by Nillu Nasser
Tears of grey clouds lay scattered across the horizon and daylight slipped away as Akash returned to his in laws’ house in Bandra. Market-trading had ended and the streets were emptying. Resistance and hope weighed down each step he took. Perhaps Jaya had just wanted to frighten him. Perhaps she had flung off her clothes and survived. His fear roped around his neck and clung fast, tight and unyielding. He approached the window he had been at hours previously. There, through the glass in the half-light, he saw the blackened floor, and just beyond, Jaya’s mother, weeping at Lord Vishnu’s shrine, wringing her hands. She collapsed in a heap on the floor as Akash watched, her face scrunched up with sorrow.
No. It can’t be. Bile filled Akash’s mouth.
A man loomed into view, a hair’s breadth away, breaking Akash’s sightline to the mourning older woman. His father-in-law’s usually neat hair lay dishevelled against his forehead. Bloodshot eyes pulsed in anger as they met his own. The old man drew his finger to lips and motioned with a cocked head to the front door.
Akash crossed to the entrance, his head clouded with horror.
The door drew open, and Jaya’s father stepped outside into the balmy evening. He stood a head taller than Akash, his body sinewy from age and the Indian heat. A nerve pulsed in the corner of his downturned lips.
“Uncleji—” said Akash.
The older man’s voice erupted in hoarse rage. “You!” He rushed at Akash, planted two hands on his chest, and shoved him to the ground.
Akash lay in the gutter.
His father-in-law turned to the house to make sure no one had heard the commotion. He swung back round to Akash. “You are the reason she did this! I trusted you with my daughter and you betrayed us. Was one woman not enough for you?”
The fault was Akash’s. There could be no question.
“Please.” Akash made no attempt to get to his feet. His body coiled as tight as a spring. He wrung his hands together. “I need to know, is she okay?”
“No. It will never be okay.” A shadow passed across his father-in-law’s face, washing away the sorrow and anger, leaving only coldness. “Jaya is gone.”
“Gone?”
No, please. Please make it right.
“Gone.” He shuddered. “Jaya is dead. You’re no longer welcome here. We want nothing to do with you. You’re not wanted at the funeral. Let us grieve our beautiful daughter.” His face crumpled. “Don’t come back here, Akash. Next time, I won’t be so gentle.” He spat and a gloopy ball of spit and tobacco landed millimetres away from Akash’s leg. His father-in-law swivelled on his heel, crossed to the threshold of his house, and clicked the door shut without a second glance.
Akash went limp. It seemed to him he had entered a parallel universe. The nightmare could not be his own. His mind swam with images of Jaya: tendrils of her hair curling on the pillow as he’d left to meet Soraya that morning; her distress in the rose garden as realisation of his affair dawned; Jaya lighting a match robotically, as if her own life were an after-thought; the swirling flames. Her father’s cold voice pronouncing, “Jaya is dead.”
It was all so clear now. Awareness of his own selfishness hit him like a boomerang. I did not cherish her. I did not save her. There was no escaping who had lit the match that killed Jaya. His shame and guilt extended and twisted until it morphed into a monster he was unable to contain. Ice wrapped itself around his heart, protecting him from pain.
His logic warped. He could not go home. The thought of it made him physically sick. Instead, he wandered through dusty streets, aimless, empty-handed. Somewhere along the route, he lost his bag. He had no papers. No wallet. His teaching certificate, sponsored by parents, disintegrated on the wind. He couldn’t face the gossip about Jaya that would inevitably poison every friendship. He had earned those black stains, he had driven her to death, but he was too much of a coward to face them. There would be some, too, who would lay the blame entirely at Jaya’s feet. Akash could not stomach that, either. Why didn’t I save you? He felt more protective of her in death than he had in life. Already he wished, more than anything, that she would rise from the ashes like a phoenix, unharmed and willing to start their marriage anew.
He craved a blank sheet, a new beginning, for his soul to be washed clean. What have I thrown away? Maybe they could have loved one other, had he given Jaya a chance. He had rebelled against the marriage as if he were a teenager, not a grown man. Now, she was a charred body waiting to be dust. How could he live with himself?
He approached a disused railway bridge. It provided shelter from the fast-cooling night. The inky night, unlit by stars, bled into the underside of the bridge and seeped into his skin. Akash sought out a pocket of light provided by a lonely street lamp and leant against the curved stone wall. His teeth chattered from the chill or exhaustion. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his trousers. His fingers touched the gold wedding band he had removed that morning en route to meet Soraya in the rose garden. The ring had cooled without skin contact. A sob caught in Akash’s throat as he replaced it on his finger. He twirled it round and round, mirroring the motion of the firestorm in his mind.
A man loomed out of the darkness and lurched towards him. An almost empty bottle clanked in his hand. Akash drew back as the man collapsed next to him, but not before a strong smell of gin washed over him.
“You look like your best friend died,” said the man.
Akash gave him a blank stare, only half registering the words.
“Oh shit, bad day, man? Here, have some of this.” He offered the alcohol to Akash and flashed a comforting smile, showing his stained teeth and a gap where his lateral incisor should have been. “You looking at this?” He pointed to the gap with a grimy fingernail. “You’d think I lost it out here.” He threw back his head and laughed. “But, no, I was playing cricket with my brother, must’ve been about eleven. I took a googly in the mouth. You should’ve seen the blood. I was lucky it was only the one. My mother cried but I liked the fuss. She let me eat kulfi for weeks while the gum healed.”
Akash considered the man. They were of a similar age, although neglect had shrivelled the other man’s body. Skin and bones remained, and his back curved like a wave. Akash took the bottle from the man’s extended hand, not wanting to offend and needing to drink. He put the bottle to his lips, draining the remnants. The alcohol burned his throat. He lifted his arm to toss the bottle aside, but the man laid a hand on his arm.
“Best not to shit where you sleep, know what I mean?”
Akash found his voice. “Sorry.”
“No harm done. I’m Tariq.” He swept his hand through the air, indicating the half-moon concrete tunnel. “This is my sometimes home. I say sometimes, because I have to fight to keep it. Sometimes I win; sometimes I lose. If I lose, I make sure I live to fight another day. It’s a good place.” Gratitude shone from his face. He pointed above them. “Not much rain gets through. Unless it’s monsoon, and then that’s a bit touch and go.” He clambered to his feet as though it cost him great effort. “I like you, man. Not often I have a conversation partner. You can stay awhile if you want.”
The emotions of the day weighed on Akash like a rock on an insect. I killed my wife, he thought over and over. He needed a brief respite. Besides, he had nowhere else to turn. He looked deeper into the darkness and made out a blanket and a saucepan.
He felt lighter knowing no one would look for him here. “That’s kind of you,” he said. “I’d like that. You know, just to catch my breath.”
Tariq bowed low before him, a solemn expression on his face. “Follow me. I’ll show you around.”
Chapter 4
During Jaya’s convalescence, her mother visited for an hour most mornings. She sat and patted her daughter’s hand, tutting underneath her breath. Her mother meant her to know Jaya had caused this; she was responsible for her own downfall, and as such the sympathy she received was by the grace of her mother’s superior morality, not something she deserved. Those hours trapped in bed, pretending to appreciate
her mother’s efforts, widened the already existing divide between the women.
On Wednesdays, like clockwork, always at 4 o’clock, after her weekly laughing yoga meeting with the ladies from the temple, her mother stayed for a longer visit. She maintained the club lifted her spirits even in the direst circumstances.
Jaya had accompanied her once, and it struck her as surreal that women who gossiped about one another in everyday life could face each other in a circle and force laughter.
“Hahahahahaha.”
She joined in with her hand on her belly. I feel ridiculous.
“Hahahahahaha.”
Oh, this eye contact is awkward. What is that one man doing here?
“Hahahahahaha.”
No, this is not for me. Maa looks like she is really enjoying herself. Will she notice if I leave?
After the fire, her mother insisted she needed the laughing club more than ever. Jaya had brought shame on the family. She had driven her husband away. The guilt hung in the air between mother and daughter like an executioner’s axe. As the weekly laughing yoga session ended and the women stood about nattering, she could just picture her mother holding court like a great lady, careful to keep her worry a secret from her friends lest Jaya’s situation colour the family reputation any further.
Despite her disappointment, Jaya’s mother did her duty as a woman. She brought fresh chapatis, taken from the pile she made for her husband each morning, together with leftovers from the night before. This time when Jaya peeked inside the bowl, she found fried okra and tiny potatoes swimming in ghee.
“Thanks, Maa. It’s nice to have a break from the hospital food.”
Her mother sniffed. “You know I like feeding you all. Your grandmother taught me well.”
Jaya nodded. Her mother and she were rooted in different generations, but she had been brought up to believe that a woman’s duty was to care for and nurture others, to be obedient and selfless, to teach those values to future generations.
“You still haven’t told me why you did it,” said her mother.
“You know why,” said Jaya, overwhelmed by weariness.
The questions pained her. Her father may have chosen not to openly challenge Jaya’s portrayal of events the day of the fire, but her mother just knew. She knew the way a mother would know if her child was up to no good even if they were not in the same room. She knew because if a mother chose to see the truth, there could be no artifice. Even if the words spelled out one reason, her mother’s radar could sense a slight rise of the voice, a hesitation that rendered all lies useless.
“Aah Jaya, I don’t know anything,” said her mother, exasperated. “Only that Akash hurt you, as men have always hurt women. It is nothing new.”
“It was to me.” The double standards stung. Why had Akash not been obedient and true if it was expected of her?
She wanted to be alone. Her skin ached and itched as it knitted together. It made her irritable and angry, despite the painkillers. One day she wanted to move, the next she wanted to give up. The nurses tried to keep her comfortable. They changed her pressure bandages daily. Bathing helped to soothe the discomfort for a short while, but always, the itchiness returned, and the indignity remained a constant presence.
She wanted to go home, but she didn’t know where home was. Home had been the house she shared with Akash. Her childhood home was not a sanctuary. The fire had happened there. It underlined her new status: that of a deserted wife.
“What was your intention, Jaya? Did you want to die or was it a protest?”
Silence.
“Did you want Akash to feel guilty for his affair? I told you men will be men!” Her eyes narrowed. “Or was it us you wanted to punish? What, you think we chose the wrong man? Oh, the arrogance of youth.” She flung up her hands.
Jaya’s vision blurred with tears. She couldn’t fight herself as well as her mother. She picked out a spot on the pale hospital wall and willed herself to be stronger.
“Why didn’t you listen to me? You can’t fight tradition. Women like us just don’t.”
“Then who else, Maa? Wait, you wanted me to roll over, just continue the charade.” Bitterness reached out, unchecked and violent, like a physical blow.
“Did you really expect to change anything? All you have done is bring shame on us. Your husband is gone. Has he visited you here? How are we expected to afford the bills, Jaya?”
Though Jaya’s treatment had taken place in a government hospital, her burns required expensive specialist treatment. Guilt had become an ever-present companion. Her parents struggled financially. Her studies had been a last parental investment before they had washed their hands of her, and passed the responsibility over to her husband as if she were livestock, not a thinking person with her own hopes and dreams.
Try as she might to shake off the chains of reality, her present was as clear to her as the scars on her body. She could not bear the toxic mix of anger, shame and financial worry that poisoned what love remained in her life. The thought of her parents not having enough money clawed at her, and it was only amplified by her mother’s visits.
“I’m sorry,” said Jaya. “We can use my university fees.” Her world grew smaller still.
“Yes, we may have to. But know this, Jaya. Your Papa and I, we agreed to university for you to improve your life, Jaya. And now look what you have done! And Akash, not even he wants to clean up this mess. You are now our problem to fix.” Tears cascaded down her mother’s face. “You used to be beautiful. What husband would want a wife such as this?”
Jaya’s anger flared. Akash had cheated, not her. She had believed in love, and he taught her the crumbling reality of her idealism. He was free whilst she remained here, trapped. “I am alive, Maa. I am alive. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
Her mother glanced up through tears. “Maybe it would have been better if you had died.”
Hours turned into days.
Days turned into weeks.
The baths, the dressings, the skin grafts, the pain medication, the physical therapy: it all blurred into a nightmarish cycle. Jaya ignored calls from her friends from university. What good would it do to keep up contact with those who would make her feel worse? Their lives progressed, while hers remained stuck.
Neither did she make friends with the patients that came and went. She cowered at the thought of exposing her vulnerability to strangers, and had no energy to support them through their own suffering. The only person who pierced through her armour was Ruhi. Still, she worried about the burden she placed on her younger sister, and the recriminations Ruhi would receive from their parents for her unflinching support of Jaya.
She longed to be able to care for herself, to save the embarrassment and cost of medical care. Even basic tasks like washing herself eluded her. She had no inclination to dress up and look beautiful. She no longer felt like a woman, just a thing. She had worn hospital gowns since her admission. It made bathing and changing dressing much easier for the nurses. Independence had become a distant goal. A dream.
When the therapist suggested she try walking, fear overwhelmed Jaya despite her irritation of being pushed around in a wheelchair. Ruhi came to the rescue, a cheerleader even on Jaya’s darkest days. Today, she insisted on accompanying Jaya on a short walk through the hospital gardens, and wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“You can do this, yaar. You just need to start.”
So Jaya hobbled along on crutches while Ruhi strode ahead, opening doors, beaming in the sunlight while Jaya grumbled behind her. Her legs were still sore and each movement felt unnatural. The missing toes on her left foot meant that progression was slow and unsteady, as if she were a toddler learning to walk again. A dressing gown covered her body, but her cheeks flushed when she met strangers. Could they see underneath to the monstrosity that was now her body? Her oddly shaped feet poked out from under the gown, sheathed in both socks and slippers to hide them from prying eyes.
Ruhi looked so beautiful fres
h from her shower, dressed in a simple salwar kameez the colour of ripe limes and smelling of cocoa butter, that Jaya felt grotesque by comparison.
She turned to face her sister. “Why did you save me, Ruhi?”
“Because I love you, even if you don’t love yourself.”
Jaya’s stomach churned.
Akash had watched her burn and not lifted a finger to help her. If only she could forget. She held that knowledge to her as a beggar holds his last copper. She wouldn’t betray Akash by telling her family the hideous truth of his cowardice.
“It would have been easier if I had died.” She wondered if she would ever know contentment. What was the point of it all if not?
“Who would it be easier for? For you?”
“For us all. Maa wishes I’d died. She said as much. Or perhaps she’d prefer me to wait until I am a widow, and then place myself on the funeral pyre with my husband.” Jaya regretted her words as soon as she had said them. Now she had ruined their walk, too.
Ruhi threw up her pretty manicured hands. “Maa doesn’t mean it, you know. It’s just her way. She loves you.”
“She worries about the bills and I don’t blame her.” Again, the clawing guilt.
“Do you know what I’m interested in? Not Maa, but you. You’re clever. You’re strong. You were going somewhere. Don’t let this stop you.”
They stopped by a maple tree, its branches fanning out over them, leaves flame-red and sharp like the fire that haunted her.
Her sister faced Jaya and grasped her arms. “Why did you do it?” she said. Ruhi’s breath came in short bursts. She blinked back her tears, molten brown eyes clear over crescent shadows, and it hit Jaya how her act had impacted them all.
Jaya’s heart pounded while she searched for the honesty she owed her sister. Her jaw slackened as she released the hold on her control. “Honestly? I don’t know why I did it. I was on auto-pilot, not thinking clearly. Or maybe thinking too much. I felt trapped, unloved, and the fire offered me a release. It breathed. It hated. I felt at one with it.” Her words were barely audible above the hissing of the breeze. “I wanted to punish Akash, to make myself into the unlovable creature he sees when he looks at me.”
