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Abhay Gupta drove along the highway, slower than he usually did; the slickness of the roads, an effect of the recent showers, elevated by his personal guilt. Less than twenty four hours earlier he had promised his wife that he would not meet Prashanti before Tuesday, which would also be the last time he met her. But when the night had passed in a restful slumber, he had woken to a new promise and an old temptation; Prashanti's call had simply it easy for him to choose, though he seemed uncomfortable as he lied to his wife.

He could see that she did not believe him, and her look of hurt disbelief stayed with him; that was what made him take a detour over the highway rather than cut through the city traffic. He drove carefully yet was almost pushed off the road when the roaring Audi overtook him; his heart racing as he tried to steady his car, and failing to do so, cruised to a sudden halt as he slipped off the road and into the mud. As he sat shaken, he wondered how it would be to be able to speed on a magnificent vehicle like that Audi and recalled what he had read when the Audi Q5 had been launched - Quattro all-wheel drive and an 8-speed automatic transmission, a fully digital instrument console, multiple airbags, electronic brake force distribution- he had been envious of those who could afford such a luxurious and safe vehicle.

In an instant, it all changed; even years later he could not recall how it had happened though he had almost been a witness to the accident. He remembered another car overtook him, driving much faster and as he had been entering a patch of highway, where there was little light and unable to see clearly, he had slowed as he was driving on low-beam. He had switched to high beam for a fraction of a second before he switched back to low beam as he made out a truck coming from the opposite side. And then there was the horrifying squeal of brakes and the screech of slippery rubber; as he rounded the shallow curve he saw the wreck.

The wheels of the Audi were still spinning as it lay on its side, the front grill rammed into the light pole on the central divider; the other car driver who must have served to avoid the Audi was in another wreck at the other end of the road, while the truck driver had simply driven away. Abhay made the call for the emergency services before he walked over to see if anyone was alive, he did not have to be a doctor to estimate the causalities.

As he waited for the response team, he could not help think that all the engineering marvels were no match to human frailties.

・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・

The sirens of the ambulance as it sped through the roads were a dull clangor in the background, one that he could hear despite not being sure where he was. He remembered vague impressions, could feel the sharp shooting pains and tried once again to ask for Sahil. But his movements were restricted, both by being strapped to the gurney and held down, in a gentle yet firm hold, by the nurse. He struggled but could not fight the heavy haze of drugs and as his body yielded to the stupor, his mind, focused only on his son, slipped into past, down the years.

Sanjay Sengupta had three passions in life, passions which had determined the course he had taken and influenced the decisions he had made in his life of seventy years.

The first passion was his burning ambition, to be a name to be reckoned with in the publishing world. It had found expression in the flagship publication, The Times Today, a daily newspaper that was published in both English and Bengali and for the last forty years, it was usually included in the top five publications in terms of circulation and revenues. It was an achievement to be proud of and Sanjay was.

That fire had been ignited when he had been a mere lad of ten years and it had burnt steadily through all his growth years. Ironically, though it was an article by Shankar Lal Gadodia which had fueled that desire, Sanjay Sengupta had not imbibed any of the scruples or ethics that Shankar propagated as a necessity for any journalist. He had sharp brains, the gut instinct for a 'saleable' story, and the absence of any scruples which might have deterred a lesser man; the result of such a combination being that he was quite unstoppable in his ascent on the ladder of success in the publishing industry. He did not restrict himself to selling news, or even creating it if he deemed it necessary, he forayed into any branch that could garner profits, be it film based magazines, weekly newspapers that dealt with specific technical topics, fortnightly publications that spoke about life, homes, gardening, fashion and a very successful publishing house that specialised in novels and stories, more leaning towards erotica. He never judged people by their reading tastes, they were all customers for him and if could earn a rupee more by pandering to their wishes and create a market or a niche he would do it. But it had not been an easy journey, not for someone who had been born poor and destitute.

He had realised early on that brains were good to have, but it was money that drove the world.

That had led to his second passion, his wife, Maya, whom he disliked with an intensity that bordered on loathing. She had been necessary, his ticket to the big life and he had set about wooing her with his charming persistence. Wooing her had not been difficult; Maya was short, plump, with all the attendant insecurities of being a rich ugly duckling, with two sisters who were the complete opposite to her and were beautiful and charming, both being married to equally handsome and charming husbands. Maya would not have resisted Sanjay if he had simply flashed a few of his bright smiles and she did not have a chance when he had turned on his full charm. It took him three months to have her completely fall for him though her family had not been so easy to win over. His perseverance paid off though he would have to give some credit to Maya's stubbornness, she had categorically stated that she would only marry him. Her parents had tried to convince her but had to given in to her pleas; though he was aware that he was still not fully accepted into the Mitra trust circle even to this day.

A trust not extended to him despite him being the only successful son-in-law of the Mitras, and the only one with a son.

His son, Sahil, the only one he truly loved. And the only good thing that came out that union, apart from the conditional access to the Mitra fortune, was his son, for whom he had to wait for almost ten years. Ten long years of performing his husbandly duties, while Maya seemed unwilling or unable to get pregnant, it had infuriated and frustrated him. His mistresses, he had a string of them, routinely got pregnant and underwent abortions; he was not going to have any child out of wedlock. His father in law might have overlooked his philandering ways and roving eyes, but sowing his wild oats would definitely cut him out of their life. At the end of ten years, when he was desperate enough to risk the wrath of the Mitras and walk out on Maya, she finally gave the news he had been waiting for.

It had been worth the wait, for once his son, Sahil, was born, the child became the joy of his life and his third passion. Sahil, whom he loved and adored more than anyone or anything in his life. He might have liked it if Sahil did not have so much of the Mitra features in him, but then it made his wealthy grandparents happy, so he tolerated it.

Sahil was his everything, and he had only his son's name on his lips, throughout the journey, the stay in the ICU and during the weeks that followed.

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Prashanti seethed as her call went unanswered yet again; she had issued her ultimatum on Tuesday and on Sunday morning, Abhay had confirmed that he would pay her demands, not the amount she had demanded but then what Abhay agreed was what she had realistically expected. She had agreed to wait till Tuesday for the payment but wanted to meet him that day, a meeting for which Abhay had been enthusiastic; she was not the only one who was enamoured by his fingers, apparently her touch still held fire. Their affair would end on Tuesday, but then they could always part on friendly terms, very amicable terms.

And then there had been silence from his side, one that drove her crazy with anger. Tired of staying cooped up in her tiny apartment, she decided to go down to the clinic, Abhay did come over often on Sundays, especially to catch up on the paperwork and other things. She had a key to the clinic. She had sometimes come down on those occasions and had enjoyed the way they ended the day. As she got on to her Scooty, her eyes fell on the plastic can which stood at a nook near the watchman's house, almost hidden in the corner of parking lot. She picked it up, put it in a plastic bag and secured it in the carry hook. She laughed, a low wicked one, in case Abhay continued to ignore her, she could heat up things, it would  surely get his attention and also teach him a lesson; he should learn that it was not nice to ignore her.

Throughout the ride, she was so focused on the pleasure she would have if he was there, and the fun she would have if he was not, that she did not paid much attention to the fact that the door swung open though the clinic was shrouded in darkness. She stood in the reception till her eyes adjusted to the darkness, which was when she made out the slit of light from Abhay's cabin. A feral grin split her face, Abhay must have know she would come and was waiting for her. As she shifted the plastic bag from one hand to the other, she forgave him; he must have wanted to surprise her. She would give him one of her own, maybe play with him before they indulged in their routine game. Gripping the handle of the plastic bag she held, she tiptoed and stood at the closed door, waiting to see if she had been heard. In the silence, she could make out faint shuffling and slashing noises. Pushing the door open, she screamed, "Surprise..."

Those were the last words she spoke.

It was almost an hour later that the fire engine blared its way to attend to a blazing clinic. And it was after a few hours, once the fires were put out that the fire fighters found the completely charred body.

・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・

She sat in the plush reception centre of SNLRS offices, in the highest level of the building, as she waited. She could hear the raised voices, ire and dislike spilling in those tones, which carried beyond the closed door and echoed around her. She spared a glance to the man sitting beside her, he shifted in his chair and she knew that he could hear them too. The words, or rather the tone of them, for they could not make out what exactly they were saying,  were a discomfort, but then she was used to words; hurtful, taunting, demeaning and insulting. She did not expect a different treatment here, but she knew she had to meet them, she had to push their hand to give her a hearing, if not the deal. 

As she sat, she remembered sitting in another reception area, how she had dreaded another confrontation, more than three decades ago.

Maya Sengupta was born Maya Mitra, a middle child in all respects and never the centre of attraction; in fact she was always the odd one out. Her elder sister and younger sister were tall, slim, and considered to be the epitome of Bengali beauty, with glowing brown skin, doe shaped brown eyes and thick long black hair. They looked alike and even had similar sounding names, Malati and Malini. She was Maya, and was teased that as her name so her personality, her beauty, if she had any, was an elusive. The teasing and taunting, implicit and explicit, present in every conversation and gathering had shattered her self-confidence at a very young age, and she had never recovered by that brokenness.

It did not help that Malati, four years her senior, was married at eighteen while she, at the supposed ripe age of twenty two had no suitor and was preparing for the wedding of Malini, younger to her by four years. She would often joke that she was an ugly duckling who had grown into a fat goose and then would age into an old stork. It hurt when none refuted her self-deprecation, not even out of politeness, and she resigned herself to being unmarried and unloved.

It was then that she met Sanjay Sengupta.

He was everything she had dreamt of, in silence and hopelessness; Sanjay was handsome, charming and witty, and who without telling any lies made her feel beautiful and loved. He captivated her imagination, stole her heart, inflamed her body and she submitted her soul to him. She did not remember how exactly they had met, but she had been charmed off her feet. Her personal insecurities had been an hindrance in the beginning, but Sanjay was persistent, and three months later, at her younger sister's wedding, instead of being a visible yet invisible fixture of the ceremonies, she found herself being seduced by Sanjay; a seduction that had her shedding all inhibitions, burying her doubts and surrendering to him.

After that night, any doubts she had, vanished in the afterglow of their new found intimacy, and she fought with her parents to be married to Sanjay, refusing to listen to any protests or objections they had. Her father insisted that he was only after her money and her mother cautioned her that if he appeared too good to be true, maybe he was false. She put her sisters' objections to jealousy and fought with her best friend, Barnali, who minced no words and stated that Maya was a fool and idiot to believe in him. 

She did not care. He was her fairy tale romance come true and her whirlwind wedding , three weeks after her sister's, was the talk of the town.

It was at her honeymoon, a week after the wedding, that her illusions about him being her Prince Charming were shattered and she learnt that she was no plump Cinderella, rather she was poor little Red Riding Hood who had been swallowed by the Bad Wolf.

Her periods had started on the third day of the honeymoon, and though she was upset for it meant that she could not enjoy her honeymoon, she was relieved for she had not wanted to be pregnant. Unfortunately, Sanjay had a very different opinion and she stood numb as rage rippled through his words. It was much later, after he had stormed out of their suite and returned in the middle of the night, only to fall in asleep in a drunken stupor, did she finally make sense of his words and deeds.

Everyone, from her parents to her sisters, from the society to her best friend, had been right. He had married her only for her connections to the Mitra name and wealth, his seduction had been carried out only in the hope that she would get pregnant and that the ensuing child would bind the Mitra fortune to the Sengupta ambitions. He had not been pleased to find that his plans had been wrecked and he minced no words letting her know what he thought of her.

It was a scenario that continued for almost a decade; each month that saw the onset of her periods had her reeling in frustration at failure to get pregnant, again, and swimming in relief that she would not have to share a bed with Sanjay, for at least few days. For from that day during their honeymoon, Sanjay  had dropped all pretenses, making it clear that all he wanted was a child from her, one that would cement his bond with the Mitras. While the days passed in relative politeness, the nights were a humiliation; Maya did not know whether she preferred a silent drunk Sanjay or a sober sarcastic one, though she knew it was the worst when Sanjay took the name of his latest mistress rather than her name as he made love to her, if that act could be called that. 

She knew she should walk out on him, the temporary social stigma would be preferable to her perpetual private humiliation, but fear and a twisted sense of pride kept her with him. Even the knowledge that everybody knew that the marriage was a failure, the fact Sanjay spared no opportunity to hurl subtle insults at her in all the public functions they attended, and  that her withdrawal into the shadows spoke out what she never said; none of it gave her courage to confront him or walk out. Instead she hoped she would get pregnant and that a child would magically return the fairy tale romance to her.

It took her ten years to find the medical evidence to prove what she had always suspected.

That report would have necessitated a confrontation with Sanjay, and though trepidation had been a companion on that day too, she hoped that today it would be different. A hope that seemed to dissolve the longer she was kept waiting.

・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・

The whole of SNLRS office, even his room, the one where he had always found a sense of purpose, was suffocating, the walls closing in as his frustration and fury rose, his knuckles a dead white as he gripped his wheel chair.

Sanskaar had come to office only because they had lied to him. And it angered him to find out the real reason.

Tanisha, calm and warm as the winter sun outside, watched him while he spat out what he thought about all of them; she only raised an eyebrow when he started to curse. They had all allowed Sanskaar to rant but then she felt that he was now being unreasonable.

"Listen Sanskaar, you want us to apologise for not telling why you are needed, we will, but you must also be a little human. Irrespective of who she is, she is a woman in grief, who has been trying to reach you for the past one month. I will agree that the Senguptas are bastards, but you are good person and you will not disrespect who you are by behaving like a pig headed child."

She crossed her arms and sat back in her chair, ignoring the gnashing that sounded from him, he would come around to being reasonable, though she hoped he would agree to at least hear what their visitor had to say. She, along with the rest, understood his ire but then she would not allow him to continue to wallow in that state of despair.

Sahil's death had unleashed a storm of emotions in Sanskaar. They created conflict within and caused chaos without; anger at having his revenge stolen from him; resentment that the Senguptas had gotten away without letting him extract his payback; a tiny fraction of sympathy for the way Sahil had died, which he squashed with increasing difficulty and a helplessness as there appeared to be nothing to look forward to. For three years it had been anger that had driven him and for five years revenge had given him a purpose, and now when his fingers had just grasped vengeance, he found himself holding on to nothing.

There were only two people, who managed to stay around him and endure his wrath and irritation, which was stretching things, for one of them was a dog. Rache did not care for what Sanskaar said or did, but when he threw things, Rache would give a bark that sounded like a chastisement and thump his tail to show his displeasure at Sanskaar's display of human temper. Kabir, on the other hand, who had appointed himself as Sanskaar's personal physician and hovered around him like a mother hen playing at being a bodyguard, reacted in the opposite fashion, he would join in and add the most colourful adjectives he could think of, often making Sanskaar smile and wonder as to where the young doctor had obtained that vocabulary.

The rest of them, who vacillated between despair at watching Sanskaar's mood swings and anxiety that he could slip into his former depressed self, were always around him but could not do much to help him out.

And the requests from the Mitras had not helped. For more than a month he had turned obstinate and refused to meet or even hear what Maya wanted to tell them, all her attempts had been rebuffed with a rudeness that had made the rest uncomfortable at the way Sanskaar worded his refusals. But then they had made it clear that they would be with him and none of them said anything, either to him or to the requests from Maya, till Tanisha had insisted that they come to SNLRS office to discuss something urgent, which could not be done at his house.

He glared at her and she returned it with a even gaze, before stating, "Sanskaar, even though I can understand your anger I would still want you to give her a chance, just hear out what she has to say. You do not even have to speak to her; we might not have involved you in the first place, but then your friends here are adamant they would not meet her without your presence and she is insistent that she talk to you. You do not have to change your feelings, just give her a chance?"

Sanskaar capitulated, Tanisha was always difficult to refuse and when she was being reasonable, it was impossible, "All right, but only her and only for five minutes."

・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・

"You feel cheated."

It was a statement, not a question, an astute observation from a woman who had seen life and lived through its losses. But it did not calm Sanskaar down, instead it inflamed him. He had hoped that Maya would oppose his conditions but she had agreed, overruling the vocal objections of their lawyer, who had accompanied her.

"Yes. Your son cheated me of my love, my body and my life. And now after five years of planning and waiting, he cheats me of my revenge. So if you have come here to ask me to forgive him, just because he is dead, I am sorry, I cannot be so merciful. To tell the truth, I am angry that he died on the spot and did not suffer."

The words hung heavy, sparks of outrage that spoke of his fury and Sanskaar was disappointed when Maya gave a sad smile but did not reply. Instead, she simply placed a file on the table and gave it a gentle nudge towards them, indicating that Sanskaar should read the same.

She had nothing to say to Sanskaar; Sahil had suffered, suffered in silence, as those screams refused to leave him, as the darkness haunted him, there were nights he rarely slept, the nightmares leaving him restless and scared. And his controversial lifestyle was a misplaced effort to cope with his burden of guilt. But she was not going to tell that to Sanskaar, there would be no use, Sahil's suffering could not excuse the accident and the deaths it had caused.

Sanskaar made no attempt to reach out for the file, it was clear that he was not not going to read anything she gave him. And when she saw that none of the others made a move either, she knew she would have to tell him, she had only four minutes to get her point across. Taking a deep breath, she spelt out what exactly what the file detailed and concluded, "your plans for Sahil might not have materialised but then you can still go ahead with what you planned if Sanjay gave in, which you have to know, he would never do. I know him, despite him meeting my father to discuss what you had said, in the end, he would worked out a way where he would not have to do anything you asked of him.

I am giving you a chance, the Sengupta Publications are not just pieces of paper, it is a living organisation, employing hundreds of people and has thousands of customers. I have watched how the Maheshwari Industries are managed, and I believe you would be a good choice though accepting our offer is up to you... and I think that you would honour the deal by managing the publications and not simply sell it off.

Think it over, that is all I ask of you and I will wait for a response from you, hopefully a favourable one."

They watched in silence as Maya rose from her chair and started to walk out, none of them had expected her offer and were wondering how they would have to react. At the door, she turned and spoke, "It is not an apology nor an explanation for Sahil's deeds, but I want to tell you something. My biggest fault is cowardice, my hus...Sanjay's greatest flaw was arrogance, and between us, Sahil did not have much of a chance.

What you have lost can never be restored, Mr Maheshwari, I know that. But maybe you should also know that what you have, your family and friends, who stand by you, who are your strength and support, that is what you have - that is also irreplaceable."

So that was that. And how did you find it? What do you think Sanskaar will do? The next chapter, Double Dealing would deal with Abhay and Prashanti, and to a lesser extent with Shekhar, though a significant part will be about Maya Sengupta née Mitra as we learn of one last secret.

With that, we should be able to wrap up the revenge part, at least. Then two more updates to wrap up this tale.

love,
Nyna