บท 2: A New Beginning
The engine hissed and the heavy metal wheels deftly churned as the train drew at Dehradun station. ‘It was a pleasure to have your company aunty’ said Suhasini as she got up from the lower berth. Bobby print salwar kameez, buttoned up maroon cardigan, a loose plait and thick flicks which were in fashion cascaded her small face. Surprisingly long and curled lashes created a perfect illusion of beautiful eyes. Even though those round pair of eyes were simple and plain. Thin kajal on the waterline effortlessly matched with the deep black color of the eyes while high cheekbones nestled an arched nose with a noticeable pointed tip. ‘Goodbye aunty’ and she walked out of the train compartment with her luggage.
She stepped down the train and cool breeze of October brushed against her face as the gentle rays of morning sun tried to warm her back.
She grabbed the strap at the side of her suitcase and dragged it out of the station, ‘Excuse me, can you take me to ‘Rani's Mansion, Clement Town?’, she asked a middle-aged Tonga driver. He was quick to jump off the seat and said, ‘yes madam, why not?’ She climbed in while the Tonga driver gently tapped at his country-bred horse and the obedient animal started to pull the Tonga. As they rode Suhasini quietly observed the new city and smiled hopefully at the new beginning.
*****
The Tonga turned around the corner and to Suhasini’s surprise came in view an enormous mansion, ‘Madam this is your’, Suhasini cutting him said, ‘Rani’s mansion’. The black gate stood tall and broad with daunting spikes that were flaunted almost like a crown. Next to the gate stood a cemented pillar showing a marble plate which read, ‘Rani's Mansion – Estd. 1970’. A moment later she rang the bell!
The gate creaked and a young man of twenty-five stood in front of Suhasini, fair with thin hair, pants that clearly weren’t tailored for him but made to fit anyhow. ‘Are you Ms. Suhasini?’ he asked. Suhasini nodded, the man smiled, joined his hands instantly and replied, ‘namaste madam, I am Mohan. Please come inside, Nihaal Saheb told us last night that you will be arriving this morning, please come in…please.’ Suhasini’s eyes were fixed on the immaculate manor, painted with magenta and white. Cobble stone pathway led to a huge verandah, ‘welcome madam’, said Mohan. Suhasini walked inside only to find that the boldness emitted by the outside of the house was in complete contrast with the simplicity and tranquility. The fireplace was positioned right opposite the entrance was made of stone, a typical feature of Dehradun architecture. An over-sized Kashmiri carpet swallowed most of the floor. ‘Madam, would you like a cup of tea? asked Mohan. ‘Tea’, replied Suhasini unabashedly for the Tonga ride had made her cold right to the bones. Mohan left while Suhasini stood trying to distinguish the feeling of anxiety from excitement. Suhasini took a deep breath and turned to sit on of the sofas when a large portrait hung on the wall left her mesmerised. Framed in a golden metal frame, the oil canvas was tightly wrapped. The woman in the painting looked heavenly, large eyes, long lashes, deep black eyebrows and a small red bindi in the center of the forehead. Set below a sharp nose were the luscious lips painted in rose pink which perfectly complemented the rouge high cheekbones. Shimmering skin, slender translucent neck and ample bosom. Voluminous bouffant and the winged liner made the woman undisputed image of perfection. Enthralled Suhasini raised her hand to touch the portrait hoping for it to come alive.
‘That is my wife’, came a deep, confident and mature voice that involuntarily startled Suhasini as she spun around agape. Stood at the top of the stairs which ran upwards from one end of the hall was a man in his late thirties. Clad in a crisp white shirt, Khaki’s neatly tucked in brown leather boots and dark brown suspenders that parallelly ran across his broad and well-built chest. He looked authoritative as he alighted the stairs. He was taller than he looked at the stairs, a well chiseled face with thin moustache, heavy sideburns and thick tufts of deep black hair all over his head. Broad forehead with deep lines which spoke volumes of his sorrows but his eyes were hard. Brown, round and small, not very keen like they had seen it all, solemn and strictly business.
‘Hello, I am Nihaal Choudhary and you must be Ms. Suhasini?’, he spoke softly but in the absence of a smile it was difficult for Suhasini to respond.
‘I hope you had a good journey?’, he asked.
‘Yes, it was good’, was all Suhasini could reply.
‘Please have a seat’, said Nihaal. Suhasini nodded and gesturing towards the portrait asked who the woman was?
‘My late wife, Rani’, replied Nihaal.
‘She was very beautiful’, said Suhasini.
‘No!’, snapped Nihaal as he sharply turned staring at Suhasini who stood stunned and unsure.
‘She is still the most beautiful woman’, snarled Nihaal.
‘Madam tea?’, came Mohan’s voice and Suhasini sighed in relief.
‘Mohan please show Ms. Suhasini her bedroom and serve her tea in the room, she must be tired’ said Nihaal plainly.
‘Ms. Suhasini please take some rest, Madhavi has gone to school but I will introduce her to you as soon as she is back. I am sure she will be pleased to meet her new governess’, he said perfunctorily.
‘So would be I, Mr. Nihaal’, said Suhasini as she followed Mohan. While climbing the stairs, she stopped and looked back at Nihaal. She saw him solemnly standing in front of her dead wife’s portrait and the agitation she felt for Nihaal’s rudeness was washed over by pity for an unfortunate man.
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