Page 10 of No Boss
Rekha’s voice came in quietly from across the table. “Our Kul Devi’s mandir is in those walls.”
“The temple will be protected.”
Mahesh stood. He looked at Abhinav for a long moment. Underneath that look was the grief of a man who had lost his brother two weeks ago and understood, perhaps for the first time, that he had also lost his roots. “I hope you understand what you’re giving up, before it’s too late to change your mind.”
He walked out. Rekha followed. Their daughters left without speaking.
The room felt larger without them in it.
Sarita sat very still, hands wrapped around her tea. She had been looking at her son since the funeral, searching for a crack, a shift, anything that might let her in.
“Visit once,” she murmured. “Before you finalize anything. Just once.”
“I’m not going to visit, Maa.”
“Just to see it.”
“It won’t change what I’ve decided.”
“Your father never went back.” Her gaze dropped to the tea. “He talked about it near the end. He said he should have gone. Just once.”
“I’m making the decision he couldn’t.”
Sarita looked at him for a long moment. Then she stood, touched his shoulder once. Briefly. Then she walked out without another word.
Abhinav picked up his phone and walked out as well.
Naina remained at the table.
She stared at the empty chairs. At the tea that had gone cold. At the doorway her brother had crossed without looking back. Since their father’s death, she had watched him, holding on to the hope that grief would reach him, cut through the calm he carried.
It hadn’t come.
It didn’t come anymore.
Her fingers pressed against her eyes. She drew in a breath, then another, then one more, forcing each one through the weight that refused to lift.
???
That evening, Sarita sat in the chair by the window in her room and made the call she had been thinking about making all day.
Devendra Chauhan had held the Haveli together, kept it alive while the Thakur stayed away.
He deserved to hear it from her. From the Thakurain Sa of Anand Mahal.
She dialled.
“Anand Mahal. Devendra Chauhan speaking.”
“Devendra ji. It’s Sarita Anand.”
Silence met her first.
Then it shifted, warmth moving through formality. “Thakurain Sa. It is good to hear your voice. Our family has been praying for yours. Thakur Sa was a good man. A very good man.”
Her fingers tightened around the phone. “He spoke of the Haveli near the end. Of how well you’d kept it. How carefully.”
“It was never a burden, Thakurain Sa. It was our honour.”
