The Accidental Wife

by Simi K. Rao

  “I say so because I know so,” Rihaan said. “I am one of your doctors and I also happen to be your husband, Rihaan Mehta.” He scooped up her hand and gently kissed it.

  She trembled before snatching it away and concealed her hand under the bed sheet. “And…I’m supposed to take your word for it? I’m no fool!”

  She looked taken aback when he burst out laughing. “No, absolutely not. I don’t expect you to take my word for it, for then I’d be committing the unpardonable offense of insulting a woman who’s not only beautiful but also very intelligent.”

  Her cheeks grew warm but her steady gaze told him that he wasn’t off the hook. A few moments passed before he smiled again. He removed his cell phone from its clip and held it in front of her face. “This is our wedding video. No better proof than that.”

  Naina observed the ceremony silently. “But I can barely see the girl’s face, it’s hidden by the veil. How can I be sure that’s me?”

  “You’re right,” Rihaan agreed. He’d never attended to that glaring fact. Maybe because for him, the girl in the video had always been Naina.

  Yet when he saw her continue to look at him expectantly, he knew he couldn’t let this vital moment go by. It was a chance to establish his sincerity.

  “Here,” he said, exhaling with relief, “look at these.” He handed her his cell phone again. “They are some pictures taken by my Uncle Rajbir on the day after the wedding. I didn’t realize I had them.”

  Her face assumed a flustered expression as she scanned the pictures quickly; most of them showing an uncharacteristically stiff and awkward bridegroom standing next to a demure and shy bride. “But this girl isn’t me! She’s so beautiful! Whereas I’m ugly! I know because I’ve seen myself. I made her brinng me a mirrrorrrr…” She looked at the nurse, who acknowledged guiltily.

  Then Naina started to scream. Her faint slur becoming prominent as she got more and more worked up. “Youuur all init togetherrrr, deceivinn me an tellinnn me horribbbbl liessss!”

  Rihaan folded her in his arms and tried to calm her as she continued to stammer incomprehensively. “No, darling. I’m not telling you lies… No one is. It’s you in the pictures. Believe me. And you’re not ugly. You are beautiful, more beautiful than anyone I’ve ever met. Everything is going to be fine. Trust me.”

  ***

  Raising her tear-stricken face to his, she examined him keenly with red-rimmed eyes. She wanted to believe in him, desperately. Why would he lie to her? What did such a wonderfully patient and handsome man have to do with an ugly girl like her, unless he was telling the truth, that she was indeed his wife? Maybe it was worth the risk.

  She capitulated and ate the soup.

  Missing

  Naina sat next to the window and scanned the scene slowly with her eyes.

  Hospital Room - bland, white, synthetic.

  Clock reading - 11:03 a.m.

  Faded print of Van Gogh’s Starry Night on the wall.

  White board stating today’s date - 5/2/2014—the month written before the date in the American way (she did recall that) along with the name of her nurse—Stephie. She’d had her yesterday, too. Pretty, young, auburn-haired and nervous, whom her so-called husband had in his pocket, just like he did so many others.

  She had been moved to this room on the 6th floor from the ICU exactly four days ago Naina had taken to keeping close tabs on every excruciating detail of what was going on, ever since she had become aware that her memory was suspect.

  The reason for the move she was told was that her condition had been downgraded from ‘critical’ to ‘stable’ which was apparently excellent news. Also, because it was a quieter and more secluded location with VOILA! Not one, but two large windows! Though no one cared to elaborate that the only view she got to stare at every day was of city streets full of normal, healthy people, very much unlike her, but she didn’t grumble. Her doctors intended well, Rihaan in particular.

  She directed her attention on a pair of pigeons roosting in the eaves while trying to swallow the lump that seemed to form in her throat every time she thought of him. What a horrible plight for a man to be in! If she was really his wife…

  She craned to get a better view and winced. Stephie rushed to her side immediately. She fussed around, attempting to rearrange her pillows so it didn’t chafe the raw area on her back which had been freshly grafted that very morning with skin harvested from her thigh.

  Stephie asked her anxiously, “Are you hurting? Can I get you something for the pain? You haven’t had anything since you came back from surgery.”

  “No.” Naina declined with a determined smile, even though every inch of her body throbbed like it had been pounded by a wrecking ball. She’d have loved an opportunity to escape to some weird and fantastic world that looked and felt so much better than the one she was in right now. But she couldn’t, because she had persevered to hold on to her mind; at least what remained of it.

  They’d all informed her (the experts assembled by the man who’d adopted her as his wife) that she suffered from a profound case of dissociative amnesia. They’d arrived at this general consensus after subjecting her to a staggering number of tests that involved spending harrowing eons inside claustrophobic chambers, getting her brain mapped with weird probes plastered to her scalp, plus countless hours of interrogation, during which she was repeatedly posed the same questions, tested on her reading and writing skills, and made to perform silly tasks like counting backwards and drawing clock faces which any fifth grader could accomplish. In conclusion, she was informed that her brain was in excellent working order except—they looked at her with uniformly grim faces—somewhere in the course of events she had lost sight of herself. She had buried herself deep inside her brain and omitted to mark the spot.

  Bewildered and frightened, she had turned to Rihaan, who was holding her hand while sitting beside her throughout the whole sermon. Deducing her turmoil right away, he said, “Not to worry. All they mean to say is that part of your memory has taken a vacation. It should be back in no time.”

  Thus, he had allayed her anxieties with a smile he seemed to reserve only for her.

  And while she tried to come to terms with her ‘temporary’ deficiency, he gave her information about herself—something to build upon, as he put it.

  She was a young Asian woman, born and brought up in India—she had gathered as much, going by the color of her skin and that she was fluent in three different Indian languages. She was well-educated (a PhD student of English, no less). And while working in New Delhi, she had met Dr. Rihaan Mehta, and within a short period, got married to him and emigrated to the United States.

  “A whirlwind romance?” she had questioned dubiously.

  In response to which he had hedged a little before nodding, “Yes, you could say so.” But then he hadn’t chosen to elaborate further.

  “What about my parents? I want to talk to them,” she had demanded.

  “Your parents are no longer with us,” he told her after some hesitation. “It’s been several years since they passed.”

  But when she inquired about the rest of her family, he wasn’t quite as forthcoming. Nor was he about the circumstances that had led to her accident.

  “Don’t get flustered, Naina,” he had said. “Think of it as a game of trivial pursuit that you’re playing with yourself. The picture will become clearer as your brain builds on bits of new information.”

  She had taken him for his word. But the picture continued to remain as elusive and abstruse as ever.

  “Time for lunch!” her nurse chirped.

  Naina was snapped out of her morose musings by Stephie, who placed a tray of sterile hospital food in front of her.

  “No, take it away,” instructed Rihaan, as he breezed in, looking suave and handsome as ever. “My wife’s having none of that junk today. She’s going to eat something I’
ve made especially for her.” He opened a brown paper bag from which emanated a mouthwatering aroma.

  “It’s the very same that you fed me, when I came hunting for you at your apartment the day after we met.” He placed a spoonful into her mouth. “I didn’t realize it then, but I think that’s when I fell irrevocably under your spell. Remember, Naina?”

  Naina tried to nod and smile as she chewed on what felt like sandpaper on her palate. But her husband was no fool.

  “I’m so sorry to be such a disappointment!” she burst out, reaching for his hand. “Frankly, I don’t remember anything at all!”

  “It’s okay, darling. How can I blame you for my abysmal lack of culinary skills?” He laughed, grabbing a tissue and dabbing at her tear-stricken face.

  Later, to make amends, he snuck her down to the lobby for a delicious sundae, then as an added bonus pushed her wheelchair around the moonlit courtyard until she fell fast asleep.

  Of Spells and Guardian Angels

  It was the darkest of nights in the middle of nowhere and it was cold, so very cold, with a bitter, biting wind. And in the midst of this hell, Naina found herself running as fast as her broken feet would allow her. She was fleeing from something unseen, something more terrifying than anyone could ever imagine.

  The wind began to howl, pushing her back, smacking her on the face with her own hair. Her limbs were heavy and weak, like stumps of dead rotting wood and the numbness began creeping up her torso. But she wouldn’t give up. She just couldn’t.

  Up ahead on a low hill she thought she saw some flickering lights. They emboldened her to get moving again. But she had barely progressed a couple of feet when the ground under her started to slide. The asphalt had turned into a bed of loose gravel.

  She fell forward and began to crawl, using her nails as talons, seeking purchase on the steep incline which had abruptly transformed into a river of slime. It poured into her nose and her mouth, extinguishing her screams for help.

  The thing had almost caught up. She could perceive its putrid burning flesh. The heat seared her skin. She closed her eyes and prayed for a quick end.

  Just then the earth tore apart and she saw herself plunge into a gaping hole. She plummeted, gathering speed as she dropped, further and further. But she wasn’t alone, there were others with her, falling, too. And they were laughing in great merriment.

  Astounded, she looked around and saw that she was seated on top of a gigantic Ferris wheel, high in the sky, floating among wisps of soft cotton.

  “Naina!” Someone called her name.

  “Here!” She responded earnestly seeking the source.

  The voice belonged to someone she knew, but hadn’t seen in ages. She finally spotted her. A beautiful woman with a face radiant like the sun. And she was smiling at Naina while eating ice cream. Rocky Road. Her favorite kind.

  “Mama!” Naina screamed, reaching out with both her arms.

  But the woman drifted away, waving cheerfully as she disappeared into a dense bank of clouds.

  “Mama!” she called again.

  “Mrs. Mehta!” Someone tapped on her shoulder.

  “No,” Naina grumbled, burying her face deeper into the pillows, desperately attempting to reassemble her dream. But it wasn’t to be.

  “Good morning. I’m Cara. Your new nurse,” announced a woman with an incredibly bright smile on her perfectly done supermodel face.

  Naina decided right away she didn’t like her. “Where’s Stephie?”

  “She has the day off,” the supermodel nurse replied, the corners of her mouth straining to reach her ear lobes and almost succeeding. She maneuvered a tray table close to the bed.

  “It’s way past breakfast time. But Dr. Mehta insisted to let you sleep through. He said you had a…”

  “Dr. Mehta? Rihaan?” Naina exclaimed eagerly, struggling to sit up. “Is he here?”

  “No. But you have other visitors,” Cara said.

  Naina became aware for the first time of the small crowd gathered in the room. Her beautiful, dark eyes, the most prominent features on her thin, pale face, grew wider as they darted from one person to the other.

  “You know who we are, don’t you? I’m Rima, Rihaan’s sister,” voiced a pretty young woman dressed in a becoming yellow and pink spring dress.

  “Yes. I do. How are you?” Naina answered slowly. She did recognize them from the pictures Rihaan had shown her. Yet it felt odd seeing them in the flesh, in a most surreal way. The fantastic fable had finally come to life, filling her both with excitement and fear.

  Her gaze first rested on a gentleman (who was apparently more than slightly fond of his paneer tikka and tandoori chicken) whom she recognized as Rihaan’s father. The smile he wore on his ruddy face was so frank and genial that it instantly caused her to relax. She judged him to be a kind-hearted and down-to-earth individual, a person who invited trust and confidence.

  She smiled back at him before moving on to his wife—a short, thin woman wrapped in a grey-black sari. She was examining her keenly with hazel eyes, which were just like her son’s, though hers weren’t smiling.

  Seized by a peculiar sense of unease, Naina looked away and spotted a strange man standing right beside her bed. He wore the saffron robes of a priest. His bright, jet black, beady eyes made her skin crawl. She desperately fought the urge to pull the covers over her head.

  “You’re looking very good,” Rima said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

  Naina, thankful for the distraction, looked gratefully at her, though she knew she was lying. How could a pale sickly alien wearing a chemo cap to cover her shaven skull look good? But Naina forgave her for she believed Rima bore no ill will in her heart.

  Her sister-in-law placed a large bouquet of painted daisies on the bedside table along with a box of chocolates. “Rihaan told me there are no dietary restrictions. He said I could bring anything that’d encourage his picky, little wife to eat.”

  Naina smiled nervously, all at once realizing how desperately she missed him.

  “Maybe we should come back later. Let bahu have her breakfast,” her father-in-law suggested, and began hustling his wife toward the door, much to the woman’s annoyance.

  “No. Please stay. I’m not hungry,” Naina pleaded, though wishing quite the opposite.

  Her mother-in-law finally spoke, but not to her. She shared a knowing look with the priest. “Guruji, do you see what I see?”

  He nodded, continuing to stare at Naina with his eerie eyes. “Yes. I do. This young woman’s life is in great danger. She is haunted by malevolent spirits. She needs help or else she’ll take everyone with her to hell.”

  Naina looked on helplessly, wanting to but unable to push him away, as the priest anointed her forehead with vermillion and ash. Then digging into his cloth bag, he brought out a white powder which he blew into her face, making her sneeze loudly.

  “Shobha, what are you doing?” Naina heard her father-in-law yell from somewhere in the room. “I thought you brought this man here to bless our bahu and pray for her quick recovery!”

  “Her condition calls for more than just blessings and prayers,” her mother-in-law said. “Guruji knows exactly what she needs. Let him do his job. It’s for her own good and for our son’s, who happens to have turned into a big hard-headed fool!”

  There were more voices raised in argument. Someone fled, shouting from the room.

  Meanwhile Naina stared in horrid fascination, as the priest sat down by her bed and began intonating in a loud and fervid tone. She wanted to look away but couldn’t. She was trapped; ensnared by some strange force in a dark, mystical realm.

  And then to her alarm, she began to break apart. Her head separated from her torso and so did her limbs, detaching themselves one by one before drifting away. And she couldn’t do anything about it. It was a conspiracy, a vile plot hatched to annihilat
e her very soul. Her mouth opened to protest, but the words were rammed back into her throat. Her heart screamed vainly inside her chest. She fought feebly, raising her hands in front of her face, but the voice only grew louder.

  Fortunately at that very moment her guardian angel walked in. “What in hell is going on here?” Rihaan shouted.

  He ousted the wicked man from the room and admonished everybody to be silent and stop irritating his wife. He even ticked his mother off and sternly warned her against committing such foul acts again. “Enough is enough. There’s nothing wrong with my Naina, absolutely nothing! Understood!”

  My Naina. She closed her eyes and reveled in the sensation of being his.

  Beacon of Light

  “Something’s brewing in that little mind of yours and it’s potent enough to overcome the soporific mix we feed you. Care to put me in the loop?” Rihaan remarked feigning surprise one afternoon, when he came upon his wife engrossed in a task other than the one she was usually in—her post lunch siesta.

  “It’s nothing. Nothing that would be of any interest to you,” Naina retorted sharply, snapping shut her notebook and shoving it deep inside the folds of her blanket.

  “Hmm…that makes me even more curious,” he said casually sauntering over to the window, from where he pretended to regard the buildings across the street, before turning back to her with a sly smile in his eyes, one designed specifically to unnerve her.

  But she hung tough, gripping the book even harder. It’d certainly not do for him or anyone else for that matter to become privy to her incoherent ramblings which were bound to lay her wide open to ridicule. These were her very own, brand new, untried thoughts and feelings and she chose to guard them with ferocity.

  It had been only a few days since she’d been involved in her new hobby. The journal, a gift from one of her therapists, had come with specific instructions: “Write in it every day, anything, as long as it is positive.”

  In other words, it was a prescription for pragmatism, or to put it plainly— “Drink your poison and stop complaining!”