“Tell Bhaskar to negotiate,” I said.
“He doesn’t know Ramesh’s number.”
“It’s in the supplier register.”
A pause.
“Baba, please come.”
My chest tightened.
“I can’t.”
Three days later, the refrigeration unit stopped working.
The following week, two catering orders were delivered late.
Then Devyani changed the Sunday thali menu.
She removed bharli vangi because preparing it took too long.
She replaced our homemade puran poli with a frozen dessert from a commercial supplier.
Customers complained.
One elderly man who had eaten at our restaurant since Papa’s time reportedly told her, “Your brother never treated your mother’s recipes like an inconvenience.”
Devyani called me that evening.
“You’ve been turning customers against me.”
I was sitting on my balcony drinking tea.
“No.”
“Then how do they know you’re gone?”
“Because I’m gone.”
“You’ve told suppliers not to cooperate.”
“Didi, they have been calling me because they don’t know whom to speak to.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
I looked at the street below.
“No. I spent ten years keeping that place alive. Watching it struggle is the last thing I want.”
“Then come help.”
“On what terms?”
Silence.
Finally she said, “You’re still my brother.”
I swallowed.
“Yes. I am.”
She waited.
“But I’m no longer your unpaid manager.”
She hung up.
Two weeks later, Ishwari called us to her office.
The independent review had uncovered something none of us expected.
During the previous eighteen months, Devyani had instructed our accountant to classify several transfers to Dubai as consulting fees.
The recipient was a company controlled by Bhaskar.
I stared at the figures.
“₹47 lakh?”
Triveni nodded.
“Across multiple payments.”
Devyani looked furious.
“Those were legitimate management expenses.”
Ishwari asked, “What management services did the Dubai company provide?”
Bhaskar answered quickly.
“Brand development. International strategy. Financial planning.”
“Where are the contracts?”
He hesitated.
“Where are the deliverables?”
Silence.
I looked at my sister.
“Didi, you told me to send the profits because you were saving for expansion.”
Her expression changed.
I remembered every call.
Send the surplus.
Don’t waste money on bonuses.
Keep your own drawings low.
We need reserves.
I had believed her.
Then Ishwari showed us the bank statements.
Several transfers had been made shortly before Bhaskar purchased an apartment in Dubai.
My stomach turned.
“Did restaurant money pay for your home?”
Devyani whispered, “Part of it.”
I sat back.
For years, I had slept on flour sacks during renovations because I didn’t want to spend money on temporary accommodation.
And my sister had been using the restaurant’s profits to build a life I could barely imagine.
I looked at Bhaskar.
“Did you know I wasn’t taking a salary?”
He said nothing.
“Did you know I used my fixed deposit to replace the refrigerator?”
He adjusted his watch.
“Business involves risk.”
I nodded slowly.
“Yes. Apparently only mine.”
The review did not prove that every transfer was improper. But the lack of documentation and the conflicting explanations created serious questions.
Ishwari advised us to resolve the matter before it became litigation.
Devyani refused.
For another month, she insisted everything belonged to her.
Then the restaurant’s largest corporate catering client cancelled its annual contract.
That afternoon, Shashidhar Kaka called me.
His voice was trembling.
“Baba, I am leaving.”
I sat upright.
“Why?”
“Bhaskar sir shouted at Meena because she refused to serve yesterday’s gravy.”
I closed my eyes.
“Is she all right?”
“She cried.”
“Tell her I called.”
There was a long silence.
Then Kaka whispered, “Your mother used to say that a restaurant can survive without expensive furniture, but not without people who care.”
My throat tightened.
“I remember.”
“Then don’t let them destroy her name.”
That night, I opened Papa’s letter again.
There was another page I had barely noticed.
His handwriting became shakier near the bottom.
Nandu, I know your sister is clever. I also know you will forgive her things she would never forgive you.
I am not asking you to hate her.
I am asking you not to disappear for her convenience.
I read that sentence five times.
Then I called Ishwari.
“I want to make an offer.”
The following Monday, Devyani and Bhaskar arrived at her office.
I had prepared a proposal.
They could retain ownership of the restaurant business, but only if they entered a properly documented lease for the premises, settled my verified financial contributions, and resolved the disputed transfers through an independent accounting process.
Alternatively, I would purchase the operating business at an independently assessed value, taking its liabilities into account.
Devyani stared at me.
“You want to buy my restaurant?”
“Yes.”
“With what money?”
I looked at Ishwari.
She slid a letter across the table.
A bank had given preliminary approval for financing against my property interest, subject to valuation and due diligence.
I had also approached a local investor who had eaten at Kaveri Bhojanalaya for twenty years.
