The Promise (28 page)

When nothing seems to be working, one is forced to resort to desperate measures, to grasp the last chance at redemption.

rjun had gotten anxious and told Tutul that the plan needed to be executed in its present state. The room was as good as they could get it done. They had to make do with it. There was no scope for waiting anymore.

So they had decided to go ahead.

This time, he wanted to be alone with Shambhavi when he did it. He knew it would work. Maybe she won't miraculously snap out of her depressed, hollow state in a microsecond. But there will be something-there will be a start.

He did one last check of the room, to assure himself that everything was in place and went to her room. She was sitting near the window, staring out. Her sweet face was devoid of any emotion, her eyes were blank. Even though she had been eating food and taking her medicines properly-he had been taking care of that-she was still weak. Sitting there, she looked fragile. A little force could break her slender arms like twigs.

He went to where she was sitting and stood next to her. He tried to make sense of what she was seeing, but it was basically nothing. The road outside the wrought iron gates was empty. There was no human being or animal there. Maybe she did not need things to stare at; she just needed emptiness.

'Come with me,' he ordered.

She did not listen.

'Shambhavi, come with me.'

This time, she got up and turned to him. She did not meet his eyes and her expressions showed no change. He walked out of her bedroom and proceeded towards the guest room. She followed him.

He was strangely excited. It felt like showing your first sketch to a teacher at school. You know you have given your best and just want the teacher to approve. Only, here there was a lot more at stake. This was no child's play. It was about Shambhavi's life and how it was going to be, in the future.

He opened the door and stepped back. He motioned her to enter. She walked in like a zombie.

The room was empty; there was nothing on the floor. It was the walls that were beautifully decorated; there were thirtyone of the thirty-six paintings she had sold at the exhibitions. Arjun had bought them back-some at as much as five times the original rates-from the owners and brought them back to her. She had once told him that she did not paint to sell. He knew she had done it out of desperation for money. Money was not a problem anymore. He wanted to give her back the three years of her life, painted lovingly, passionately.

Tutul had tried her best, but the remaining five paintings could still not be located. They were gifts, and the actual owners could not be tracked. But they would be, soon. He would turn hell and earth upside down to find them.

He studied Shambhavi's expressions. There were reactions.

As soon as she saw the collection of paintings she had once so fondly painted, her eyes became alive. She looked around to see what else was there. There were almost all the paintings she had sold at the exhibition, arranged in a congested manner, due to lack of space in the room. Her eyes travelled from one painting to the next, staying there, welcoming them back, telling them she had missed them ... It was like she was talking to the paintings; her eyes were doing the speaking.

But as soon as she was done with all the paintings, she stepped back. She looked at the room at a glance. Her face showed disinterest. It was like she was happy and maybe even shocked to see her paintings back, but once that initial feeling had passed, she went back into her shell. As if she did not care whether the paintings stayed or went away again.

She was still detached. She did not utter a single word. It was as if she was scared of getting attached to even something as inanimate as a painting, after losing her family. She did not say anything; her eyes did not say anything anymore either. She did not look at Arjun before going out of the guest room, back to her own bedroom.

Arjun did not follow her. He stayed where he was, and looked at the set of paintings. Even he was astonished by their beauty. How could she, the creator of the paintings, not be excited about having them back? Especially when she had once loved them so much and had not wanted to lose them?

Maybe because the loss of her paintings seemed insignificant compared to the loss of the lives of her father and her daughter-her only family. What had he been thinking?

He went to her room and gave it one more shot. He could not give up so easily. He could not afford to give up so easily. But he had no better plan. He had tried love, anger, shock ... everything. Nothing touched anything inside her.

He felt disheartened, but he had to try. He was the one responsible for pushing her into this condition; he would be the one pulling her back.

'We bought all your paintings back... most of them, that is. We tracked down all the buyers and got all of them back. Tutul said we will be able to get the other five soon, too ...he said, sitting next to Shambhavi on the bed.

She showed no signs of having heard him.

'You know what-one of the owners was so reluctant to sell his painting back to us, that he did not accept our offer even when we quoted ten times the sum he had paid to buy it.'

She did not ask him what he did to get that painting back. He told her anyway.

'We had to tell him about ... what had happened. He gave us the painting back at the same amount he had paid to buy it. He sends his best wishes to you. Good man,' Arjun smiled at the memory. 'I have to say-you are making some fans out there, Ms Sen.'

She did not laugh with him.

'Say something,' he prodded softly.

She didn't.

'Shambhavi, tell me you're listening. Nod. Shake your head. Anything. I know you're in there. You're listening. Tell me you are.'

No reaction.

'SAY SOMETHING, DAMMIT. TELL ME YOU ARE THERE. COME BACK,' he suddenly thundered, standing up right in front of her.

She glanced at him, shocked at the sudden outrage. But still did not say anything. She just looked at him and kept looking.

'TELL ME THAT I AM AN ARROGANT SON OF A BITCH. TELL ME THAT MY MONEY CAN BUY BACK YOUR PAINTINGS BUT CANNOT BUY BACK YOUR HAPPINESS. TELL ME YOU DON'T WANT THE PAINTINGS. TELL ME TO GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE AND NEVER COME BACK. TELL ME YOU NEVER WANT TO SEE MY UGLY FACE AGAIN. JUST SAY SOMETHING. ANYTHING.'

She kept staring at him. He felt she might finally respond. He pushed, shouting louder than ever.

'YOU KNOW WHAT-IF YOU DO NOT WANT ME HERE, I WILL JUST GO. I AM JUST WASTING SO MUCH OF MY PRECIOUS TIME ON YOU, LIKE AN IDIOT. DO YOU KNOW WHAT KIND OF LOSSES I AM FACING IN MY BUSINESS? ALL FOR WHAT? YOU? HA!'

Something in her eyes stirred.

'NOT ANYMORE. I'M LEAVING. AND I'M NEVER COMING BACK,' he said and turned to leave.

She did not stop him.

He got out of the room and with a bam, shut the door behind him. Immediately, he knelt down and looked at her through the key hole. She was staring at the closed door, her eyes filled with angry tears. He kept looking at her, but there was no change in her. She kept staring at the door, her eyes were filled with tears, but her tears did not fall.

There was a silent turmoil going on inside her. He could feel that. But she still did not let it out. Maybe she had expected him to leave, sooner or later. She was not shocked when he told her he was going.

Maybe she would be shocked if he went back. With that thought in his head, he straightened up and swung the door open.

She looked up at him. Yes, there was shock in her eyes. Arjun was ecstatic. He went to sit next to her and took her hand in his.

'You know what-I thought if you wanted me to leave, you would have asked me to. With words, actions, signs ... But you didn't. So you don't want me to go, after all,' he whispered, smiling warmly at her.

She was watching him.

He rubbed his finger against her palm and continued,'Baby, I will never leave you. Not again. Not unless you ask me to.'

She kept looking at him, but there was a certain emptiness back in her eyes. He felt scared. She was going back. NO! He could not let her do that. He had tried everything, and this was the furthest he had gotten by far, to bring her back. He could not afford to lose that. He might never come this far along again.

'I am going to kiss you now,' he said suddenly. I know you want me to. I can see it in your eyes.'

He bent towards her. Her eyes widened for a second, as if she realized what he was about to do. She was listening, he knew that much. Because she was doing everything he had been asking her to do. From brushing her teeth and taking her showers to following her exercising regime, as the physiotherapist had asked-she was doing everything he was asking her to. She was listening.

She was agreeing because she did not want to protest. She did not have enough fire in her to protest. He wanted to bring back that fire. He needed to do something outlandish to achieve that.

He held her neck from behind and pulled her face closer to his. Their lips were so close they were almost touching. His eyes were open; he was observing her closely. Her eyes were open too, staring into his, but not seeing. It was as if she was seeing right through him. There was no light in her eyes, no animation. Just stillness, nothingness, blankness.

A shiver ran through Arjun's spine. Her condition scared him more than ever.

'Shambhavi ... baby ...he murmured. 'Don't do this ... Please come back...'

She did not respond. They were inches away from each other, he was holding her head in place, their lips were almost touching, he was running the fingers of his other hand against her cheeks ... Still, there was no reaction from her. He had no option.

He leaned into her and their lips touched. He stayed there, not moving, his eyes staring into hers. They stayed like that for a long while. Nothing.

'Open up,' he said hoarsely. He started moving his lips slowly. He pulled her closer to him, taking all her weight on himself. His lips moved rhythmically around hers. She did not respond. She did not retreat.

'Baby ... come back to me...' he whispered.

He kept kissing her softly. Prodding her to open up. Her lips stayed still. Nothing mattered to her.

'Please ... please baby ...he wanted her to respond. He was kissing her and he wanted her to kiss him back. Somewhere inside him, it also hurt his male ego. Men are like that.

She did not respond; there was no reaction at all. She was as still as a statue. He was kissing a girl who was not in her right senses. She probably did not even realize what he was doing to her. And he was using the kiss as a way of getting through to her. Suddenly, he felt like he was molesting her, taking advantage of her condition. He felt like an abuser. He was disgusted at himself.

A teardrop escaped his eye and he pulled back from her. He unlocked his lips from hers and took his hand out of her hair. He moved back and took his other hand off her cheek. No part of his body was touching hers. Something broke inside him. He could not do this. He did not have enough strength to withstand this.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered before he got up from her bed and left the room. He was broken. He had no hope left. He went to the room with her paintings and sat down on the floor, against the wall. Just like he had been doing ever since he had brought Shambhavi to her house.

He did not remember the last time he had slept for more than an hour. Every night, he kept sitting on the settee by Shambhavi's bed, always alert. He had sworn he would never let anything happen to her. He could not leave her alone in the depths of the night. So he sat there, while she shook and convulsed in her dreams. Every time that happened, he went closer to her and held her hand protectively. She would sense his presence and her nightmares would stop.

That was the only thing he was helping her with. That, too, when she was not coherently aware that he was there. He had thought things would get better. He had hoped against hope, every time he looked at her blank face, that the emotions would come back.

She used to be so animated-loud, energetic, happy-that he could not deal with the utter lack of colour in her. He had seen her in so many moods. Focused in work, enthusiastic when she talked about her designs, passionate as she talked about Paris, happy when he asked her out, furious when he sent her that bouquet with the note, laughing when he said something she found funny, nervous when he kissed her for the first time, hopeful when she thought he was letting her into his heart, panicked when she found out that she was expecting his baby, confused when he accused her of trapping him, shattered when she found out about her father's and Paris death ... all her emotions had always been extreme. When she was happy, she was immensely happy, when she was sad, she was immensely sad.