Ravi Sharma was a reasonable man. Being the second son of Balwant Sharma, he was used to being second in everything. In his case, it was also the last place in the family hierarchy as he was the youngest.

But he'd never complained. The coveted first place was already claimed by his charismatic elder brother. Susheel Bhai was the handsome son - intelligent, smart, and infinitely more capable. Equally good in sports and studies, the trophies he'd won graced many places of pride in the house. Ravi looked up to his brother in awe, always aspiring to be like him, yet always failing.

His own achievements were quite modest. He'd been an average student, preferring to watch from the sidelines as his brother went on to win accolades. In some obscure corner of this vast house, there were a couple of small trophies Ravi had won in his day. His father had been horribly embarrassed thinking they were awarded only for the Sharma family name rather than any skill Ravi displayed in those competitions. They stayed in that corner like an unwanted blot on an otherwise beautiful portrait. Over the years they were pushed even further to make more room for his brother's glittering achievements.

He sighed as he examined the oak-paneled walls of his father's impressive study. It was a place of legends, generations of Sharma children displayed their achievements proudly on these walls. There was no trace of Ravi here, or of his equally mediocre children.

His eyes fell on a newly installed glass cabinet that contained Aditi's trophies from her childhood. She, like her father, had no trouble filling it to the brim. The latest addition was her degree certificate that showed first class with distinction in several subjects. Gleaming next to it, stood her racing trophy she'd won this last season. In the slanting evening sunlight, it gleamed with a ghastly grin making Ravi shiver with the familiar uneasiness.

"So what is it that you wish to talk about?" Sitting behind his dark Mahogany desk his father finally lifted his head from the document he was reading. In the fading light of the room, he looked older than his seventy-two years. Ravi wondered how many more years the old man would add before he called it a day.

"Umm...I need more money." he made his request.

His father leaned back in his chair and gave him a look. It was one of those looks that never failed to convey what a failure of a son he was.

"I think we've had this discussion before, Ravi. I can no longer cover your racing debts. You and your wife need to start living within your means, which are not insignificant if you use them judiciously."

Ravi listened as the old man droned on. It was the same lecture every time. Live within their means. It was easy for him to say it, after all, when had he ever enjoyed his life? And It was not like Ravi didn't try. Every time he bet on a horse, he made sure it was the best, the fastest, and the most reliable. It was pure bad luck that he lost more than he won.

"Just this once, Babuji. I'll make sure next time..."

"Next time you'll beg with Aditi, won't you? Like you did the last time?" his father's voice raised a few decibels and Ravi cringed. The house was full of servants. And the walls had ears. Yes, it was his habit to alternate between Aditi and his father for money. It just worked better that way. The girl had never complained, he wondered why his father was so peeved about it.

"How can you be so callous Ravi? It's Meera's legacy for her daughter. Have you no shame squandering it on your racing?"

"I didn't ask her father. She herself gave..."

"She gave because unlike you, she cares for our family reputation." his father's eyes flashed with suppressed wrath. Ravi shifted his eyes to focus out of the window over the old man's head. Some horses grazed lazily in the meadow beyond that stretched to the horizon. It was all their land. It never ceased to amaze him, just how much they owned.

"She gave because she has too much, father," he said calmly. "She earns from her racing. She is the sole heir to Meera Bhabhi's wealth and Bhai's investments. And she's still going to get half of yours. I only get a monthly allowance..."

"Enough!" his father quivered with rage. Ravi bowed his head and waited for the tirade. He knew this would come. This would come the moment he started the comparison.

"Aditi is only getting her due, what's left for her by her parents. The girl doesn't spend a penny on herself. Her racing money goes to her hospital fund and she doesn't touch her parent's money. But you!" his father looked lost for words when it came to him. "If you are not careful, Ravi, your children might end up penniless. I am warning you. Mend your ways, or there won't be anything left in your name to pass on to your children."

Ravi sighed. His children were not his concern at the moment. His debts were. And he was sure when the time came, his children would be looked after by their formidable grandfather and their wealthy cousin.

"So you are not going to help me?" Ravi asked nonchalantly. Maybe he should have just waited for Aditi to return from Badari. Last time she had signed the cheques without any questions. The girl was very sweet, really. Always smiling, jovial like her father. Maybe he should stick with her from now on. These exchanges with his father were getting really tiresome.

"No," his father answered stonily, "and I forbid you to ask Aditi."

"In that case, I want my share of the property." Ravi tilted his head. His need was rather urgent, and his father wasn't leaving him any choice.

There was no reply. Ravi watched as his father considered his options. Balwant Sharma was a shrewd man. He knew when to attack and when to step back. And he wasn't ready to relinquish his control yet, not when his orphaned granddaughter still needed his protection. The property will stay undivided, until Aditi was married off safely, with her share securely in her name. And then Ravi would get his share if his father deemed it fit.

Balwant opened a side drawer to take out a checkbook and Ravi smiled a satisfied smile. Nothing was in his name, yet he knew everything belonged to him. Susheel Bhai was long gone, God bless his soul, and with him all his father's haughty pride. Balwant Sharma now had only one living son. And unfortunately for him, that survivor was Ravi Sharma.

*****

"Aron arrived here an hour ago," Ratan Chacha said from his charpoy as Aditi sat in front of him cross-legged, eating a simple dinner. It was dark already and half the village was already asleep. She'd done Chacha's check-up and changed his medication explaining what it did. He had nodded his head as if he understood, but she knew he would blindly take whatever she gave him.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"He's a really clever horse, finding his way through the forest all by himself. It was careless of you to lose him like that Aditi," Chacha scolded and Aditi grimaced.

"It wasn't my fault, he bolted on me!" she protested again, but Chacha wouldn't listen.

"It was foolish to load him with such heavy stuff. We were about to send a search party for you, but by God's grace, you met Sahib." He sent a toothy grin in the direction of her companion who sat on a rickety chair balancing his plate in one hand. He gave Chacha a smiling nod but didn't spare her a glance.

"She nearly begged, and being a gentleman I couldn't say no," he said with a straight face. Aditi scowled.

Ratan Chacha smiled mischievously. "I can understand, Sahib. There are not many who can say no to a girl like her."

"You are right," his Sahib agreed. "It's hard to say no to a girl like her."

A Girl like her. Why did it sound different coming from him? It felt strange - something unsavory, almost disdainful.

Was it because she'd forced him to come here? Maybe he thought this trip was a waste of time. Maybe the food wasn't to his liking. Or maybe it was just his face, set in a permanent frown.

But then he was enjoying his talk with Chacha, and he was polishing his plate nicely. His sourness seemed to be reserved solely for her. They hadn't exchanged a single word during their whole ride. She so wanted to know his name, but somehow knew she wouldn't get a straight answer.

Sighing heavily she got up and took her empty plate out to wash. She had to find a guide for him pronto and send him on his way. She couldn't put up with those haughty silences anymore or the barbed taunts. Neither with the icy prickles nor the buzzing bees.

*****

Darsh walked behind the boy towards a small cottage in the distance that was allotted to him for the night. It was one of the few empty cottages here, the old man, Ratan Chacha, had told him. It was used for stray tourists that wandered this way in search of a more genuine holiday experience. Darsh had loved the picturesque village the moment they entered it. They were welcomed by a gaggle of children waving samosas and the horse Aron had come nickering to greet his mistress. Evidently much happier without his baggage, he had proceeded to give his mistress a welcome lick only to be swatted away by her. She had then proceeded to give him an earful, which was quite entertaining to watch. Darsh had a hard time maintaining his scowl while the children clamored around her and Aron whinnied in protest.

He'd watched it like a nice, entertaining road show, for that was what it was. She would make a great politician one day, she had a natural talent for it.

Shaking his head he entered the cottage. An oil lamp burned on a wooden table bathing the simple interior with a flickering warm glow. A small bed occupied a corner near the window. The rest of the small space was empty. Dropping his backpack on the floor he handed a coin to the boy. He accepted it with glee and scampered off in the dark.

Stretching his arms he gave a yawn, then pulled his jacket off to examine his itchy arms. The scratches from yesterday were still sore, now red and swollen. He had probably touched some poisonous plant in that thicket. The rash was spreading, making him extremely uncomfortable. The heat and chafing with his leather jacket had made it even worse. Many times during their ride he'd wanted to take the jacket off, but had controlled the urge. He didn't want to touch her, the most venomous of all.

Opening his backpack he got his phone out and dialed a number. The receiver picked it on the third ring.

"How are you Shaurie?" his mother asked in a tired voice. "I have been waiting for your call for so long, beta. Where have you been?"

"I'm sorry, Ma. Just tied up in some business," he answered consolingly. "How are you Ma? And how's Vicki?"

"He's the same," his mother's voice grew heavy. "The doctors are monitoring, but there's no change in his condition."

"And Aunt Swetlana? Did she come to visit?"

"Not yet," his mother sighed. "She's in Mauritius on a holiday. The hotel staff gave her the message but we haven't heard from her."

Darsh scowled. He wondered how the two sisters were so different. His mother was the most loving, caring human being he'd come across, while his aunt Swetlana was the opposite. Years ago, she had come to them after abandoning her husband. Since then, she'd lived a life of a free bird, leaving Vicki to the care of her older sister, his Ma.

Poor Vicki. It was unfortunate how he'd ended up with such despicable women in his life; first a wayward mother, and now this treacherous girl.

"That's a satellite phone." He heard a mellow voice behind him and whirled around. Ms. Sharma stood in his door luminescent like a ghost against the dark night. The phone slipped from his hand falling to the earthen floor with a dull thud. Bending in a flash, he picked it up and made sure the call was disconnected. This was supposed to be a business trip, and his Ma knew he didn't use satphone on a business trip.

"Yes, it's a satellite phone, Ms. Sharma. It's quite useful in this area as there are no mobile networks. I'm sure many tourists use them in these hills." He gathered his wits and threw her a glance. It didn't seem like she overheard him. She was too busy staring at his phone.

He noted she was still in her riding gear, though she seemed to have taken a bath. Her hair that was in a tight plait in the day was now loose, falling freely on her slender shoulders nearly reaching her waist. Something wet glistened on her neck, then trailed down to the hem of her t-shirt, before disappearing into the softness. He kept his eyes firmly on her face, refusing to let them wander southwards. She was temptation incarnate and he couldn't afford to lose his sanity.

"Not many. In fact, I haven't seen any, except for maybe one," she said almost to herself, staring at the phone. Her face was pale and her eyes distant as if she was remembering something or someone.

"Was it someone special?" he asked casually. The darkness outside the cottage thickened and the air seemed to have stilled. Say it was Vicki, he urged her in his mind. Tell me the truth, you abominable woman!

She shook her head as if to shrug off an unpleasant memory. "No. No one of importance," she said with irritation. He clenched his fists. "Anyway, I'm only here to tell you that I haven't been able to find any guide yet. Most of the men here are old and invalid like Ratan Chacha. I can't ask them to go with you. And the young men of the village are out in Palampur for work."

"Oh, that must be really inconvenient for you," he commented dryly, "having no young men available in the village."

As if she didn't know before, his brain sneered. She must have known this before begging for his help, the lying, conniving bitch! It was all a ploy to get close to him. The concern for Aron was fake, just like the rest of her.

"What do you mean?" Her eyes flashed with anger.

"I just meant what I said. Not having any able-bodied men around must be a real inconvenience." He shrugged his shoulders. "So how do they manage without any young men? Surely the old and invalid need looking after?"

"They stay with their families; ladies and children. And their sons visit on their weekly days off. There are a few who work as guides, but that's not a full-time job for them. They take up ad-hoc work and that's why I couldn't find any for you."

He nodded in agreement. It was all a good explanation, a believable one. Possibly true, who knew?

"So what are you going to do about the guide? Remember you promised." He prodded again. Their interactions were important. His actions and her reactions, her little quirks, her easy maneuvres. He was watching her carefully.

"There are a couple of more people I can ask tomorrow. If they can't make it, I'll go with you," she said as her eyes trailed past his muscled shoulders. He smiled in triumph. This was just as he expected. She hadn't found a guide for him. And was now itching to go with him herself. What more proof did he need?

"But it might be late as I have to do a check-up for some more people. You can go ahead if you like..." she continued thoughtfully.

He shook his head in wonder. It was commendable, the elegance, the ease with which she did it. The honesty in her eyes, the sincerity in her words could almost fool anyone. Her noble profession was a perfect foil for her black heart. She was going to run a free medical camp for the villagers in the morning. That will delay their departure. And if they started late, they'll have to spend the night at the hilltop. How convenient, and smooth!

"That's fine," he said outwardly. "I am in no rush. I can have a look around this village until you are done."

She nodded and turned to leave. He watched her shapely legs as she made to leave, then stopped and turned again. "And that's a poison ivy rash on your arm. I'll send someone with cream and antihistamines. You'll feel better in a few days."

Turning her back on him she walked out. He watched her as she took long strides and disappeared in the night.

***** *****