Madhav hugged her to his side.
“When we have a new address,” the father-in-law said to Madhav, “you will kindly send the rest of our luggage.”
“Sriram garu,” Madhav said, “At this age, where will you go? Can we not talk this over?”
The father-in-law hobbled over, waving a finger as he advanced. “Did you ask your sister what she did?”
“I don’t have to. I won’t, either. I have complete faith in her.”
Jaya buried her face in her brother’s shoulder, appalled it had come to this.
Madhav’s arm tightened around her, even as her tears wet his shirt.
“You know,” the old man said, his tone conversational now, “when you came to my house that day? I’m sure you know which one I’m talking about. The day, you know, when my son lay on the floor, covered head-to-toe in a white sheet? That day. You came and abused my wife. That was the day I knew your family had no moral character. To shout at an old lady when her son had just died.”
“And what about the public lashing your wife was giving my sister, even as her husband lay wrapped in that white sheet? How fair was it, holding her karma responsible for his death?”
Jaya’s teeth started to chatter.
“For earning more than your son?” Madhav continued, his fists clenched. “For not bearing a child soon enough, when it was Anant who had the problem? And then, for blaming my pregnant sister for your misfortunes, even as her husband lay on the floor, awaiting transportation for cremation?”
“There is no point in interacting with a family with no honour.” Jaya’s father-in-law tightened his grip on his cloth shoulder-bag. “We were right that first time, when we decided to cut ties with your family. It was only weakness that made us come back for our son’s daughter. We will not make that mistake again.”
Jaya watched as her in-laws walked across the courtyard, and crossed over the threshold of her courtyard, of her life.
Then they were gone.
She knew they wouldn’t be back. Not for their son’s daughter. Not for a roof over their head.
Jaya’s knees buckled.
Madhav’s arm tightened as he helped her sit where she’d stood.
Kovid vaulted over the wall. He got on his knees next to Jaya, his face white with shock. “What have I done? I’m so sorry, Jaya. I’m so sorry.”
“You grew up in America. You didn’t know better,” Jaya said in a monotone. She felt gutted. “What was my excuse?”
“Do you care for my sister?” Madhav asked.
“An-na!” Jaya was appalled.
“What?” Kovid’s face flushed a deep red.
“Do. You. Care. For. My. Sister.”
Jaya wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
“Umm,” Kovid said.
“Anna! Stop it.” Jaya turned to Kovid. “Leave now. Please.”
Ignoring Jaya, Madhav continued, “I’m not blaming you, but you cannot deny that you are the direct cause of my sister’s life being destroyed. If you leave the village now, her life will be in ruins. If you don’t leave the village now, her life will still be in ruins. She has no way out of this.”
Kovid looked tortured. “What do I do?”
“Go home,” Jaya said.
“She will be shunned,” Madhav said. “Her young daughter, who is completely innocent in this, will be shunned. Both will always have my support, that goes without saying. Unfortunately, nothing I do or say will protect them.”
“How do I set things right?” Kovid asked.
“Please, Kovid.” Jaya briefly closed her eyes, forcing the words past the despair clogging her throat. If she looked at him now, she would break down. “This is not your problem. We’ll figure it out.”
“This is very much his problem,” Madhav insisted. “And this isn’t something we’re going to be able to figure our way out of. No matter how much we wish it.” He considered Kovid. “Do you care enough to set things right?”
“I do,” Kovid said.
“Then marry my sister.”
“Anna!” Jaya sat up and stared at her brother in horror. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I mean it.” Madhav’s voice was hard.
“No!” Jaya said. “This isn’t a movie. Real people are involved.”
To Kovid, she said, “My brother has gone mad. Ignore him. Pack up and leave. Go back to America.”
“You put my sister in this predicament.” Madhav might as well have not heard her. “If you have any honour in you, you will marry her.”
“Fine!” Kovid jumped to his feet. “Give me a time and place, and I’ll be there.” He stalked out of the front gate and was gone.
30
Jaya
Jaya trembled violently as Madhav helped her up to her feet. “What have you done, Anna?”
When Madhav led her to the rocking chair her father-in-law had so recently occupied, she shook her head. It didn’t feel right, sitting in his chair. So Madhav reached for two other chairs leaning against the wall and opened them up. Jaya collapsed into one, and Madhav in the other.
“You didn’t give him the chance to say ‘no.’ You left him with no way out.”
“Do you have a way out?”
“No, but how does it make sense to lock two people into a marriage neither wants?”
“Do you not want it? Jaya?”
“You already know how I feel about him. But this isn’t a '70s Telugu movie. We no longer put sacrifice up on a pedestal so we can look up at it and feel virtuous. I’d rather face the world and its scorn than force him into a marriage he doesn’t want.”
“What about Ananta?”
Jaya’s shoulders drooped. She thought of the taunts that would follow, the doors that would slam in her young daughter’s face. “I could shift back to the city.” Her voice was small.
“Do you want to?”
Jaya shook her head. She also knew that this would follow her wherever she went: there was no escaping scandal.
“Let me talk to him then. I’ll make sure he isn’t feeling pressured.”
Jaya nodded.
“What if he still wants to marry you?”
Jaya was silent.
“Jaya?”
She cleared her throat. “If he’s okay with it, I guess I’d be okay too.”
“I don’t want you to make a sacrifice for your daughter’s sake. Like you said, this isn’t a '70s movie. You like him, don’t you? Enough to make a life with him?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. What about...” He cleared his throat. “You’re not going to let Amma and Nanna know?”
Jaya took a deep breath, slowly releasing it. “No.”
“No?”
“No.” This time Jaya’s voice was firm. “I know it’ll hurt Nanna if I don’t let them be part of the rituals. Perhaps Amma, too. But no. You know Amma. If, by some miracle, she shows up, she’ll make it all about herself—her humiliation, her loss of face.” Amma, who always worried about what people would think. Well, some of the more orthodox people would certainly think it now. It was one thing for a widowed daughter to get married—it wasn’t a frequent occurrence, but it could be done in the unlikely event there was a willing groom available. But for her to do so after a scandal like this…
“If I thought there was any chance she’d be supportive, I’d do it. Anyway, I don’t want to put the kids, all of them—yours, mine, Kovid’s—through it.”
“Wow,” Madhav said.
“You didn’t think I had it in me,” Jaya said.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit. You stood up to Amma when you kept your baby.”
Jaya nodded slowly. There would be repercussions to not telling Amma; there always were. But Jaya had bigger things to worry about, now.
Madhav leaned back. “When Seenu called me, I got the shock of my life. Luckily, I was already on my way here.”
Her stomach curdled. If Seenu knew, then everyone who visited his little shop knew, and everyone they ca
me in contact with, knew as well. It was her fate that Seenu’s little shop, the size of a telephone booth, and made from sheets of corrugated tin, sat right across her house, bang on the other side of the road. She hated that the gate to her compound remained open all day, giving the man a direct view into her life. But her in-laws seemed to want it; with their only son gone, who was she to deny them life’s little comforts?
At the thought of her in-laws, her heart gave a pang. “What will I tell Ananta? How will I explain her grandparents’ absence?”
“Be honest. She’s going to be exposed to gossip, anyway. Spin it so she’s excited about gaining Nina as a sister, rather than losing grandparents.”
“But they are her grandparents.”
“And they made the choice to leave. They were the ones to walk away from her. Anyway, be honest. Doesn’t Ananta spend more time with Nina’s grandparents than she did with her own?”
“Yes, but they were her father’s parents.”
“They left, Jaya. It was their choice. You worry too much. Things can’t really get any worse than they are right now.”
But Jaya knew there would be repercussions. She could feel it in her bones. “You forced Kovid into marriage. You put him in a position that left him with no other options.”
“Why do you think he’d agree to be pressured?”
“Because he’s honourable.”
“He’s also American,” Madhav argued. “If he didn’t want to marry you, he’d have said ‘no.’ They don’t have the same concept of honour we do.”
But he was also Ramani aunty’s son. So he would understand what it would do to her life and Ananta’s if he were to walk away now.
She picked up her phone.
“What are you doing?” Madhav asked.
“Calling the wedding off. It is not fair to Kovid.”
The phone rang and rang and rang.
31
Kovid
Kovid took a deep breath. With Nina safely at Madhav’s, it was time. He knocked on his parents’ door.
“Come in.” Dad looked up in surprise.
Kovid didn’t blame him. In the weeks since his arrival, he’d spent his time carefully staying away from Dad’s orbit, not wanting to blow up and upset Mom.
Dad lay on his side of the bed, headphones around his neck. Mom sat on the other side, reading. Kovid saw the JAMA magazine and roughly shoved aside the pain. All these years, and Mom still kept up with advances in medicine. He took a deep breath, shoving down the angry words that threatened to erupt. This was a battle Mom had long conceded.
He sat down on the chair in the corner of their room.
Mom looked at Dad, as she always did. Not because she couldn’t direct the conversation, but because he wouldn’t let her. She rarely spoke in Dad’s presence anymore, but when he wasn’t around, Kovid and she had long conversations about philosophy, about politics, about medicine, education—about anything and everything. Mom was the most well-read person he knew.
“Is it about the Jaya woman?”
A haze of red rage blinded Kovid. “She’s the woman I plan on marrying.”
“What!” Dad sat up so suddenly, his hand hit the jug on the nightstand. It fell on its side.
Kovid had never understood the meaning of explosive silence before.
The only thing audible was the drip of water from the upended jug.
He felt unbalanced, teetering at the edge of a vast canyon. Once he tipped over, there would be no going back.
“Can you please repeat that again?” Dad’s words were carefully enunciated. Overly polite.
Kovid looked at his parents in turn. Dad’s face was rapidly reddening, building up to an explosion. The angrier he got, the calmer Mom seemed to get, till she slipped into nothingness. She was there, but she wasn’t.
“I’ve put Jaya in a terrible position. I’ve been meeting her by the river, not realising the consequences. I was attracted to her. I put her in this position. This is on me.”
“Do you realise she tried the same stunt with Diwakar?” Dad looked almost gleeful.
“What do you mean?” Kovid had to force the words out. The insides of his throat felt raw, like they’d been run through a cheese grater.
“Did you know,” Dad said, “the night before I made Diwakar cut his vacation short, he talked of proposing to Jaya?”
Kovid felt punched in the gut. This could not be happening.
“If you don’t believe me, ask Mom. While you’re at it, ask the villagers too.”
Kovid opened his mouth, but nothing came out. To think, he’d been falling in love with Jaya.
32
Jaya
Ananta crawled into bed with Jaya and put her head on her mother’s shoulder. “So,” she said carefully, “Nainamma and Tataiyya, they’re really gone?”
Jaya turned sideways, drawing her child closer. With a hand, she stroked Ananta’s hair back. “Does that hurt?”
“They never spent time with me.” Ananta idly played with a strand of her mother’s hair. “Never told me stories. Never did the kinds of things other grandparents do. The only thing Tataiyya ever did was rock in the wooden rocker. And Nainamma gave me milk and food. Her mouth and eyes never smiled.” She raised her head, meeting her mother’s eyes. “Why don’t any of my grandparents like me?”
Pain hit Jaya with such force, she gasped. Grabbing her daughter, she pulled her into her arms. She rested her chin on her daughter’s head and rocked her. “I love you,” she said fiercely. “Never, ever forget that. Madhav mavayya loves you too. So does Shyamala atta. And Shreya. If neither of your grandparents want us, it’s not our problem.” She moved back and tipped her daughter’s chin till Ananta was looking into her eyes. “It is their loss. Do you understand that?”
The girl nodded; the tears followed the contours of her cheeks, tracing gentle patterns on the pillow.
“Are you sad they left?” Jaya asked.
“They were Nanna’s parents. They knew him best.”
Now was hardly the time to point out that they had never talked to their granddaughter about her father. Not once.
Jaya pulled her grieving daughter back into her arms. For a long time, they held each other. Jaya watched the second hand on the clock click its way across the face of the device. A garden lizard crept out from behind the clock, stalking an insect a little distance away. It flicked its tongue, grabbed the insect and darted back. She hated the things. Every once in a while, she had the maid open the windows, then hit the back of the broom against the wall till the lizards showed themselves. Then she had the maid use the other end of the broom to sweep them out of the window and close the mesh tightly. The critters still managed to find their way back in.
The phone pinged.
Jaya grabbed the phone. Her brother. Not Kovid. She tried not to feel disheartened.
At the sound, Ananta looked up at her mother. “What happens now? How will you and I live all by ourselves?”
Jaya clicked on her brother’s message. “Confirmed with Kovid. Going ahead w/ wedding. He’s meeting us at courthouse tm at 8.”
Ananta worked her mouth, then said, “The house is too silent without them. I don’t like silence.” Slowly, she put her thumb into her mouth.
Jaya’s chest constricted. It had been at least eight years since Ananta had sucked her thumb. She looked at her phone. “Kovid is ok with this?” she typed.
A “thumbs up” emoji.
Much as Jaya didn’t want Kovid to feel pressured, she was glad. She was getting a second chance in life, and she wasn’t ever going to take it for granted. In the absence of other elders, her brother had stepped up. As he always did. He was handling the details of her wedding, for which she was extremely grateful.
Ananta pulled the thumb out and frowned. “I do, but why are you asking me now?”
“What would you think,” Jaya said carefully, “if Nina became your sister?”
She sat up, eyeing her mother in concern. “Are you okay?�
�
Amused at this reversal of roles, Jaya kissed Ananta. “I’m fine. Kovid uncle and I are planning on getting married. That would make Nina and you sisters.”
“Amma, you know such things happen only American and English books, right? Stepfathers and stepsisters?”
Jaya laughed. “There isn’t a rule against it in India.”
Ananta looked up at her mother, her large brown eyes serious. “I know it, and you know it. But does Nina’s grandfather?”
* * *
Jaya flicked a glance at her daughter. Ananta had fallen asleep. Finally. Jaya stepped out to the veranda and dialled her brother’s number. There was something else she needed to do tonight. “Anna, I need one more help from you.”
“Tell me.”
“But first, Kovid.”
“He told me to let you know that he’s happy to go ahead with the wedding.”
“Why not tell me himself?”
“He’s been running around making arrangements, Jaya. I’m sure his atrocious Telugu isn’t helping.”
Jaya laughed.
“What do you need from me?”
“I’ll give you my FDs tomorrow. Encash them. I SMSed Satyanarayana at the bank and asked him to give you the money.” The advantages of living in a place where your roots dug deep.
“Ananta’s college fund?”
“Yeah. Can you find a way to give it to my in-laws?” She flushed, clearing her throat. “Uh, Anant’s parents, I mean.” It was embarrassing that, in a few hours, she’d have a new set of in-laws.
Madhav was silent for a long moment. “Are you sure?”
“Ananta’s young. I’ll save up again, or take loans, or whatever. Plenty of people do that.”
“Why the urgency?” Madhav said. “With so much going on?”
“Well,” Jaya said carefully. “Once I’m married, I might not be able to give them the money. I’m not saying Kovid or his parents are that kind of people, but…”
Daughters Inherit Silence Page 14
