Book 4 in the Proposal Series.
YUGANTIKA IYENGAR
"You cannot fight your doom. It will fucking destroy you, Pookie."
She laughed, wrecking it deep within her guts. A voice that could slice through all the weak hearts. "No one can bring doom on me."...
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The Subramanium estate, famous for its opulence and grandeur, harbored secrets that could make the world shudder at their mention. Tushar had stumbled upon one of these secrets. If only he could have turned back, he wouldn't be living with the burden of it, hiding behind the Tom Fords he wore. He was only five years old that night.
Left alone once again by his mother, Tushar pretended to be asleep in front of his nanny, a woman the world considered sweet, though she wasn't so kind behind closed doors. He lay inside the duvet, eyes closed, breathing slowly until the nanny was convinced he wouldn't jump out of bed and interrupt another placid scene enacted by his parents. She could be precarious and harsh but still cared about the boy's mental state, for which she was responsible.
He heard the front door slam and stepped out of the room at the far end of the outhouse his father, Shiv Subramanium, had been pitied enough to be provided. While his father schemed ways to get reinstated in the main estate and business, his wife and Tushar's mother, Ishika, cried her worries out.
The five-year-old knew he would find her sobbing herself to sleep again, reeking of alcohol at all times of the day. His grandmother, Savitri Subramaniam, had wanted to keep Tushar with her, but alas, she had limited powers then. Not now.
Tushar ditched the hallway and peeped down to find his father pacing the living area, yelling on the phone while his mother rubbed her face and sipped more of that brown liquid she had made Tushar taste once. It scared him. Skipping the main door, he tiptoed toward the window leading to the storeroom. He had heard his nanny talk about a back passage to sneak out.
He wanted to sleep with his grandmother. She was the only one he could lay next to and close his eyes. She was his sleep magnet, his Amma. Stepping out of the house was important tonight; he couldn't sleep the night before because his father had locked him inside. Somehow, his father had discovered his trips to the main house.
Using the small torch in his bicycle keychain, a gift from Pradeep, Tushar unlocked the door and threw his little body against it to push it open. His efforts finally bore fruit after several breaths. "I will complain to Ajja about you, silly door," he mumbled, huffing. Dusting his hands, he looked around. His black eyes twinkled as he saw the way out of the house. Blinking the torch around, he checked for any foreign elements; his Amma had told him to be careful at all times.
She often made him sit in her lap and said, "Don't eat or drink anything your mother gives you, Kedar. Check your surroundings, don't step on an animal or touch something you don't know about. You are my smart son, aren't you?" Little Tushar always scrunched his nose at the name. "My name is Tushar, Amma." The older woman would chuckle and flick his nose. "But I named you Kedar. You are my little Shiva." He would pout, and his grandmother would produce a candy out of thin air for him. "Now, will my Kedar take this candy?" "Yes," he would grab onto his favorite thing in the world. Both his grandmother and the candy.
