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She was here. Had she forgiven him? Would she come home with him tonight? Please God, let her come home with him.
And then it was his turn to speak. On autopilot, he began his speech, speaking in Telugu, hitting all the right notes, a practiced speech by a seasoned politician. But midway he stopped. He glanced down at the tablet with his notes on the lectern in front of him and suddenly, it didn’t feel right, it didn’t feel like enough.
He stared out at the sea of people who’d come there for love of their family, of their party, of the values they stood for, the policies they implemented. He looked behind him at his loved ones, or pseudo loved ones as in Raashi’s case, and then he looked at her – his entire world in one slim frame.
And for the first time that night, Veda met his gaze, her big, dark eyes looking directly at him, holding him, anchoring him, bolstering him.
“I made a mistake,” he said, looking at her. “I made a terrible mistake. One that will haunt me for the rest of my life. One that I will pay for with blood, sweat, tears…and maybe even my career, my family’s political legacy.”
His father shifted in his seat, surprised by the path his speech was taking. Agastya looked away from Veda and towards Nanna, his eyes asking his father to trust him. His father nodded, a quick and simple acknowledgement, not doubting him for a second.
And for the second time that evening, Agastya found himself humbled by the love and support shown to him. He turned back to face the crowd.
“I made a mistake. I trusted the wrong man. Ganesh was not just my Personal Assistant. He was also my friend. I believed, that like us, he had only your best interests at heart. I believed that he worked only for your good. I was wrong.”
Agastya glanced down, gathering his thoughts and marshalling his runaway emotions.
“I was wrong,” he repeated with a wry laugh. “It’s not often that I’m wrong but clearly, when I do get it wrong, I do it on a spectacular scale. I don’t know if I deserve your forgiveness, but I ask for it anyway. I beg for it. Give me a chance to atone. Give me a chance to fix the wrong that was a result of wrongly placed trust. I promise you that he will pay for his crime. I promise you that the money will reach its rightful recipients. And I promise you that I will spend the rest of my career atoning for my mistake and working on your behalf. We are who we are because of your love, your support, and your endless faith in us. I only ask that you hold that faith. I only ask that you allow us the chance to show you that we were and continue to be worthy of it.”
The roar of the crowd was deafening as he stopped talking, the political leaders at the front came to their feet, clapping and nodding. His father stepped up beside him, clasping one hand on his shoulder, his other hand in Agastya’s mother’s hand. He raised their clasped hands in the air and people cheered some more.
And then he felt her slim, cool hand slip into his. He glanced at her delicate profile as she smiled out at the sea of his supporters, their supporters. And then before he could even process the moment, she raised their hands into the air making the crowd scream themselves hoarse at the sight of the four of them with their families ranged behind them.
It was the photo opportunity of the year and the press made the most of it. But all Agastya could see was her. Only her.
“I was wrong,” he whispered to her.
She slipped her hand out of his, evading his grasping fingers, and making a graceful namaste as she continued staring forward. Agastya clenched his fingers at his side, the loss of her hand in his striking a visceral blow to his heart.
“I know,” she replied quietly.
It would seem that his constituents were willing to give him a second chance, but his wife was not.
Thirty-Eight
VEDA
The entire evening was taking a toll on her, the noise and lights feeling like an abrasive scrub against every inch of her body. A dull throbbing in her temple had her discreetly massaging her head to try and ease the pain.
A few minutes later, a strip of paracetamol appeared beside the bottle of water on the table beside her. She glanced to the side, her gaze snagging on Agastya’s intense ones. When she didn’t pick up the tablets, he did and held them out to her. Wordlessly, she took one and swallowed it, allowing the cool water to dribble down her throat and cool her heated self.
“Do you want to leave?” he asked, his voice pitched and low.
Veda shook her head. She would see this through to the bitter end. Bittersweet end rather, she thought, her eyes tracing the stern profile that she’d loved for so long. Someone called out to Agastya but he didn’t look away, his eyes on her and only her.
His father wrapped up his final speech for the day and they opened the floor to questions from the media. Reluctantly, Agastya tore his gaze from her and faced the clamouring horde of press who were all shouting at the same time. His father’s PA had them settling down and they started choosing questions for his father to answer.
“I have a question for Agastya Sir,” a lady in a red saree said, when she was called upon.
Agastya leaned forward. “Go ahead,” he invited.
“Have you seen the viral video of your wife quitting her job to defend your honour?”
Veda stilled, her heart hammering in her chest. Viral video? What viral video? She felt Agastya’s gaze searing into the side of her face, but she kept her own on the lady in red, her own face flaming a bright crimson to match.
“What viral video?” Agastya’s deep voice sounded confused.
“It hit the feeds half an hour ago. Would you like to see it?”
