Khushi
"I'm taking you to our storeroom," Anjali-ji led the way upstairs after the breakfast things were cleared away, "As Raizada bahus, there are certain things you need to know."
She stopped at a door Khushi had only been through once when she'd come to deliver sweets for Anjali-ji's anniversary party.
"We keep everything here," Anjali-ji explained.
Khushi smiled at her sister in reassurance as they stepped inside. Light streamed in through a large window, falling on the shelves that lined the walls. The floor was a maze of boxes and crates. A table and some chairs were set up in the far corner, under a bright light that came to life as Anjali-ji flicked a switch.
"The family jewellery isn't here, of course," her sister-in-law picked a path to the corner, "Payal-ji, you received everything before you were married, and Khushi-ji has Mamma's bangles."
Khushi ran her fingers over the bangles Arnav-ji had gifted her with reverence. She hadn't taken them off, not even to sleep, and suspected that she never would.
Thank you, Saasu-maa. It feels like you've blessed me.
"This box holds all of Nana-ji's Holi things," Anjali pointed to a wooden box, "HP will be cleaning it all tomorrow so it's ready. Nani likes to use his things to play."
Jiji giggled, "That's wonderful, Di. What was Nana-ji like?"
Di. She calls her Di.
Sadness pulsed within Khushi as she realised that this was yet another privilege she hadn't yet been afforded.
"He was stern and kind-hearted, strong-willed and at times mischievous. Mama-ji has his kindness, Aakash has his understanding, and Chhote ... Chhote has his mischief."
"Arnav-ji?!"
"Yes, your Arnav-ji," Anjali-ji threw her a smile, "When he was seven he glued the cucumber shut on Janmashtami. Oh, Mamma gave him such a smack! And when he was fourteen he glued Aakash to the bed, though to this day he believes no one knows about it."
Khushi chuckled, trying to imagine it and failing miserably.
"He liked glue," Jiji observed with a smile.
Nodding, Anjali-ji reached for a heavy album from the shelf behind her, "Come, it's time you met our family."
They settled on the table and chairs with the album in front of them. Anjali-ji opened it to the first page.
"This is Nana's family. He had a brother and a sister."
"Oh," Khushi giggled, "That moustache!"
"Nana was a landowner. He went all the way to Lucknow to marry Nani! This is the house they lived in."
There was a faded photo of a large house and sprawling gardens.
"Nana and Nani had two children. Our mother and Mama-ji."
They studied a series of photos showing the two children growing up.
"Look at Papa-ji's hair!" Jiji incited a round of giggles as she gasped at a photo of her father-in-law in a school uniform.
Soon, Anjali-ji paused at a photo of a wedding, "Mamma and Papa married first. This is Sheesh Mahal in Lucknow."
Khushi's attention sharpened as she recognised the mansion she'd first met her husband in, but Anjali-ji skipped several pages of the album to land on photos of another wedding.
"This is Mama-ji and Mami-ji's wedding. Mami-ji doesn't like talking about this, but there's something you both should know. Mami-ji was working for Nana and Nani as a servant when she met Mama-ji. They fell in love and when everyone found out ... they eloped."
Her neck and cheeks heated as both Anjali-ji and Jiji turned to look at her. But it was oddly comforting to know that this had happened before. The scion of his family had once before run away to get married and was still married so many years later.
"It took some time before Nana and Nani were willing to accept Mami into the house," Anjali-ji said glumly, "It's still ... still sometimes a sore point between them."
A sick feeling arose in Khushi's tummy as she wondered what Jiji and Aakash-ji would say to their own children about her elopement. Would they spin it, sanitise it, speak of them as if they'd been misbehaving children? Or would they ignore it and pretend that it'd never happened?
What will these photo albums say about me?
"But there is no future, and after the baby is born ..."
Will I even be in them?
Khushi broke out of her reverie when Anjali-ji and Jiji giggled.
"This is Mami-ji's family. She has one brother, we call him Masala Mama, and two sisters. NK-Bhai's mother lives in Australia with her husband. Her youngest sister and brother-in-law passed away, leaving an orphan."
"Oh!" Khushi gasped, taking her sister's hand as her vision blurred with tears of sympathy.
"She's a strong, brave girl. She stays at a boarding school but comes home for the holidays. She and Aakash share a special relationship, and he's her legal guardian now. We call her Babli."
Here Jiji smiled tearfully, her pride in her husband evident.
"There is more," Anjali-ji bit her lip, "But I ... I don't know where to begin."
Jiji reached across to take Anjali-ji's hand, "Di, you don't have to say anymore. We don't need to know anything else."
"You do. I don't ... It was different when I married Shyam-ji. We never intended to live with Chhote, so it seemed better not to delve into the past, not to pick at old wounds. But you two ... you have to live in this house for the rest of your lives. If I don't tell you, then who will?"
Khushi twisted her hands together, "Anjali-ji ... we don't ... we don't want to dig into your past if it makes you uncomfortable."
And what will Arnav-ji say if he finds out what Anjali-ji told me the secrets of his past?
"No. It's okay," Anjali-ji took a deep breath as she turned the pages of the album back, "This is Mamma and Papa. Their marriage was ... was arranged. Papa was the son of Nani's childhood best friend."
Anjali-ji pointed to a photo Khushi recognised immediately as the one they'd used for the barsi puja last year.
"Papa's family has ancestral wealth. Papa was the heir, and he had a younger brother. Our Chacha. Sheesh Mahal and its estates were to be Chhote's inheritance."
Khushi frowned at the past tense.
I thought Sheesh Mahal belonged to Arnav-ji.
"I was eighteen. It was ..." Anjali-ji sobbed, "It was my wedding day. I was s-so h-happ-py."
"Di, you can stop," Jiji held the other woman as she wept.
"I miss them both so much. They ... they left us on the same day. We were so alone. And Chhote, he was only fourteen."
Khushi stood so she could embrace Anjali-ji as well. Her tears ran unchecked as she imagined the pain they'd both gone through.
"Nothing can prepare you," she sobbed into Anjali-ji's shoulder, "My parents also died in an accident."
What else could have taken them away together, and so suddenly?
At this, Anjali-ji took a deep breath and gently pushed them both away. She held their hands in hers. "No. You misunderstand."
"Di ..."
"Our mother committed suicide. She shot herself."
Khushi stood frozen. For a second, the words made no sense ... her mind kept trying to rearrange them, to somehow force them to take on a different meaning, but they wouldn't.
Anjali-ji continued before she'd gathered herself, "Then Papa, just a little while later. They ... they said ... there was another ...."
Her sister-in-law sobbed, took a deep breath, and spoke so softly that Khushi had to strain to hear.
"They all say there was another woman."
The world spun. Khushi gripped the table to keep from falling over, her knuckles white.
It was as though the last puzzle piece had fallen into place.
All his hurt, his harsh words, his reluctance ... no, his inability to trust her.
She knelt next to Anjali-ji and laid her head in her lap. They wept -- all three of them -- until it seemed to Khushi that she had cried a lifetime's worth of tears.
"I'm so sorry Anjali-ji. You should ... you shouldn't have told us. We have ... we've hurt you."
"No, Khushi-ji. You both needed to know."
"But Anjali-ji ..."
"Di," Anjali-ji tried to smile through her tears, "Call me Di."
And Khushi found that she had more tears in her after all.