaze to look back at the man, she said, "Good morning, I am Profiler Hinduja Rao and this is ASP Rukmini Desai. We wanted to meet His Excellency, The Most Reverend Anoop Philip - The Bishop, regarding some urgent matter and for this same reason I had a telephonic conversation with Father Emmanuel Alberto the day before yesterday."

Recognition dawned on the clergyman as he flashed a genuine smile at the two young ladies before him. "Oh yes! Father Alberto did talk about you." Beckoning them both towards a particular long corridor, he continued. "Unfortunately, His Excellency is not present in his office at the current moment. He'll arrive at his office in around an hour more. So, how about I take you to Father Alberto's office for the time being?"

Passing a faint smile at the man, Hinduja shrugged her shoulders. "Alright, no issues."

As both of them followed him, Hinduja trailed, "I apologise for my lack of manners sir but may I know your name?"

In response, the clergyman chuckled. "That's absolutely fine young lady. You don't need to apologise for something so minuscule. Anyways, let me introduce myself, I am Deacon Kenneth Martin."

Hinduja and Rukmini nodded their heads in acknowledgement, a smile playing on each of their lips.

Silence took over as Deacon Kenneth Martin advanced through the gigantic Gothic vestibules of the episcopacy with both the women on their toes behind him.

Taking a right turn through the enormous corridor, he finally ceased his footfall in front of a pair of oak wood doors.

"This is Father Emmanuel Alberto's office." He said while pushing the doors inwards to open them. "Be seated inside. I will call him here in a minute."

"Okay." Rukmini acceded and then stepped inside the office.

Flashing a benign smile at them both, the Deacon turned around and then traced his steps back in the direction of the path of their arrival.

Hinduja stood next to the doorsill of the office, as her sharp gaze followed the Deacon's gait. She watched him as he moved further and further away from Father Alberto's office. "Rukmini, turn on the GPS application on your phone."

"But why...?" Rukmini inquired in uncertainty.

"Just do as I say." She commanded instead, her agile phalanges swiftly switching on the GPS tracker application installed in her own phone, while her feet sauntered inside the confines of the Neo-gothic-themed workspace.

Rukmini promptly adhered to her senior's orders without a doubt shrouding her mind.

Shoving her phone back inside the side pocket of her Khadi Kurti, Hinduja scrutinized each and every nook and cranny of the office. Eventually, both of them settled down on the two visiting chairs that were laid out across a medium-sized oak wood work-desk with a clergy chair meant for the priest facing them from right across the other side of the table.

Hinduja's attention shifted towards the wooden bookshelf at the other end of the room. Numerous leather-bound and hard-bound books bedecked its various shelves in an orderly fashion. Next to the bookshelf, on a planter stand was a brass flowerpot, in which proudly stood a healthy-looking Cypress plant. The tiny water trickles dribbling down its needle-like emerald foliage caused it to gleam under the dim aureate rays of the Sconces affixed to the high walls of the office.

Hinduja's brows knitted together and her senses went on alert as something out of order caught her attention---a shadow---almost like a silhouette, on the smooth and shiny surface of the brass flowerpot, along with a sharp reflection of some kind of hued light, that was falling directly on the pot as well.

The next thing she did was turn her head around to look behind, only to witness the doors of the priest's office getting locked with a thunderous bang.

"What the fuck!" Rukmini cussed in shock, with her eyes wide open.

Now completely alarmed, both the women got up and rushed towards the pair of oak wood doors. On an impulse, Rukmini immediately tried to pry open the doors but to no avail.

"Fuck! It's locked from outside, madam."

***