The Unwanted Princess

Part-44 (The end)

"Slowly, with many lost days, I come back to life."― Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay

Shivaaye watched silently as his wife played with their granddaughter, sitting under the shade of Pride of India also known as Jarul tree. The light breeze and the soothing smile on her face was all he needed, along with the continues chatter and carefree laughter bubbling out of their granddaughter.

For a moment he could visualize a younger Anika sitting under the same tree playing with a young Anya instead of Ira. For a perfect fleeting moment, he could picture his Anika playing with Anya when everything was fine when everything was theirs. For a moment he could imagine this as a usual day of past where nothing has gone wrong, where they were still living their happy days of eternity and for a fleeting perfect moment, he could pretend the past years never took place. He could just pretend the storm of sorrows were never there. He could just pretend the past never happened. He could pretend his father and uncle weren't criminals. The lady he called Badi ma didn't destroy his children's life. The lady he called Badi Ma wasn't responsible for all the pain in his life. He could pretend he didn't waste precious years of his life chasing a ghost, chasing things he could never figure out.

The past haunts him nowadays, more than ever. The recent visits of the hospitals were eerily terrifying to him. He never thought he'll ever need a shield. He never thought he'll need someone to stand up for himself until now. Until now, when he was visiting hospitals and facing the wrath of an entire city for actions that wasn't his. When the entire city was judging him on the significance of the line he was so proud of, when being Oberoi felt more like a curse to him as the list of crimes were unfolded in front of the public. The repercussions faced were dreadful and as much as he thought he was ready to face them. He wasn't, he still isn't.

He never thought there will be a day, a day he would be standing behind his little girl. A day he'll need her little fingers to walk ahead in life. A day where he'll cry in her arms. A day where she will act as his guide but the day has come and came sooner than he expected it to come.

Everything after the fire was a total blank for him. He couldn't just put together pieces of incident that happened in front of him. He couldn't forget the loud blaring sound of sirens and yells of different forces. He couldn't forget the look of his son as he pulled him out of the daze. He couldn't forget the look Ansh threw him as he shook him out of the stupour. He just couldn't forget the panicked, worried eyes of his son looking like a replica of his mother as he asked him " papa...you okay. Do you need something?" The mild tone of Ansh full of concern and worry surprised him as he just nodded in reply. Ansh's gaze lingered on him for a few minutes more before Shivaaye watched him run after a man exclaiming Dad on top of his voice.

Reyaan's presence was the only thing that made him realize his surroundings. He wasn't in front of OM anymore. He was in Ishana's home with Ishana hovering over Panchi and the house help, helping everyone else. Anita was seated in front of him with Shivika's head on her lap as their daughter kept on talking about something or other. His heart hammering around his chest as he thought about this incidence again triggering something in her. He can't help to lose her again to herself.

Omisha and Omav were both with Omkara and Gauri and though the way of things, it looked like they were trying to bring Omkara out of the shock. And Anya wasn't anywhere is site and Shivaaye didn't know whom to ask as Swaadhin slowly directed them to their designated rooms in Kapoor Mansion.

Shivaaye would have been a fool to think the hard days were over. Shivaaye would have been more than a fool to think that the bad days were gone, the shock and sorrows were behind them with the big showdown but no it was just the beginning for some more sorrows. It was the beginning of a backlash from both media and people alike and the lingering scent of death and mourning with it.