Where the Secret Lies

by Gandhi, Malika

  Anjali managed a small smile. ‘We need to buy groceries first. What will we eat?’

  A loud clang startled Anjali bringing her back from her reverie. She dismissed the thoughts; Mohan will tell her about his past in his own time.

  Taking the cloth, she began to dust the chest of drawers she found hidden in one of the rooms. A unique piece, she had not seen anything like it. She let

  her fingers slide over the intricate finish; she fell in love. This would be one of her favourite.

  Weeks passed and the haveli began to resemble a home. The structure still needed a lot of work but inside, Anjali made it beautiful.

  Rugs dusted, floors swept, silverware and brassware polished, Anjali made a home. She planted beautiful flowers in the garden and inside and hung pictures of the sea and earth on the walls. The busy schedule left hardly any time for rest and both Mohan and Anjali fell asleep every night, exhausted in their beds.

  Anjali worked alone in the mornings when Mohan looked for work. She tended to the house and its needs... sometimes she let her emotions flow free and cried thinking of her family she had lost.

  Neha was older by a few years. Her marriage to Sunil was young by a few weeks when their father passed away leaving her completely alone, but Sunil took her into his house and home. She gained another family who loved her – Meera, a sister and a mother. She missed them all terribly. She wanted to write, to let them know she was safe but something stopped her, was she scared? Perhaps but Anjali did not know what she was afraid of.

  Photographs of a Muslim family hung on the walls. Anjali hated looking at them – they made her uneasy...as if they blamed and accused her of taking over their home. Anjali kept her thoughts secret from Mohan and one day took all the photographs down and stored them in a box, shutting them away forever. She felt a release and she could begin to breathe.

  Anjali did not realise when her relationship with Mohan became close. When did she begin to love him? She had liked him but now it was something more and

  she became conscious that she would not be able to live without him.

  ‘Anjali ji!’

  Anjali looked out from the balcony; Mohan was coming up the road. She rushed downstairs to help him with the bags.

  ‘Here you are,’ he said, putting the bags on the kitchen table. ‘All the ripe fruit and vegetables you wanted.’

  ‘Mohan ji, you didn’t have to buy them all at once,’ said Anjali, looking into the bags.

  The aroma of coriander floated towards her.

  ‘What would you like for dinner tonight?’ she asked.

  ‘Anything but aubergines.’

  The country was just getting back onto its feet; food and jobs were again available. A few families had moved into the area; Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims. Acceptance now replaced hatred; all faiths joined hands and looked forward to a better India.

  Anjali and Mohan approached the families, offering food and a warm welcome. The wives and daughters liked Anjali and the men called her Bhabhi-ji, meaning Sister-in-law. The families did not question their relationship, assuming they were husband and wife. Anjali and Mohan wanted to believe it but knew it was wrong, to live together without marriage was a sin, and would not be tolerated in any faith or community.

  Another night arrived. Anjali picked up her candle and bade Mohan a good night.

  ‘You are going to bed so soon?’ Mohan took Anjali’s free hand.

  ‘I am tired Mohan ji, perhaps you should sleep, it is late.’

  Mohan patted the empty seat beside him. ‘Please, come and sit with me.’

  ‘What is it Mohan ji?’ Anjali put the candle down.

  He took both her hands in his and looked down at their joined fingers.

  ‘I’m sorry to keep you. You should be with your family.’

  ‘Why are you speaking like this? Are you alright?’ asked Anjali, concerned.

  Anjali broke the silence when Mohan did not speak.

  ‘I am not kept by you. It was my choice to stay.’

  ‘I love you Anjali ji. From the first day, I saw you; I have been unable to take my eyes off you. I think about you all the time. You are so beautiful.’

  Anjali kissed his palms. ‘You are beautiful too, in your heart and out.’

  ‘Tomorrow we shall get married Anjali ji. We will have our first night and we shall be husband and wife. Will you marry me?’

  Anjali gasped. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Will you be my wife?’

  ‘Yes, I will be your wife,’ Anjali cried.

  Mohan and Anjali married in an isolated temple. There was no priest to cite the rituals, only a statue of a god and goddess to bless them and that is all they needed.

  Mohan brought a small box of vermillion – a red powder added to the bride’s parting, a garland each and a mangal sutra – an Indian necklace of black and gold

  beads, all needed for a Hindu marriage and closing two souls as one.

  Anjali dressed in a red and white sari and wore red and green bangles, a tradition that followed Gujarati

  marriage customs. She had no jewellery of her own and neither did she borrow the ones left behind at the haveli. Mohan dressed in an ivory Indian suit and Anjali felt her heart stop for a moment.

  The two bowed to the god and goddess and adorned each other with the garlands. Mohan led Anjali around the fire, taking her hand. On the fourth round, Anjali stepped ahead of Mohan, signifying an oath that if death came first, she would take his place. The last ritual was adorning Anjali with the mangal sutra and the vermillion. Mohan and Anjali were now married.

  TWELVE

  ‘Memsahib,’ the maid addressed Anjali at the door of her bedroom.

  ‘Yes Namrata?’ Anjali finished weaving her hair into a plait and picked up her powder pack.

  ‘Saab would like to speak to you.’

  ‘Tell Saab he may come.’

  ‘Yes Memsahib.’

  Anjali began to powder her face when the maid left. She applied dark kohl under her eyes and added a little lipstick to her lips.

  Why did Mohan send a message to her through the maid? It was very unlike him. Just as she finished putting on her make-up, Mohan knocked on the open door.

  ‘Mohan ji, since when did you start sending messages through Namrata?’ Anjali stood up from her chair and gave Mohan a mock annoyed expression, hands on her slim hips. Mohan laughed.

  ‘I wanted you to feel like a Memsahib, my dearest.’

  ‘You succeeded.’

  Mohan came in and wrapped his arms around his wife’s waist, kissing her neck. ‘I have a surprise for you.’

  ‘Are you going to give me a clue?’ Anjali asked, smiling through the mirror at her husband.

  ‘Wear the lovely pink and silver sari and pack a few clothes for us. We are going on a trip and we will be staying for a while.’

  ‘Where are we going and when are we leaving?’

  ‘Tonight we leave and you will find out where very soon,’ Mohan replied, smiling.

  The thought of travelling in India after a long time awakened Anjali’s desires to see the new country in a new light, without any threats of abduction, rape, or murder. The thought of a new adventure with Mohan excited her.

  Dressed in the sari he gifted her, she added matching bangles, a bindi, and her mangal sutra. Last of all, she added red vermillion powder to her parting. Anjali touched her earrings and stared at her reflection in the mirror – indeed, she did look like a Memsahib.

  Anjali had longed for a big wedding since she was thirteen. She dreamt like every girl but for her, it was not to be. She wished her family could see her now with Mohan, who was kind and attentive. He cared and loved her.

  ‘Anjali,’ Mohan sighed for the umpteenth time.

  Mohan did not call her Anjali ji anymore and she preferred this new calling. It was not appropriate for a husband to call his wife ji.

  ‘I’m ready,’ she said turning towards him. ‘How do I lo
ok?’

  ‘Stunning...as always,’ he kissed her forehead. ‘Now, let’s hurry before we miss our train.’

  ‘Mohan ji, you still haven’t told me where we are going.’

  ‘I haven’t, have I?’ he teased.

  Mohan made Anjali close her eyes as they boarded the train, one hand on her eyes and one hand guiding her. Anjali sensed Mohan was enjoying the surprise more than she was and she played along.

  ‘Mohan ji, I will fall,’ she complained.

  ‘I’m here, I’m with you,’ he whispered into her ear and she shivered in delight.

  The stationmaster blew the whistle as they reached their compartment.

  Mohan released his hand from her eyes. Anjali blinked...

  ‘Mohan ji!’ she could not believe what she was seeing – this could not be real.

  Displayed in front of her was a bed scattered with pink and white roses. A curtain window separated them from the platform and a lamp cast romanticism around the room. Mohan had booked a first class compartment.

  ‘How can we afford this?’ Anjali asked.

  ‘You are a Memsahib now Anjali. We do not travel in third class anymore,’ Mohan kissed her neck.

  Anjali melted under his kisses. ‘I love you, Mohan ji.’

  Mohan picked her up and carried her inside, placing her on the rose bed like a delicate flower. He locked the door.

  ‘I have never travelled first class,’ Anjali said.

  Mohan caressed a rose over Anjali’s midriff, travelling up her breasts, neck, and mouth where he bent down to kiss.

  ‘Mohan ji, how can we afford all of this, it is extravagant,’ Anjali breathed heavily.

  ‘For people who own havelis, everything is affordable my love,’ Mohan’s voice, intense with want and lust made Anjali dissolve under him as he kissed her mouth again. She kissed him back.

  ‘This is only the first part of your surprise,’ he murmured.

  Mohan unravelled her sari and opened her blouse, revealing caramel breasts. He tongue travelled from her smooth, tiny waist to her breasts. Anjali trembled.

  ‘What more could you have for me?’

  The shrill whistle of the steam drowned Mohan’s next words as the train caught speed. Anjali sighed in splendid bliss, whatever the surprise – it could wait. Right now, she only wanted Mohan.

  The train pulled into the station as Mohan and Anjali stood in their compartment, ready to depart. The journey had been a long one, twenty-eight hours to be exact but the hours whiled by as they talked, ate, played cards and most of all, made love.

  She had awoken with a smile on her face. Mohan was still asleep. Anjali began to dress and reflected on their night...she lowered her eyes, colour rising to her cheeks. Mohan made love to her with heightened passion and she surrendered to his charm. When finally allowed to sleep, she dreamt of her mother. She did not remember much; she was quite young when she passed away but Anjali sensed her mother was close in spirit and she had given her blessing to her and Mohan.

  ‘I don’t recognise this station,’ said Anjali. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘We are outside of Rajkot,’ Mohan said watching her.

  A moment of silence and Anjali she let out a scream. She flung herself onto Mohan kissing his eyes, nose, and mouth.

  ‘Is this true?’

  Mohan chuckled. ‘I’m glad you are happy. The coolie will bring our bags out to the tonga.’

  Doubt replaced excitement.

  ‘I have been away from my family for so long and now I am married. Will they accept me?’

  ‘Everything will be alright,’ Mohan reassured her and took her hand.

  Had it only been a year since she saw her family? It did not seem so; Anjali could count the times she cried over her sister whom she wanted at her wedding. She cried for her father and she cried for her new family.

  Nightmares came easily and Mohan would soothe her until she fell asleep again. Where were they now? The thought was constant. Were they safe and alive?

  Now as she got into the tonga with her husband, Anjali’s mind crowded with questions and fears again. She clasped Mohan’s hand tight as they entered Rajkot. Anjali prayed for a happy welcome.

  The tonga driver passed the river where boys and men swam. Women filled pots with water, some washed clothes on stones using wide sticks.

  People on cycles overtook the tonga and the tonga driver hooted cheerfully. Mohan squeezed Anjali’s hand but she was nervous to smile or do anything.

  At intervals, the tonga driver sang songs and questioned Mohan and Anjali. Mohan always answered.

  ‘We have come from Lucknow.’

  ‘That is a long way. Do you have friends or family here?’

  ‘My wife does,’ said Mohan.

  ‘After the riots, Rajkot changed. You will see it different. During the riots, most of my family were killed. But that is a long time ago.’

  ‘I shall pray for you and your family,’ said Anjali kindly.

  The tonga driver slowed the tonga to a stop. ‘We have arrived.’

  Anjali stared ahead.

  ARIANNA

  THIRTEEN

  The household buzzed with excitement as suitcases, bags and boxes were packed. Tomorrow morning, the family were travelling to Lucknow! The pre-wedding celebrations were due to begin in two days on arrival of all guests.

  Arianna counted fifteen large suitcases, an assortment of twenty boxes of different sizes, and many travel bags. The elders of the family decided to travel by train rather than by plane and enthused it would be a great experience for all young people, especially for Arianna and Tianna. Arianna never travelled by train in India and the thought of going long distance and sleeping in bunks was exhilarating. She loved the fact that the travelling party totalled to thirty people including her and Khushboo’s family.

  ‘Oh my God, can you imagine Ari, the journey will take twenty-four hours!’ groaned Tianna.

  ‘Twenty-four hours and twenty-minutes to be exact,’ said Khushboo as she passed with several bunches of flowers laden on her arms.

  ‘That’s so long, what are we going to do on the train for that length of time? Why couldn’t we go by plane which would only take us two hours and ten minutes – to be exact – to get to Lucknow?’

  ‘Where is the fun in that?’ said Arianna.

  ‘You won’t get bored Ti, we will have lots to do on the train – singing, dancing, playing cards, quizzes and a whole lot more,’ said Khushboo as she passed by again going the opposite way. This time she held sarees wrapped in cellophane.

  There was hardly any space to move in the house. Boxes containing flowers and other wedding items waited to be counted – a job for Khushboo to record.

  She dumped the last batch of garlands into an open box and crashed onto the sofa, exhausted.

  ‘Be careful Khushboo, those flowers are for the wedding,’ her mother scolded. ‘And get up; we have more work to do before we leave.’

  The train departed at eight twenty the following morning, which meant an early rise for everyone. They had to leave the house by six thirty at the latest. Everyone was to meet at the station and breakfast would be served on the train. It was all planned.

  Arianna jumped up. ‘I’ll help auntie. What do you want me to do?’

  ‘See how helpful your sister is?’ Auntie said to Khushboo.

  ‘You should adopt her then,’ muttered Khushboo irritably.

  ‘Enough of the cheek, young lady.’

  ‘Aw Ma, please let me rest for a while, I am so tired. I have been working all day.’

  ‘Ten minutes,’ said her mother.

  Khushboo groaned. ‘I wish your mum was mine, Ari. Ma is so strict!’

  ‘That’s what you think. Come on, I will help you,’ said Arianna, linking her arms with Khushboo.

  No morning sunshine greeted Arianna as she woke up to the shrill alarm from her phone. It was still dark outside.

  Her mother and auntie sat in the kitchen, drinking from teacups when she ente
red, bleary-eyed.

  ‘Can I have coffee?’ she slumped into the chair opposite her mother. Her mother raised her eyebrows.

  ‘You can make it yourself,’ she chastised.

  ‘It’s alright. I will make it,’ said her auntie.

  ‘You know you spoil her, don’t you? She will become lazy when we go back to London.’

  Auntie laughed as she put the water on to boil.

  ‘What time did you sleep last night?’ she asked Arianna.

  ‘I don’t remember, twelve maybe,’ Arianna rubbed her eyes, yawned, and stretched. The aroma of coffee wafted towards her. ‘Mmmm, that smells lovely, exactly what I need.’

  ‘Ari, we told you all to sleep early,’ said her mother.

  ‘Sorry,’ mumbled Arianna.

  Slowly, Khushboo, Tianna, Gaurav, and the two fathers walked in, bleary-eyed too. Auntie shook her head.

  ‘How can the young learn when the elders misbehave?’ she indicated, cocking her head towards her husband and her brother-in-law.

  ‘What?’ they said together.

  ‘Never mind, have your chai and then all of you, shower. Five minutes each and no longer. It is five-thirty now.’

  ‘So early,’ moaned Tianna and Khushboo together.

  ‘Where’s Ba?’ auntie asked about her mother-in-law.

  ‘Still sleeping but we will wake her when everyone is out of the shower. She will take forty-five minutes just to have a bath,’ said Khushboo’s father.

  ‘Have some respect. She is your mother,’ auntie scolded. ‘Now, don’t sit around. Have your chai quickly.’

  After much waiting, shouting, more waiting and more shouting, the family were ready to leave, although disgruntled.

  ‘You can all go back to sleep on the train,’ said Arianna’s mother.

  ‘Gaurav, be useful and carry a box,’ auntie pushed a long one into her son’s arms.