Passport to Love

Chapter One

Bureau, Rescue Operations, Gurgaon, India.The black handset shrilled on a rectangular teakwood desk in the colossal empty chamber, behind which was a high-back leather executive chair. A muscled six-footer in casual denim strode towards the screeching apparatus and grabbed the receiver.

 “Sid Chevalier,” he said as he dropped into the chair, leaned back, and stared out of the wall-to-wall glass window where a trickle of morning traffic raced through the wide MG road. Early risers speed-walked as they talked, some getting breathless in the process. Faint rays of sunlight managed to pierce the thick blanket of clouds that chased across the sky, giving the morning a misty appearance. 

The sweet citron scent of Sid Chevalier’s spicy cologne floated around the room. After a few sniffs, he realised he had poured the perfume on himself instead of spraying it. Shoving a hand through his dark mop of hair, he asked the woman caller the usual questions their receptionist asked.

Anna was their latest addition to the Rescue Operations Bureau, chosen because of her soft voice and quick thinking. 21-year-old Anna worked as she attended evening college, which Sid paid for, giving her all the support she needed. She was studying psychology and had interned for six months before being recruited.

“Where are you, Mrs Chari?” Sid picked up a pen and a fresh sheet of paper, deciding to do Anna’s job as she showed no signs of appearing. One glance at his watch said it had just turned 9.00 am; she was probably stuck in the traffic.

Mrs Chari tried to speak through her hiccupping and sobbing but what she said wasn’t audible. She was probably frightened that the man she was complaining about would burst upon her and punish her for letting the world know what was happening behind closed doors.

Wasn’t that what his mother had feared too?

 “Gurgaon,” Mrs Chari said in tearful tones.

His vision blurred as he stared out of the window, oblivious to the beautiful hand-painting of Jimmy Hendricks adorning the walls of his office. The thick plantation beyond the glass panes soared towards the sky as if it were holding cumulus clouds with towering tops charged with electricity and producing thunder and lightning.

His eyes rested on a photo frame hanging on the wall ­– a woman in a sari carrying a baby in her arms, the baby being Sid. The man beside her was her husband. Sid had massacred his face so that he was unrecognisable. The woman was smiling at the camera, but her eyes were sad.

Sid scribbled ‘Residential Towers, Gurgaon’ on the sheet, cursing his father and men like him who got their kicks out of beating defenceless women. Mrs Chari, of course, wasn’t poor like his mother, but that did not mean she had been spared. Men like Sid’s father and Mrs Chari’s husband had no business existing in the world.

If only Sid had been older and stronger, he would have protected his mother from that beast. God knows where he took his mother as Sid was still trying to trace her from fragments of memories of his native village in Pondicherry.

“Do you have children, Mrs Chari?” he continued to gaze at the mother’s photo. Why did you leave me? Was I a burden? He knew he was unfair. His mother did what she could so that Sid escaped and had a better life far from his violent environment. But Sid wished the decision had been his. He wouldn’t have traded the comfort of his mother’s arms nor the sari smelling of spices and poverty for anything in the world. So yes, the Chevaliers were wealthy and gave Sid everything he wished – the French château and its vineyards, fancy cars and a closet full of clothes and toys – even the elegant blue chamber with its designer lamps and sophisticated décor couldn’t replace his darling mother.

“Reshmi … eleven, Mira … five.”

Sid jerked to the present abruptly. Minors! This was going to be complicated. Their bureau was already receiving much backlash lash as it was helping women restart life independently, leaving their abusive partners behind. The traditional folks who believed marriages were made forever felt that Rescue Operations broke up marriages by offering women a way out.

The footsteps in the outer corridor signalled his colleague, Roy, a retired police officer, was on his way in. About time! The grey-haired man in his early sixties shed his shapeless suede jacket in the closet. He hooked his cap beside it, his khaki trousers and white shirt the only indication he was once a police officer who had earned his stripes—and lost his family. Now retired, Roy worked day and night, bringing criminals to heel.

The chair winced as Roy eased himself onto it and turned on his desktop. The screen came alive, and a map indicated the caller’s location. He minimised it and opened another program that coughed vital information about Mrs Chari. He took printouts and compiled the data into a file.

From the doorway, J’Adore wafted into the room, announcing the arrival of his efficient investigator, Rebecca Crawford – a trained Black Belt. Rebecca’s long legs appeared even longer in her high-heeled boots and tapering denim jeans. If one described Rebecca (affectionately called Becka), they would say God was generous to her. A full-sleeve white shirt wrapped around her shapely bust as she flicked her long blond hair off her shoulders and raised her Gucci sunglasses over her head.

Sid watched with irritation how Roy, who had been concentrating on the Chari file, shifted his focus and dramatically let air gush between his parted lips. Becka pretended not to notice, but the way her lips lifted at the corners told him she was aware of Roy’s interest.

Anna was tiptoeing to her place (late as usual) but stopped midway as she saw Sid sitting near her desk. She scurried to the board and stammered a greeting with the look of a whipped puppy.

What a team they made!

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes, Mrs Chari. Keep the doors unlocked. No chauffeurs or maids around. Hide in the washroom. I’ll deal with the security.” He waited for Mrs Chari to disconnect and then replaced the receiver.

The office started to breathe. Printers whirred, phones shrilled, and the airconditioners hummed. Rebecca had joined Roy, and their heads were closely stuck as they combined their expertise. Anna was doing what she did best at the board – listening and soothing the callers. Sid was fortunate to have found a dedicated team, one of the reasons Rescue Operations, in a matter of a year, had reached the Top Ten Bureaus in India, making a difference on the planet.

Sid strolled to the coffee machine and got himself a strong café noir. His mind leapt from scenario to scenario as he planned a breakthrough. There was limited time. Chances of Mrs Chari’s husband returning and learning of his wife’s call would be dangerous. He must get there before the man arrives. 

Rebecca brought Mrs Chari’s file to where he was standing, and they studied the details. Jasmine Raj Chari was a French National of Indian Origin (Pondicherry) who had lived in France. She returned to India after marrying Sunil Chari and resided in Gurgaon.

Was it a coincidence that she hailed from Pondicherry and was a French citizen like Sid?

Sid massaged the back of his neck as it started to cramp. At least Mrs Chari had called for help, unlike his mother, who suffered the brutality of her abuser, thinking it was her destiny. A day didn’t pass without him recollecting little incidents of his childhood – how he would sleep on his mother’s outstretched legs and be gently rocked, how she would place him on her folded lap with her soft sari cushioning his thin body, how his nose would tuck into the spicy texture of her sari and the soft fabric smelling of oven smoke and ingredients would caress his cheek.

Sid had resigned from a well-paid government job in France, where he was in the Gendarmerie. He came to India after twenty-seven years to find his biological mother. She was the main motive behind the establishment of Rescue Operations. Sid had no trouble with government approval, permits, and the cooperation of higher-ups in the police force. DGP Blake was only too happy to have one more rescue bureau headed by an earnest Franco-Indian ex-police officer. The crime rate was rising against women – from dowry deaths, acid attacks, and husband cruelty – to stalking, kidnapping, and abduction. Rescue Operations Bureau was welcomed.

Roy and Rebecca usually handled the Rescue Team. But this time, Sid gave a negative shake of his head. “I need to do this myself,” he told them. They looked at each other, confused. So was he! They were very capable officers and would resolve the case efficiently. Why was he getting involved in this case?

Rebecca’s plucked brows arched, “You need assistance, Boss. You’ll be outnumbered. Mrs Chari’s husband is a top-notch businessman with connections.” She flicked the pages in the file and read aloud one of his statements to the press: Jessy is the love of my life – she and I can never separate despite all the crap you people write about me. We’re tied for life, sealed by our beautiful children.”

“So, what do you want me to do, Becka? Leave Mrs Chari to die?”

“Boss,” Rebecca’s expression softened, “it’s time you let your wounds heal. You couldn’t do anything for your mother then … you were three years old! I know you want to make it up to her, but this case is complicated and involves a celebrity couple.”

Rod nodded in agreement. “I don’t think we should take on this case, Boss,” he said, “let’s refer Mrs Chari to another bureau.”

Sid’s hands trembled as he combed his fingers through his thick hair and looked at his mother’s picture. What do you say, Mom? should I save Mrs Chari?

Her jet-black eyes seemed to pierce him. Of course, you must save her, Siddhu. You promised her.

Rebecca’s modulated voice interrupted the silent communication. “Sunil Chari reins the stock market ….” Roy hurried to her side, his gaze shifting from the file in Rebecca’s hands to her inflated bosom, and air hissed between his parted lips again. “Maybe Becka can come with you, Boss. She can divert your opponent while you play the hero.”

Pale, unsmiling blue eyes fastened on Roy, the earlier camaraderie seeming to have vanished. “I didn’t become a Black Belt to distract people, Roy. The next time you say something like that, I’ll knock you down,” Rebecca said in soft, menacing tones.

Sid shot Roy an irritated glance; couldn’t his colleague be serious for once? “She’s right, Roy. You owe Becka an apology. I’ll wait for the update, Becka.” He collected his vest from the closet, shoved his arms into the sleeves and sheathed his well-toned abs. He could feel the blue stare riding up his sculpted body in a slow, appreciative way that made him wish he was wearing a sack.

If only Becka weren’t such a good investigator, he’d have dismissed her on the grounds of sexual harassment, he thought with a weary sigh. Tucking his pistol in his belt (the perks of being in the gendarmerie), he strode out, wishing them a good day.

The silver-grey Porsche growled under Sid’s expert touch, and he let her run, unleashed, much to her excitement. The morning breeze rejuvenated his thoughts, and a smile appeared as he thought of the number of women the bureau had rescued. Sid helped the victims even after they were completely out of their oppressive environment. Sometimes, he would dip into The Chevalier Trust Fund his adoptive parents had set up for him. They insisted that lack of funds shouldn’t stop his good work.

The beast zipped through the main gates of Residential Towers, a twenty-minute drive from his office, and came to a smooth halt at the check post. He could feel their curious gaze when he handed over his OCI (Overseas Citizenship of India) to the uniformed officers. Sid grinned. They would never imagine that Rescue Operations Chief was about to pull off a grand rescue right under their nose. Thanks to Becka, he managed to wear his disguise with ease. Sunglasses and a cap shaded most of his striking face. Faded jeans, a body shirt and a leather vest, sheathed his well-toned body. He could pass off for a gigolo on call.

His eyes shone with humour as he remembered his first meet with Becka at a party hosted by the sponsors on the eve of the International Black Belt Tournament, held in France. Sid had made the mistake of laughing when Becka had stated she could take him on.

What a fight it had been! Of course, Sid had won in the end, but she had given him a tough run, and his respect had mounted.

His foot pressed on the accelerator, and the beast zoomed down the palm-tree pathway with its multi-coloured flowers bordering the tracks that ran uphill towards the eight-story luxurious building. His caramel eyes widened as he took in the vast landscaped lawns comprising tennis and basketball courts, a cosy clubhouse and a supermarket. Clusters of plants and shrubs sheltered an Olympic-size pool.

As he neared the edifice, he noted the high-resolution cameras at strategic points and his gaze riveted on the glass tower as he slid out of his low-slung car (another sign of the Chevalier’s generosity).

The gold-and-cream interiors of the building were extravagant but toned by the simple design. The floor was of green marble and shone under led bulb strips fixed to the false ceiling. Illuminated potted plants adorned the reception area, softening the ambience and giving it a homely feel.

Sid nodded to the Hindi-Speaking security guard as he strode towards the iron-grill gates. He was certain that man wouldn’t talk in English even if his life depended on it. He was reminded of France and how the French people loved to talk only in French! What a battle he had integrating with the culture and learning the language. So when he set up his office in Delhi, he made sure he had mastered Hindi.

 

Sid punched in the condominium’s number and waited for a beat before giving his name. A little girl answered.

“Amma is sick,” she said when he enquired about her mother. “Akka is with Amma. I’m Mira.”

Sid smiled despite himself. Cute! But would she be able to open the gates for him?

“I’m Amma’s friend,” he said, noting the guard’s frown from the corner of his eyes. He had to wrap up the conversation before he got suspicious. But the little girl seemed curious.

 “Are you Superman?” she gushed, releasing the gates to his relief. “Amma said Superman is going to save us.”

Sid felt an unfamiliar tightening in his chest, imagining how that poor woman was consoling and comforting her children. He stepped inside the building, scanned the corridors and strode in, ignoring the chrome and glass elevators and the service lifts and taking the stairway instead. Sid made it a practice to climb as it gave him time to think and prepare himself for the rescue.

The Chari’s condominium occupied the eighth floor, and the corridors were fitted with wall-to-wall windows allowing sunlight to swoop in. Potted plants decorated the couloir, and pleasant scents teased his senses. One glance at the solid triple-lock teakwood door and his shoulders sagged. Should he have to test his strength against that? Would Mrs Chari have remembered to leave the door unlocked? Well, he’ll just see. He exhaled in relief as the door opened.

The sweet flowery perfume lingered as he advanced. Sliding glass doors opened to potted-plant balconies illuminating the lounge. An ominous silence persisted inside the apartment, but there were sounds of clawing and scraping, probably of pigeons, as they took shelter beneath the shaded windows.

A grand white piano stood in the hall, and red silk drapes were drawn across the sunlit balcony, casting a reddish glow inside. Suddenly, Sid felt like he was being watched and looked around him carefully, his hand going to his hip, where he felt the cold metal of his pistol. At first, he saw nothing, but when you are over six feet, you don’t notice someone barely reaching your thighs.

Little Miss Mira, he assumed, as his eyes swept downwards. She was clasping a tattered teddy bear to her chest, her wide dark eyes running up his long legs and trying to take in his entire presence. Sid dropped to one knee before she got a crick in her neck.

“Superman here!” he said.

Dark, terrifying eyes caught his. “Superman is not tall,” she said. “Where’s your superman dress?” she demanded in a shaky voice.

Sid controlled his smile, wishing he could scoop her in his arms and give her a reassuring hug. But in his profession, it didn’t pay to be too affectionate, as his actions could be misunderstood. “I have it underneath,” he whispered. “Where is your amma?”

The blackhead tipped forward, and she started moving the weight of her body alternately from the left to the right foot. Her grip loosened around her teddy bear, and it tumbled onto the soft Kashmiri carpet. Sid picked it up and gave it back to her, and she crushed it to her chest.

“Amma is inside that room,” she pointed to the master suite down the corridor. The lights were switched off, and he could barely penetrate the dark corridors. Was that done on purpose? “Appa beat amma so much,” Mira told him as if it were a simple fact. “Akka and me beat Appa.”

What kind of environment was this for children? Definitely not a healthy one. He should know. But he shouldn’t let his emotions come in and affect his rescue. So yes, the case was similar to his childhood, the difference being these children had a roof over their heads and food on the table. That was a slight improvement to his case.

Better get the job done, Sid, and leave. The last thing you need right now is to get emotionally involved with the case.

A sudden movement in the corridors drew him instantly to his feet. Something … no, someone … was hurtling towards him. When he realised what it was, it was too late. The girl with twin braids tossing behind her back leapt on him.

Sid was so startled that he fell against the wall, the surprise attack knocking his breath out. He took in the brave Reshmi and imagined how she must have been honing her skills out of necessity. But enough was enough. The girl had already punched him twice and kicked him once. He caught the wriggling form, held her up in the air, and shook her gently.

 “I’m not your enemy, Reshmi!”

Black fierce eyes looked up at Sid as he placed her on the ground, never mind if she didn’t reach past his abdomen. Her glance told him it wouldn’t stop her from attacking him again. “How do you know my name? Who are you?” her chin jutted out, her hand inching towards the receiver fixed on the wall, “I’ll give you five seconds before I call security.”

Sid’s heart tugged despite the undeserved punches he received, thinking of her alone, battling with grown-up men to shield her mother and sister. His talkative and informative companion had switched sides, hiding behind her sister and monitoring Sid from a distance.

Reshmi was breathing hard and looked like she meant what she had said. Sid knew the entire plan would go haywire if she called security. What’s more, Mrs Chari would have to rescue him! Enough of drama; he better get them out before the next member arrives.

“I’m looking for Mrs Chari,” he said.

Reshmi’s eyes narrowed, and she suddenly grabbed a golf club from a bag lying unnoticed in a corner. Goodness! He could recruit her for Rescue Operations, Sid thought with a grim smile and jerked the weapon out of her hand while holding her gaze.

“I’m from the French—Police.” He’ll explain later about Rescue Operations. It appeared that Mrs Chari hadn’t discussed her call apart from the Superman story, but again, she would have probably thought he might not come to her rescue.

 “Police?” Reshmi squeaked, tension draining out of her body, leaving her limp with relief. She wiped her perspiring forehead with the back of her hand and gave Sid an apologetic smile. “Why didn’t you say so? You’re going to lock up, daddy?” Her lips widened at the thought until her dimples showed.

What a contrast!

“Err … not right away,” Sid bit his lip, trying not to chuckle when she looked disappointed, “soon if I could find evidence.”

Mira ran towards Sid with a whoop of excitement and grabbed his legs. “Bad Appa. Bad Appa,” she said. Now that her sister was smiling, it probably meant Sid was from the good side. Poor Kids!

“Is your Appa around?”

Reshmi shook her head as she drew her sister to her side, placing her arm protectively around her shoulders, “No! I hope he never comes back.”

And that told Sid everything he needed to know. He was going to enjoy thrashing that man. He looked at the duo and smiled reassuringly. “If you guys want to get something to eat, go ahead. I’ll have a word with your mom.”

*

“Mrs Chari?”

Jasmine trembled and crawled behind the lustrous marble Jacuzzi, her damp clothing hindering her progress. She cowered against the wall as the tall shadow advanced into the washroom. All she could see were the booted feet of a physically fit male, and she knew she would bleed to death this time.

“Mrs Chari, I’m Sid Chevalier. You called me.”

The Rescue Officer? She peeped between the strands of her wet hair, her body quaking as he dropped to his haunches. His hands were gentle for such a big man, she thought, as he towed her from behind the marble tub, his shadowed gaze roaming her bruised face and body. He draped a towel that hung on the handrail around her slender shoulders. 

“Can you move?”

Her face ached as her torn lips parted in a smile, unaware of how the effort on her battered face affected the officer. His dark eyes burned into hers as if he were promising her he would take care of the man who had messed with her.

Jasmine’s head pounded, sending pins and needles through her battered body as she tried to raise herself to a half-sitting position. Seeing her struggle, he leaned forward, drew her quivering body in his arms, and lifted her from the damp floor. As he headed to the master bedroom, she gave a sound of protest, memories of her violation making her shiver in his grip. His soft, soothing voice told her he was there to help her and nothing else.

He flipped the grey duvet hanging on the bed’s edge onto the mattress and covered the blood-stained white sheet. Then he placed Jasmine on the bed, picked one of the pillows scattered on the floor and tucked it beneath her head. Dragging a vanity stool near the bed, he sat facing her.

“Do you have a first-aid kit?”

“Reshmi has already attended to my wounds. Thank you, Officer.”

“Would you like to tell me what happened?”

Jasmine’s hands shook as she wiped her cheeks with a tissue. She kept a box on the side table for emergencies and a first aid kit in the draw. Reshmi came in the mornings and attended to her wounds, if any, before Mira woke up. Sunil would be gone by then. The way her husband worked, Chari Investments should be flourishing. But the last she heard from an insider, the company was barely getting through. The steep costs of running the company and the mounting debts ate up the profits.

Sid’s frowning gaze followed her stilted movements noting the red scratches on her arms. She avoided his eyes. What could she say? That her husband raped her night after night? That he got his kicks hearing her screaming in agony? That he took his anger on her, whether she was at fault or not, blaming her parents for having made the match? He never spoke about the property, Chari investments and whatnot transferred to his name after marriage. Nor the luxury cars her father gifted him. He always cribbed that they hadn’t done enough.

Jasmine hiccupped, tears gushing through her clenched lids. What harm did she do to have such an awful partner? If it weren’t for Reshmi and Mira, she would have ended her life. Yes, it was only because of them she breathed; she had to get them out of this environment.

And how would Sunil react when he learned that his wife had called for help?

From a distance, her daughters’ chatter carried to the bedroom, and she was reassured they seemed fine. Calling the officer was the right move.

“It d-doesn’t g-get so rough normally,” she said, playing down her horrifying nights. If only she could describe the assaults … if only God could help her survive long enough to see her children through. That would be sufficient, she thought.

The hum of the heater was the only sound in the room, reminding Jasmine that Sunil had always provided for them. He wasn’t a complete villain, was he? He paid bills, gave them a luxurious life, and ran the Chari enterprise … Her father always spoke highly of his son-in-law, never once guessing what a pervert he was. But then her father wasn’t any better. She had watched her mother suffer his violent temper and his infidelities in silence. She never once complained about him or let him down to anyone. In public, they were an adoring and loving couple.

Could that be one of the reasons Jasmine accepted Sunil’s aggression? Following in her mother’s footsteps?

So yes, Sunil had a sinister side, her mother once told her when she came on a sudden visit to India to attend to an ailing relative in Pondicherry. While in transit, she touched base with Jasmine. Noticing the bruises, she said in a matter-of-fact voice that no marriage was perfect.

“How often does he beat you, Mrs Chari?”

Tears spilt over her nose and cheeks and formed a moist patch on the pillowcase as she stared at the Armani night lamp on the side table. How she wished she could have one peaceful night of sleep. The dark rings under her eyes were evidence of sleepless, restless, fearful nights as she waited for him. Would he beat her up while he pounced or leave teeth marks all over her tender skin?

“No marriage is perfect, Officer.”

She was doing the same thing his mother did, Sid thought, as he watched Mrs Chari wiping her eyes. She was protecting her abusive husband and finding excuses for his violence. Didn’t they know these men never changed? That waiting and hoping they would, was foolish. He wanted to shake some sense into Mrs Chari and urge her to think of her daughters; they would be carrying the scars of their parent’s marriage all through their lives.

“So why did you call me in that case?”

“I was afraid.”

“Why were you afraid?”

Jasmine shifted uncomfortably under his hooded gaze, her hands tightening on the towel, holding it protectively against her chest. He picked a discarded red chunni from the floor and gave it to her, and she wrapped it around her chest. “Reshmi and Mira are all I have. I wanted them out of here.”

“And you?”

 “I-I n-normally give in to Sunil’s d-demands. Last night, he was rougher than usual. I was sore, h-he wanted me again this morning, I-I couldn’t.”

“Why do you stay with him, Mrs Chari?”

“I can’t leave.” 

She was just like his mother—a martyr. How many times had he begged his mother that they leave? But she would never hear of it. She preferred to give up her precious son …

No, his mother loved him … loved him enough to help him escape. The Chevaliers took care of Sid and assisted him through his traumatised childhood. He had nothing to reproach his mother. He should find her and tell her he was grateful she had given him a new start. But nothing could replace the love he felt in his mother’s arms.

“He’ll take away my children.”

What was she saying? Didn’t she know her rights? She looked like an educated person, unlike his mother, who hadn’t a clue about Women’s Rights.

“He can’t do that, Mrs Chari. The law will not permit it.”

“The Law?” She laughed, an empty, lonely expulsion of air reverberating with sadness. “No law can save me from him, Officer.”

“I’ve helped many women in similar situations.”

“Not with a husband like Sunil. He’ll not hesitate to take you and your agency apart. You don’t know what you’re getting into, Officer.”

“Mrs Chari—Jasmine, may I call you Jasmine?”

The damp head gave a slow nod, reluctant hope in her eyes as she looked at him.

“Single mothers are bringing up their children successfully. There’s no reason why it should be different for you. My agency will help you get back on your feet. We’ll find a home for you.”

“For how long, Officer? I have two minor girls. I’ve never held a job in my life. Sunil handled all the finances.”

“We’ll find a way.” He would have to make some quick arrangements to get them out safely. But first, he needed to clear his head. He must talk to Roy and Becka and ask them to arrange a place immediately.

She grasped his hand when he rose, her cheeks colouring as he looked at her, puzzled. “Don’t leave us, please.”

 He sank back on the stool and allowed her to keep his hand. Fear was plastered on her face, and he understood her anxiety. “I was going to get you something to drink, some warm milk, perhaps?”

She released her grip. “I don’t want anything, Officer. My children must be hungry.” She hauled her tired body and tried to sit. The chunni fell away, and through the torn cotton kameez, he saw the bruises tracing the top of her breasts. The man was an animal!

 “I’ll check on your children,” he rose and hurried out of the room, feeling as if demons of the past were pursuing him.

His mother, too, had lain defenceless while her husband battered her night after night. Then he would go for a drink, and Sid would sponge her bruised body. She would try not to cry aloud, but Sid knew it was agony. He still remembered how she would say his father wasn’t evil; he didn’t know what he was doing!

Sid would cry along with her and, as tiny as he was, would tell her they must go to Father Pius and seek shelter. She’d cradle his malnourished body against her bosom and reassure him she would find a way. Then that man would stagger into their small hut drunk and accusing, tear Sid away from his mother and shove him out of the hut. Sometimes he was allowed to sleep on the porch, but the times he was kicked out, he would go to the little church run by the missionaries, and Father Pius would shelter him

Was that why his mother had given him away? Had she feared her husband would one day kill Sid in a jealous rage?

Mira was running towards Sid, and he forced himself to smile as she dragged him to the dining hall, where a table for four was laid, forks and knives in their proper places. She pushed the thick connecting door between the dining room and the kitchen, and there was Reshmi behind the granite countertop of the American-styled kitchen, toasting bread.

The white kitchen with its state of art amenities screamed wealth and luxury like the rest of the penthouse, but at what cost? If he should ask these kids what they wanted the most, they would certainly vote for peace and happiness than all this grandeur.

“Did you speak to mom?” Reshmi asked, her shoulders tense as she paused in applying butter to the toast.

Sid’s heart went out to her. Instead of the happy childhood, this child should have had, she was preoccupied with her parents’ problems.

“I thought I was Superman?” he arched a brow in mock indignation. She dumped the toast on the plate, hurried to his side and threw her arms around his waist.

“You must lock up my daddy,” she insisted.

Nothing would give Sid greater pleasure than thrashing that tyrant, but whether Jasmine would provide evidence against her husband was doubtful. His mother hadn’t, and he was afraid Jasmine wouldn’t too.

Jasmine leaned against the wall of the dining room entrance, a weak smile on her face as she watched Mira comfortably settle in the officer’s arms. He was feeding her toast, and crumbs were sprinkling over his T-Shirt, but he did not seem to mind. Reshmi also demanded he feeds her too, and the officer stuffed a large portion of the toast in her mouth, and she crushed it with exaggerated sounds, making them laugh.

Poor Reshmi! She never enjoyed the love of her father. Sunil hated her from her birth and accused Jasmine of infidelity. He’d say that no child of his would go after his throat as Reshmi did. The foolish man didn’t realise his behaviour hadn’t helped gain his children’s favour. Mira ran away from him, although he adored and showered gifts on her. He blamed Jasmine for Mira’s fears, as, according to him, she was playing the victim and getting the children on her side.

Mira was a friendly child, but not Reshmi; she was suspicious of strangers and didn’t allow Jasmine and Mira to mingle. But now, she was talking without reserve to the officer.

Something yanked inside Jasmine. She didn’t have this togetherness with Sunil. They lived in an atmosphere of stress, not knowing how the day would end. She couldn’t allow her children another minute in this household. She had packed a few clothes for them and would convince the officer to take them with him.

Reshmi spotted her leaning against the door and came rushing towards her, eager to include her in their conversation. Sometimes, Jasmine wondered who the parent was. Reshmi took the burden in stride, never complaining she was denied her childhood. She insisted she wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary as she loved her mother and sister, and her duty was to protect them.

 “We must leave before he comes back, Mom,” Reshmi said with a tinge of urgency, looking at the clock on the wall. Noisy pigeons, oblivious to the happenings inside the penthouse, emitted short grunting sounds as they clawed for balance on top of the compressors. Sometimes Reshmi and Mira would feed them when Sunil was not around. But today, they had forgotten.

 “Does he come home for lunch?” Sid asked, impatient with himself for having delayed. What was the matter with him today? Shouldn’t that have been his priority?

“When he beats mom, he checks on us,” Reshmi said.

Sid placed Mira on her feet, and the girl darted towards Jasmine and wrapped her chubby arms around her, “Mira loves Amma,” she said.

He helped Jasmine to a chair before she slanted to the floor and sent Reshmi to fetch a glass of milk for her. He took the glass from Reshmi and held it to Jasmine.

“Drink, Jasmine.” He turned to Reshmi, knowing he could trust her to give straight answers. “Do the neighbours know what’s happening here?”

Jasmine leaned back on the chair, her head moving restlessly on the backrest. Talking about Sunil had a way of sapping her energy. She didn’t doubt the officer would help them as Mrs Arora (their neighbour) had vouched for it. But how long could he provide for them? Jasmine would have to take the reins of life and run it at some point. Was she capable of doing that?

And why was she even thinking of it? She knew the odds against such a move.

“Only Mrs Arora,” Reshmi said. “She stays in the same block.”

 Jasmine looked at Sid, her anguished eyes pleading with him. “You must not delay, Officer. Take the children and leave.”

Reshmi looked at her mother, startled. Was her mother about to send them away? Even Mira seemed to understand something was wrong when she saw tears roll down her akka’s cheeks. She left her mother’s side and hurried to Reshmi. “Mira loves Akka,” she said.

“What do you mean, Mom? Reshmi snaked an arm around her sister’s shoulder, her voice trembling, “are you packing us off somewhere?”

 “Temporarily, Reshmi. You know what will happen if all of us leave. Your father will chase after us. At least this way, you will be safe.”

 “How could you continue to stay with that monster, Mom? Are you waiting for him to kill you?” Her voice rose in anguish, and understanding some of it, Mira began to cry.

“He’s your father, Reshmi. We’re tied for life.”

Sid felt helpless as he watched mother and daughter. He understood Jasmine’s fears, but Reshmi had a point. Sunil would get violent when he found his children had been rescued. He might even harm Jasmine. The woman was crazy to want to make things work with that brute. He needed to talk to her and unearth why she felt there was no way out of her marriage.

He sent Reshmi and Mira back to the kitchen and asked them to finish their breakfast. That would give him time to interrogate Jasmine. He needed to get to the bottom of this.

 The glass of milk was untouched on the table. He took the glass to her mouth, “Drink, Jasmine,” he said. She took a small sip and then another as she felt the pressure of his hand. Sid made sure she drank the last drop. Then he gave her the tissue Reshmi had thoughtfully provided, and she wiped her mouth. “Now, are you ready to talk?” he said as he set the empty glass on the table and gave her a stern glance.

She looked away from his penetrating glance and stared outside the French window as if she debated the consequences of what she was about to say. Sid would have hurried her knowing the clock was ticking; however, he let her be. Obviously, it wasn’t something she discussed openly.

“He has our passports. We can’t go anywhere,” her voice barely carried. Sid leaned forward and caught the latter part of her sentence.

“And that’s the only reason you can’t leave him?” he whispered.

She shook her head; damp tendrils clung to the sides of her face. A long sigh hissed through her lips, and she hunched her shoulders. ‘I would have left him if it were possible.’

“So what is holding you to him?”

“My children. I will lose custody.”

“That’s left to be seen, Jasmine. We’ll help you in that regard. We have helped many women in similar situations.”

“You don’t understand. I cannot EVER leave him.”

“Why? Why do you say that? Is there something you are not disclosing?”

She covered her face with unsteady hands, and tears seeped through the gaps of her fingers. “I thought he’d change in time.” Her voice came from afar, her gaze shifting from contemplating the potted plants to his face. He could smell roses and fresh soap as she bowed her head and spoke in soft anguished tones. She must have also retouched her bruises, as he barely made them out. All those years of being beaten up probably made her an expert with the brush.

“Mom said he would change. Couples had their issues. She said my dad wasn’t an angel, not that I didn’t know, but hearing it from Mom made it seem like everyone had problems. She advised me to adapt and quoted the Bible about two becoming one and staying with each other for better or worse.”

Sid felt waves of murderous rage engulfing him. Jasmine’s mother was another martyr! But why influence her daughter into sacrificing her life for that madman? “Provided he treated you well, Jasmine. He didn’t. The Bible allows divorce on the grounds of insanity. You have every right to walk out of this abusive relationship.”

But there was no question of walking out! Jasmine wanted to cry hysterically. Sunil had cornered her from all sides.

Seeing her struggling to control her tears, Sid said with fierce conviction, “I’m going to get you our best attorneys, Jasmine.”

 “It won’t work, Officer. You see, I signed away my rights.”

 “You did what?” he asked, somewhat confused. Could he have heard wrong? Did she just say she signed away her rights?

 “The day of our nuptials, Sunil had brought some documents for my signature. His lawyer was with him. They said it was a formality—something to do with share transfers and investments. Since Dad made Sunil the CMD of Chari Investments, I believed them.”

Sid closed his eyes, beginning to understand where her hopelessness originated.

 “A few years into our marriage, I couldn’t take the abuse, so I filed for a divorce. It was then I came to know the extent of my stupidity. I’d signed off my rights to everything in case of separation – property, investments, alimony and the company. But what makes it even worse is I also lose custody of my children.”

Sid gave a low groan. How could she – an educated woman – sign documents without reading them through? He bit on his tongue. This was no time to condemn her. She needed his help, and the worst part was Sid doubted he could do much. Her husband was a powerful man; with those additional documents, he would make mincemeat out of Jasmine. Sid could pull strings, undoubtedly, but to nullify a notary stamp paper was practically impossible.

She was looking at him now, waiting for his verdict. He gave a grim smile. It was easy to judge her, but given the situation, even an educated person could have been fooled. Who would suspect her groom would play dirty, and that, too, on the day of their nuptials? She must have been in the throngs of romance.

“We’ll work something out, Jasmine. Go and get your things.”

She lifted her gaze to his and said in a broken sob. “You won’t send us to a shelter home, would you?”

Sid averted her gaze and said brusquely, “It’s a temporary refuge.” He thought of the apartment hotel where he had housed Regina and her sons. But the case was different. Regina was a working mother, and her sons were over eighteen.

 “Would we be safe there? My daughters are minors. If anything happens to them, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“It’s too short notice to find alternative accommodation, Jasmine, but I’ll try. Unfortunately, I live in a bachelor’s pad, or I would have accommodated you,” he said in clipped tones. But he could do with their company, a little voice insisted. It was a while since he’d felt so alive. Maybe he could ask Roy or Becka to put them up until …

Until what?

For heaven’s sake, Sid! You are the Chief Operations Officer. Your bureau has survived because of your persistence, perseverance, and hard work. How could you place yourself at the mercy of your emotions?

Easily! Imagine waking up to a full house, kids running around the place, and beautiful Jasmine safe and protected under his roof. It would take his mind off the guilt he felt each time he thought of his mother and his inability to help her.

Suddenly, they heard a loud crashing sound and heavy footsteps stomping the corridors. Jasmine froze.