Chapter 8: Ningizzia

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Ningizzia:   The Sumerian/Babylonian God whose the  guardian of the gate of heaven; a god of the underworld. He is one of their grey Gods who straddles both worlds - Not wholly bad or wholly good and is known to be mischievous and play fast and loose with his godhood. Precedes Christian Grey in living out the terms of Shades of Grey by a few thousand years. A God of strong opinions that changes on a day to day basis; Unpredictable - not the one you want to mess with.


Khushi stood, staring at the floor length gilded mirror in the room they had allotted for the talent in the long cream coloured room with a gold star on the door. Khushi had loved it..... what she hadn’t loved though was the fact that she had such a tough time convincing Mannan Saab’s son that no, this talent needed no help dressing. It had been touch and go for a while but he had later folded, after being promised a private after-party just for him. Khushi had smiled; he had folded like a cheap folding chair. Men, she knew, were the same - no matter what walk of life they came from, initially. It would be a pleasure skinning the idiot of his father’s pride and joy. From what Khushi had heard, Mannan saab was renowned for his terrible temper. Imagining his milquetoast son dealing with it, after the jewelry went missing, Khushi grinned.
She went back to looking at herself in the mirror with its whimsical garland of bulbs - like the ones used by starlets of a bygone era, studying everything critically. Her hair was in a fishtail braid, amply highlighted with washable brown gold in ombre style, with a saucy fringe over one eye- her tribute to blonde haired Helen of the old, she smiled. The crown of her head had been adorned with a tarnished copper gypsy coin band. It felt, she realized strangely odd to look into the mirror and see eyes the colour of turquoise where they used to be a much earthier green. True to the divas of the era, her eyes had been done in flashy copper, purple and dramatic turquoise with rhinestones in each corner, with false lashes thick enough to brush coats with, making her eyes look unnaturally wide. Pouty, glossy poppy pink mouth, highlighted with a naughty little drawn-in beauty mark on the upper right corner and darkly rouged cheeks, highlighted with shimmers. She was, she noted with some amusement, glittered and shimmering in every exposed part of her body.

Then there was the costume - A royal purple halter-neck choli with gold embroidery all over, trimmed with a darker copper edging - it was skimpier than she would like but oh so fitting for a 1960’s vamp! Khushi had grinned when she had first seen it while NK had frowned, his latent protective instinct needling his conscience. A low riding skirt, slit in the middle to almost upper thighs made up of the same material exposed miles and miles of legs helpfully brushed with bronzer. The choli was attached to the skirt with three braided gold chains over her belly, and a flirty little crystal encrusted belly chain winked and jingled from another corner of her hips. Khushi had worn purple gold stiletto heels, with a gold Arabian slave anklet on one foot. An eight stranded gold beaded necklace draped around her neck, along with her emerald and gold spider-web choker, and chunky brushed gold geometric shaped earrings spilling over her bare shoulders completed the look. She turned in front of the mirror dramatically; Khushi Kumari Gupta certainly did not look anything like herself here; which of course was the point of the exercise, she thought. Still, her lips spread into a smile - She certainly looked like someone who could give Bindu, Mumtaz and Helen a run for their money... Khushi found that a rather fun idea. She was quite sure that the only way even NK would recognize her was her pendant. She smiled, propping up one hip in front of the mirror.
“Just once more,” Khushi whispered, smoothing her hands over the sides of her lush hips. Never let it be said that Khushi Kumari Gupta missed her cue! Pursing her lips at the mirror, Khushi winked, even as she slicked on another layer of poppy pink on her lips - she’d live up to her predecessors’ reputation today - it would be so much fun! Khushi just couldn’t wait....Even though a sudden thought at the back of her mind gave her a pause for the breath of a second - vamps never have a good ending in films, do they? Khushi shrugged it off. No point jinxing a golden run today. Picking up her atomizer of a vintage Fleur Sauvage, she liberally sprayed it on. It was a vintage parisian perfume, circa 1953 - lived up to the era they were trying to reformulate. Khushi laughed out loud this time... At the time she had bought it, Khushi had thought that it smelled intensely sexy. With luck, she smiled, this would help her hold the court long enough for NK to have done his deed -  “Laissez le bon temps rouler,” she whispered, hearing her cue. Let the good times roll.  Khushi walked towards the edge of the winding stairs befitting Tara from Gone With The Wind. Showtime.



It was like he was trapped. Trapped in those inky black depths. Ever expanding, bottomless, enveloping... ensnaring. Her pretty... no, not just pretty, he thought, Beautiful... Her beautiful oval face radiated a different glow, something he had never seen, shining, like Fire. Her nose was an unconventional mix of pointed and slightly upturned, his eyes moved over her face, hungrily, almost.  Her flushed cheeks were almost inviting! Her lips, painted a mauve red, pouty, beckoning. Her hair which was a midnight black, of the shade that matched those magical eyes, stood in stark contrast to her creamy milky looking skin, gathered in some complicated do at the back of her head, with a few glistening stray curls framing her face. Glittering golden and green hoops drew his attention to her delicate shell shaped ears. Her costume, which was like a flame all in itself, was hugging her intimately in all the right places, Gold and Red peeping out at him at her feet, a smooth long expanse of mouthwateringly creamy skin played hide and seek with the filmy chiffon fire that she had draped across herself. She was like a flare, he thought hazily, his eyes still locked on her, calling out to him. And there would be nothing that could stop him from going to her. And that realization was what brought him out of his trance, just as the lights went out, a dim golden hue flickering over them, like the glow of dancing flames. And his Heart, which seemed to have gone on a temporary vacation in his throat uptil now, thudded back to life in his chest again. Cue Khushi. The girl would never miss her cue. Always rescuing him... and right now, unawares of what she had rescued him from- perhaps the greatest peril of his life, he thought ruefully- she had done the same.
He smiled his usual charming smile, a difficult feat tonight considering his galloping heartbeat, at the glistening Fire-Princess in front of him. “Hello.” He said, his eyebrows rising in surprise as his voice came out in a husky rasp, and as her cheeks flushed a rather becoming crimson almost simultaneously, her eyes twinkling momentarily before those thick lashes descended and she looked at him from under them. “NK Raina.” He smiled again, his hand moving forward smoothly, caressing her small pale one, before raising it to his lips and brushing a light kiss across her knuckles, her fresh-earth and brand-new-books scent- unconventional, in every way, he thought- branding every nerve fibre inside of him. He raised his eyes at her, the Fire goddess, he rephrased, as he watched the halo of a light red framing her, her face glowing again, zeroing in on the mauve delicacy that was her lips as they moved, “Payal,” her voice was a husky melody as well, a low murmur, a wild cat, his over imaginative mind supplied, “Payal Sharma. It’s a... er,” his eyebrows rose again as a light flush colored her cheeks again over that small stumble, and yet she continued, earning and keeping his respect, ”It’s a pleasure, Mr. Raina.”



He laughed then, bubbles and froth, Payal thought, Sunshine and... She shook her head discreetly, what was going on with her?!

“NK. Please,” he smiled again,  a flash of pearly whites, an elusive dimple, a twinkle of gold, her heart almost stopped. “Mr. Raina makes me feel like my Father.” She blinked. Had that beautiful smile turned bitter for a moment? She blinked again, as another dazzling one came on, disorienting, she thought, even as she smiled back. An unwilling slave... but a slave just the same. Her heart stopped, her body tingling as if set on fire, a blazing hot scorching flame, as his rough thumb rubbed circles on the back of her palm. Intimate. And all too soon, he had withdrawn his hand, leaving hers cold. Wanting.

Dismay colored her thoughts, as he stepped back, his glittery Mocha eyes still smiling, twinkling, but distant somehow. “It was a pleasure meeting you too, Payal.” His tongue seemed to twirl around her name, caressing it, kissing it, her skin breaking out in goosebumps. Small shudders running through her. “Please excuse me, but I... hope I can see you again, soon?” he smiled again. And Payal nodded hazily, smiling all the time. She couldn’t find one offending syllable in those honey tinged words falling from those luscious.... She shook herself again. What was she thinking?!  And then he was gone. Disappearing among the milling, suddenly stifling crowd of ridiculously dressed people, fools, her mind supplied helpfully, even as her eyes continued to search for him... thirstily. Craving Mocha and gold, she smirked slightly, she was craving Mocha and gold.
She straightened in a flash, a hand going automatically to the back, searching for a gun that wasn’t there when the lights abruptly went out completely.  Finding nothing there, she backed off, nearing a white marble pillar, back first until her back met it, so that nobody could sneak up on her. The light came back, slowly. Just a spotlight though... A golden spotlight, that hit the top of the winding staircase.

Voh aa gaya, dekho dekho voh aa gaya!
And her eyes widened, taking the sight in. Helen, she thought, a much more slender one, but Helen just the same.



Arnav Singh Raizada rolled his eyes at the dramatic entry of whosoever was dancing to the Old Item Song, before he turned around to look at them. Stopping for merely a moment to note, that the woman had left Helen of the Old Times’ behind in dressing up for the performance, as she descended down the stairs in her whimsical purple-gold heels, mile long legs crossing each other elegantly as she drifted down. His eyes slowly travelled up the artfully bronzed expanse, stopping at the tasteful anklet, to the Purple skirt, to the golden chains connecting her Top to it, again stopping on the crystal belly chain dancing on the slender waist, up the golden and purple barely there top, to a cream and bronze face. She was sparkling, he noted with amusement, as if a kid with newly bought sparkles had been set loose on her. Her eyelids had heavy purple and turquoise make up on, sparkly there too, her lips a dazzling shade of pink, her golden-brown (probably highlighted, he noted, kids these days!) hair was made up in some kind of a braid with a fringe over one eye. A copper coin band on the crown of her head completed the 1960’s Vamp look she had, no doubt, been aiming for.

Piya tu ab to aa jaa
Shola sa mann daheke, aake bujha jaa
Tan ki jwaala thandi ho jaaye, aise gale laga jaa
Aa ha aha, aa ha aha, aa ha aha, aa ha aha,
His eyebrows rose, as she slid down the banister, completely disregarding the last ten or so steps, a bronze thigh tastefully displayed in a flash- quite enough to draw every eye in the hall towards herself. An experienced one, then.

His eyes followed every movement, as she twirled around the deserted dance floor once, her hand stretched out towards her... fans, as a bright smile blinded them all. And then, in another movement; she had drawn him towards her too. But unlike others it was not because of the exposed skin and the sensuous scythe like movements, it was because of the unmistakable flash of emerald, that had been haunting his dreams and his mind more than he would like to admit. It was her. Her. He could not be wrong on this one. There was only one person who wore that particular spider-web pendant, in  that particular shade of Emerald, and she was dancing in front of him on a raunchy 1960’s Bollywood Item Song. In a Party.

Madame Butterfly.
Another side of this woman he had never  expected to see. He was almost at the edge of the circular dance floor, following her keenly, this time, he was going to get her. Would she recognize him? He knew she had seen him... at least once, she had.  
Monica oh my darling, Monica oh my darling!
She looked around at the crowd of Men, her eyes searching, a secret smile flitting across that beautiful sparkling face. She knew what she was doing to them, didn’t she? And she reveled in it. She twirled around the edges again, flitting just out of reach of their outstretched hands, finger wagging mischievously at many, as she smiled at them, and then she was in front of him.

Pyaase pyaase in mere labon ke liye
Tere honton ne hazaar vaade kiye
Bhoolne waale koi jiye to kaise jiye
Arre haan, arre haan, arre haan haan
La la la la la la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la la la la la la
Piya tu ab to aa jaa
Shola sa mann daheke, aake bujha jaa
Tan ki jwaala thandi ho jaaye, aise gale laga jaa
Aa ha aha, aa ha aha, aa ha aha, aa ha aha
He watched, avidly, as her finger glided along those pouty enticing pink lips, her eyes winking at her many admirers, before she twirled around again, her hands drifting down her petite frame, fingers splayed, hips swaying, like a dancing flame, and then... her eyes met his. And in that instant, he knew that she recognized him.
Khushi felt her heart skip a beat. Him.  What was the good detective doing here? Work? Play? The first didn’t appeal.... looking around, watching a svelte amazon in red and black chiffon walking towards his direction, Play appealed even less. Especially with the hot Amazon. Khushi straightened herself. Now was not the time to have a crisis. It just wasn’t.  



Mere haalat pe rahe jo tera karam
Voh baat bhi mujhko qubul hai o sanam
Jiski khaatir chhoo liye the mere kadam
Arre haan, arre haan, arre haan haan
Arre la la la la la la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la la la la la la
Piya tu ab to aa jaa
Shola sa mann daheke, aake bujha jaa
Tan ki jwaala thandi ho jaaye, aise gale laga jaa
Aa ha aha, aa ha aha, aa ha aha, aa ha aha
Khushi ran a hand over his back, startling the man and drawing the eyes of the woman who made her feel less than what she was. A beautiful, tall Amazon. No doubt another daughter of the privilege. Khushi pouted. You’re here for a show, madame? You’ll get one - with your man being the focus of it. Khushi ran another hand over his face, his features turning into stone under her fingers - sending off a twinge of a foreign pain in her heart. Was her touch that distasteful? Khushi turned around fell against him, relying more on her luck than anything else - she was gratified when he caught her waist, holding her up. Winding her arms around his neck, she swayed before twisting away all of a sudden, winding up on another gentleman’s arm - an arch wink in his direction, Khushi spun away again... feeling those eyes boring into her the whole time through.

Monica oh my darling
Khushi swayed, shimmying... pouting, arching and turning in dizzying circles that would have made her shoe maker feel successful. Her hips shaking, hair tossing, her body bending in ways that would have made her yoga, and her gymnastic teachers proud - if she had any - peony lips pursed in naughty invitation that was unmistakable.... Her focus, still him.  Khushi figured if she was to be tarred and feathered, she would be tarred and feathered in style. That look in his eyes already said what he thought of her very, very blatantly. Why would she give him the satisfaction of thinking that he had hurt her with it? Khushi would be just what he thought her to be.

Piya tu ab to aa jaa
Shola sa mann daheke, aake bujha jaa
Tan ki jwaala thandi ho jaaye, aise gale laga jaa
Aa ha aha, aa ha aha, aa ha aha, aa ha aha
Her smile felt fake as twirled and swayed one last time, her joy in dancing to one of her absolute favorite songs diminished somewhat because of that... encounter. Her eyes locking with Gold flecked Whisky ones one last time before she suddenly spun towards him, placing a daring, saucy peony tinted kiss very close to the side of his mouth while he stood marble still, before the spotlight dimmed and died, shrouding her in darkness, so that she could make her escape without getting caught by her Admirers... Male admirers. And as she made her escape, she briefly wondered why his opinion of hers mattered so much to her...

Oh Monica my darling, Monica oh my darling!
“Its done.” she heard NK mutter in her earpiece, and a part of her clenched gut relaxed. They could go home now. Away from this place... Away from him. Safe. All the time berating herself for her insanity. What was wrong with her?



Arnav resisted the urge to touch the spot at the corner of his mouth where those pouty, silken lips had left a scorching imprint. He was too stunned to move, from the moment he had drawn the most obvious conclusion of what exactly she was. Feeling a somewhat foreign and painful twinge in his chest, as he realized that the woman he had been obsessing over was a... His eyes fell shut. So, that was what she had been doing, hanging around with the Big Bang Theory obsessed Joker who’d registered himself as Rajesh Koothrapali! His fists clenched in an acute flash of fury, as he looked up the staircase, making out the slender form walking briskly away into the darkness.

And then, a decision dawned on him. Calming him. What difference did it make, anyway? She was still a mystery he needed to solve, and he had the money she apparently wanted. High Class Whore or not, he was going to have her.

Decision made, a smirk flitted around his lips as he followed the path she’d taken, completely ignoring a secretly grinning Payal, as she watched him, her brows arched.



She straightened up, as she felt a presence behind her, lifting her head from the cage of her hands, where she had rested it for some time, trying to shake the whirling thoughts in her mind, trying to get rid of his godforsaken image that seemed to have branded itself in her brain cells. And her eyes, now back to their earthy green, met his in the mirror, before she whirled around and stood up. Defiance coloring every thought that raced through her mind.

He stood there, leaning against the doorjamb, his hands buried deep in his pockets, ankles crossed.  Expensive Jacket unbuttoned, broad chest covered in an aubergine italian shirt, his collar popped up, without a tie. Rogue. Handsome, her mind whispered and she resisted the urge to shake her head. Violently.

His molten gold eyes twinkled, almost devilishly. A smirk lifting up the corner of his lips, The hard planes of his face giving, just enough to turn the bronze granite even more mouth-wateringly stunning.

And then, he straightened up too. Almost lazy in his predator like movements. His eyes regarding her with a quiet amusement... an almost smug expression. He strolled in, leisurely, taking his own sweet time. Detective Raizada. Arnav Singh Raizada, NK had told her about him. Everything. The youngest Director CBI had ever seen, successful, filthy rich, arrogant jerk. For her, he spelled only one thing. Danger. On every front.

“You’re quite the performer, aren’t you?”

The husky, throaty rasp in his voice sending a shiver through her, as his eyes slowly travelled up her form, igniting a blazing scorching flame everywhere they touched. Her eyes snapped up to meet his again. Whisky and Gold. Her heart thudded, she was drowning in Whisky and Gold.



“Did you know....” he looked at the mute beauty in front of him, “Isadora Duncan, the famous 19th century dancer had been muse to Max Eastman? Yes. Photographer. Famous for developing Eastman colours. The company itself,”  she was still looking at him, giving nothing away. Well, neither was he. “Many say that she had been his mistress as well,” when she still didn’t talk, he looked her straight in the eyes. “I’ve always believed that a muse and a mistress are two sides of the same coin,” she started. “I am in need of a muse, Myself. And unlike those of olden times Ms. Gupta, mine will be amply rewarded. However, she’d probably have to do more than just touch my shoulders...” he trailed off, looking into her flashing emerald eyes, waiting for her reaction. “You, Ms. Gupta,” he emphasized her name, and caught the almost imperceptible wince, Ah afraid of losing anonymity, are you Madame Butterfly?, “I would like to be Mine.”
He looked on, gravely, unable to resent the bitter twinge that travelled through him, as her eyes spat ice, stepping back, his hands burying themselves in his pockets again.



“Think about it, Ms. Gupta. I think you would find it very... beneficial.” His voice almost caressed the last word, soft, mocking. And then he turned around, walking away from her frozen form. Stopping only to leave something that looked like a card on the dressing counter near the door. And then he walked out, The cocky son of a bitch.

She walked to it, almost unconsciously. Fingering the plain white square of Paper, with his name embossed on it in black, in an elegant font.

Arnav Singh Raizada.

His personal phone number written below it. her fingers clenched around the card, as she looked up again, watching him walk down the stairs. The Arrogant Cocky Jerk.



Khushi slid the goddamned card next to her heart. It wouldn’t do for NK to see her have it. For the life of her, she couldn’t leave it lying here. Watching her mental twin slowly fade away from the crowd below and move out, Khushi clinically slid out of her costume, stuffing it into her bag, she wore a hoodie and a jeans, and picking up the garment bag, jogged out of the house using the servants’ entrance. For such a grand party, she thought with a bitter twist to her lips, they sure didn’t treat their servants well. The boon though was that there were no guards posted there, and even if they were, they wouldn’t look at the kid in the hoodie. Khushi jogged out, towards the car park where NK was already inside his pearl grey sedan. Khushi slid in, studiously avoiding the jubilant man’s eyes, while he celebrated by wildly pulling out of the driveway.

As NK drove on, eyes fixed on the roads, muttering, chatting a mile a minute, Khushi was still lost in her thoughts.

Muse... she thought.... muse, feeling the hard square of the card burning against her heart.  The fucking handsome... Stunning Cocky Son of a Bitch! She’d pay him back in his own currency, she thought, feeling the damn card again. Wait and Watch Raizada. You just wait and watch!


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