Anjali Singh Raizada had lived a hard life. She'd been a victim of polio as a child, resulting in a limp that she carried around all her life. She had no friends because she couldn't trust if people were actually befriending her or her Raizada name, a paranoia instilled in her by her overly cautious father. At the tender age of eighteen, her father fixed her marriage to the son of a business rival.
Although she was reluctant at first, she'd given in and some part of her was actually excited to start a new life as someone's wife. And then on her wedding day, her mother discovered Anjali's father's affair and she shot him and then herself. The wedding was called off, Anjali was labelled a bad omen and within a couple of days, she and her brother were kicked out of their familial home when their uncle took it over.
Yes, Anjali Singh Raizada had seen her fair share of difficulties. But in spite of that, she had an innate sense of kindness.
It was this kindness that led her here, in a taxi in front of Lucknow General Hospital. It had been simple to find out that this was where Garima Gupta now resided, thanks to the help of the new secretary that they'd hired, Aman Chaudhry. He was also her alibi for this visit, having invented a business trip so that Arnav wouldn't be suspicious of her whereabouts.
Anjali wasn't sure why she was here. Could she really forgive Garima? But when she thought of that poor girl, begging for their mercy, she felt like she had to at least try.
And then there was another matter. Anjali hadn't mentioned it to either her grandmother or Arnav. She didn't even let herself think about it too much, but the thought was there, niggling in the back of her mind like a parasitic worm.
What if this girl Khushi was their sister? They'd discovered later that their father's affair with Garima had been ongoing for at least five or six years and that girl was old enough to be produced during that time. Anjali needed to know.
Anjali took a breath to center herself before stepping out of the taxi. She paid the driver distractedly before making her way inside, where she asked the receptionist for Garima's room. She pitied the patients of the hospital as she walked through the dimly lit halls with cracked walls. Perhaps if this new business of theirs worked out, she and Arnav could help improve the conditions of this hospital. After all, Lucknow was their hometown and they had many fond memories here.
Anjali pulled herself out of her thoughts as she reached Garima's room. She knocked but when there was no answer, she pushed the door open and made her way in.
There were four beds in the room, each occupied by a sleeping or perhaps unconscious woman. Only one of the four had a visitor--Khushi, Anjali realized. Khushi was curled up on a chair next to the bed, fast asleep. Anjali moved closer, shifting her gaze to the woman who must be Garima.
Anjali had never met Garima, but she'd heard of the woman's boundless beauty. It must have been so, for nothing short of that would have caught her father's eye. But the woman laying here, with sunken cheeks and aged skin was anything but. Illness had weakened her, stripped her of any youth or life. Her breathing was ragged, coming in puffs out of her dry, cracked lips. Even in sleep, her hands trembled and she let out low moans of pain.
Cancer, Aman had told her.
Anjali didn't know how to feel. This was karma--Garima's comeuppance. Some dark part of Anjali was satisfied that the cruelty and vindictiveness that Garima had displayed was being punished. But another part, the part that made Anjali Anjali, was softening.
From the peripheral, Anjali saw Khushi shift and then heard her hoarsely whisper, "Anjali Ji?"
Without looking at her, Anjali said, "I need to speak to you." She heard Khushi scrambling to get up and follow her out.
Anjali led her to the hospital cafeteria. Khushi sat across from her, eyes bright and wary.
Anjali didn't know how to broach the topic delicately so she decided to just grab the bull by its horns. "Are you my father's daughter?"
"What?" Khushi started. She shook her head no, quickly, emphatically. "No, Anjali Ji. Amma--Garima--is actually my Maasi. She took me in after my parents died in a car accident."
Though she kept her face stern, Anjali internally relaxed. Thank goodness. At the same time, Anjali felt herself sympathizing with the teenager. An orphan. Just like her, like Arnav.
She made to get up. "Anjali Ji, please," pleaded Khushi. "You've seen Amma's state. Can't you forgive her? I know she hurt you, Anjali Ji. She knew too, and she was very sorry for it. She was always very regretful; she told me. Do you know Anjali Ji, that she blamed herself her whole life?"
"She should have," said Anjali coldly. "If it weren't for her, my father and mother would still be alive. Arnav and I would still be living in our childhood home. I can't pity her--not when she deserves all this."
Khushi blinked back her tears. "When will she have suffered enough to earn redemption? She suffered from cancer for three years; she's been unconscious for the past two months. Her doctors say that she can't feel anything but pain. Her doctors are waiting for my permission to turn her machines off.
"How can I make that decision, Anjali Ji? If not her, then have pity on me. How will I look myself in the eye after that? Forgive her, Anjali Ji, so that she can leave this world."
Anjali's throat felt tight, and swiftly she got up and walked out. This time, Khushi didn't try to stop her.
Anjali's flight back to Delhi wasn't until the evening and so she went about town, visiting some of her favorite haunts. But nothing could distract her from the issue at hand. She couldn't forgive her father's old flame. And yet, even as she held on to her fury, her mind conjured up the image of Garima, laying on the verge of death. Of Khushi's youthful face, bearing the sorrow and pain of seven lifetimes.
Khushi didn't deserve this. She had nothing to do with the events of the past, yet they had sullied her life as well. If Anjali didn't forgive Garima, if Khushi chose to pull the plugs, then Khushi would spend her life as broken as Anjali.
Could Anjali really do that?
And with that, Anjali's decision was made. On her way to the airport, she told her taxi driver to stop in front of the hospital. "Wait here, Bhai Saab," she told him. "I'll be back soon."
She went up to Garima's room. Khushi was in there again, curled up in the same chair. Awake, staring at her adopted mother's body in a numb sort of despair. She shook herself out of her stupor as Anjali came to stand next to her.
"I forgive her," said Anjali, as softly as the first star of the night sky. But Khushi heard her, even over the sound of her own thundering heart.
"Thank you, Anjali Ji," she said gratefully. "I will forever be in your debt. I--"
Khushi stopped talking as the sound from one of Garima's machines changed from the consistent, evenly spaced beeps to a much faster, arrhythmic pace.
Doctors rushed into the room even as the machine stopped beeping altogether. "What's happening?" Khushi cried, trying to see past them. Anjali grabbed her shoulders gently, keeping her back.
After a minute that dragged on for an eternity, the doctors stepped back. One of them turned to Khushi. "I'm sorry, Ms. Gupta. Your mother is no more."
Khushi just stared at the doctor for a beat. "Oh," she said finally. "Thank you."
The doctors all shook their heads, murmuring words of condolences as they walked out. Anjali helped Khushi to the chair. "I'm sorry for your loss, Khushi," she whispered, surprising herself because it was the truth. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
Khushi suddenly wrapped her arms around Anjali and for a moment, Anjali was actually sorry that Khushi wasn't her sister. But then she pulled back and Anjali banished the thought from her mind.
"Thank you, Anjali Ji. You have done me a great favor. I will remember this great deed for the rest of my life. I cannot ask you for anything more. Please, go. Return to your home knowing that this chapter of your life is closed forever."
And so Anjali did.
And although Anjali's actions were for Khushi's sake, it was only the next morning, after she awoke from the first peaceful sleep she'd had in years, did she realize how much she herself had needed this closure.
Translations:
Maasi: mother's sister