The Dowry Bride

by Shobhan Bantwal

  After the wedding, Kiran had tried hard to convince himself that what he felt for Suresh’s new wife was only infatuation, but every time he’d seen Megha she’d seemed more appealing. And every time his reaction had been the same: heartbeat rising, a tight feeling in his chest and abdomen. And the obsessive need to see her, spend time with her, perhaps touch her. As weeks turned into months, he was forced to admit that his feelings were beyond temporary fascination. His was no adolescent attraction; it was full-blown love with all its excess baggage.

  And then there was anger, because Megha didn’t deserve to be married to a weak, spineless loser like Suresh—didn’t deserve to be treated like a personal slave by Amma. Talk about life being unfair! Thoughts of a rare illness striking and killing off Suresh had crossed his mind a few times, thoughts Kiran had quickly suppressed. How could he think such awful things about his cousin, the man he had played childhood games with, the boy he had looked up to when he himself was no more than a toddler?

  It had bordered on hero worship then, because Suresh was four years older. Suresh could read sentences when Kiran could hardly master the alphabet. Suresh could do multiplication when Kiran could barely add and subtract. At some point, Kiran couldn’t say precisely when, he had surpassed Suresh academically and physically, and then continued to grow and run. That was when Kiran had recognized Suresh for what he really was: a weak, selfish and shallow man with little respect for others. He even suspected Suresh had some sort of mild mental affliction that made him so apathetic. Kiran wasn’t sure what he felt for Suresh—respect, brotherly affection, contempt, anger, pity? Lately, the negative sentiments had overshadowed the positive.

  A plaintive wail coming from the direction of the house nudged Kiran back to the present. And with it came the worry and serious concern over Megha’s whereabouts once again. Was she gagged and bound? Was she in pain? Was she sobbing her eyes out in a dark hole somewhere? And the most frightening speculation of all: had she been molested and perhaps even killed? The questions and images that filled Kiran’s mind were deeply disturbing.

  Amma claimed that her thoughtless daughter-in-law had run away from home for no apparent reason. Putting on her best distraught mother-in-law act for the policemen, Amma was bawling with all her might. “My husband and I love Megha like our own daughter,” she claimed, her wide face crumpling in what appeared to be genuine pain. “How could she run away from us? We want her to come home. Please find her,” she’d pleaded. Amma was currently continuing the farce with remarkable aplomb. She’d even managed to redden those fearsome eyes to make her grief seem authentic.

  But Kiran knew better. Amma wasn’t capable of love, at least not the kind she claimed she held for her daughter-in-law. No doubt Amma had a deep capacity for affection and loyalty to her own flesh and blood. She was generous and kind when it came to her brothers and their families.

  Kiran was Amma’s only nephew and the object of her fondness and adoration. In her eyes he could do no wrong. He was bright, handsome, wealthy, and just about the most eligible young man in the state, if Amma were to be believed. She often compared her own puny and pasty-faced son to Kiran in the most crude manner. It left Kiran embarrassed and, despite his mild disdain for Suresh, feeling sorry for him. Poor Suresh’s ego was put through the shredder again and again, and no man deserved that, not even Suresh. But despite Amma’s pounding, Suresh had managed to survive in that strange household.

  Survive was the key word for anyone who had to live with Amma. Was it survival that had forced Megha to vanish? Had she been abused by the Ramnaths and couldn’t tolerate it anymore? The thought of what she might have suffered at Amma’s hands made Kiran wince. What about how Suresh may have treated her? As the popular proverb went, still waters could run very deep. Megha had always smiled a lot, showing the rest of them a happy and contented bride’s face. Had that been a façade?

  Only minutes ago, Kiran had noticed Suresh sitting silently in a corner, dressed in disheveled blue pajamas, eyes downcast, clasping and unclasping his hands while his mother talked to the police. He had spoken haltingly when questioned by the men. Claiming he had woken up to find his wife missing, and searched for her everywhere in vain, he had gone back to staring at the floor.

  Amma’s husband, Vinayak, on the other hand, looked genuinely distraught. He hadn’t said much, other than to mention that he’d been asleep until Amma had awakened him with the grim news that Megha’s bed was empty and neither she nor Suresh could find her anywhere. Uncle was a decent man, but he was henpecked, and keeping his mouth shut was his way of dealing with his aggressive and bossy wife. Amma had her husband tucked firmly under her thumb.

  Cousin Shanti, Suresh’s younger sister, blinked, as always, through her thick glasses and serenely answered the policemen’s questions. Very little seemed to affect Shanti, the poor, simple soul. She lived in her fantasy world of poets, playwrights and authors—the world of English literature, her first and only love. Only names like Shakespeare or Chaucer or Whitman seemed to stir her to life. Neither Megha’s presence nor her absence would mean much to Shanti. In fact, due to Shanti’s detachment from reality, she seemed to be the only one who didn’t cower under Amma’s intimidating gaze.

  Going back in his mind to earlier that evening, Kiran tried to recreate the scene in the Ramnaths’ home. He and his parents and his other uncle, together with his wife and two daughters, had been invited to dinner at the Ramnaths’. It had been for no special reason other than to socialize as the close-knit family often did, or so it had seemed in the beginning. His folks were extremely family-oriented.

  Had there been any signs in Megha’s behavior to indicate this mysterious disappearance? He attempted to analyze her actions minute by minute except for the time she’d been alone in the kitchen. Nothing had seemed extraordinary. She’d been her usual cordial self.

  The only thing unusual he’d noticed was that Megha had looked thinner and there were faint shadows around her eyes. In fact, he’d wondered what was wrong, whether she’d been ill. He could tell she had been working hard—her hands, with their narrow, tapering fingers, had looked a bit rough and red.

  He’d also observed that she had hardly eaten any dinner. She had cooked a delicious meal and fed them well, but since Kiran was always so finely tuned to her actions and reactions, he’d noted that she’d practically skipped the meal herself.

  Then his mind wandered to that odd episode after dinner. Amma had dispatched the men, namely, Kiran’s father, his two uncles, Suresh, and himself on a long walk. “You men should go take a nice walk and digest the rich meal, you know. And Suresh needs the exercise to build some muscle.” When the older men had put up some resistance, she’d firmly pointed out, “Walking is good for the prostate also, no? And the three of you are getting old. Go, go walk!”

  Kiran had flatly refused to go with the other men because he’d become suspicious. Amma was up to something. He’d sensed an undercurrent of excitement in her all evening. She had been more animated than usual, more talkative, more manipulative.

  After she’d disposed of the men, she had shepherded Kiran’s mother, Kamala, and his aunt, Devayani, into the drawing room and shut the door, making it obvious that something of great importance was about to be discussed. Megha and his three female cousins, Kala, Mala and Shanti, had been told to amuse themselves by playing card games in the kitchen.

  Pretending to relax in the master bedroom with a newspaper, Kiran had found a spot where he could put his ear to the wall separating the drawing room, so he could eavesdrop. Somewhere deep inside he knew this secret conference among the ladies had to do with Megha.

  What he heard over the next few minutes was disturbing. The walls in that home were rather thin, and thank God for that.

  “Megha’s father has still not paid you any of the dowry money or what?” Devayani asked in her nasal drone. His Aunt Devayani was a small woman with an overbite and perpetual allergies that left her with a congested nose and a voice that s
ounded like a broken guitar.

  “Not one paisa yet. And I don’t see any chance of it coming soon. That’s why I’m thinking about this,” replied Amma.

  Kiran had wondered what this meant. Exactly what was the old bat planning?

  Then he heard his mother’s voice say, “Chandramma, it’s only one year since the wedding. Why not wait a bit?” Kamala was generally the voice of reason amongst the three women.

  “One year is more than enough if you ask me,” Devayani sniffed. Amma had mentored Devayani since the time she’d married Amma’s youngest brother, Rama Rao, and since then Devayani had become Amma’s staunchest supporter and friend.

  “I have been very patient,” Amma confirmed. “They promised us the money. This is clearly a breach of contract, no? Also, there is the matter of infertility to consider.”

  Kiran frowned. Breach of contract? Infertility? Where had his aunt learned such terms? She had obviously been educating herself on these matters.

  “A healthy young girl can’t get pregnant in one year or what?” Devayani wanted to know. “Then she must be barren also.”

  “Wait a minute,” Kamala interrupted. “The girl gets along well with the family. And she is beautiful and bright, Chandramma. That was the main reason you chose her for Suresh, remember? You always wanted someone just like her for a daughter-in-law.”

  “I have considered all those things, Kamala; I’m not a fool.” Amma sounded irritated at Kamala’s words of caution.

  “And pregnancy takes time,” Kamala argued, somewhat impatient herself. “It took me many years before Kiran was conceived.”

  “That may be, but don’t forget you had miscarriages before and after Kiran.”

  Miscarriages before and after his birth? Taken by surprise, Kiran contemplated the matter for a minute. Nobody had told him that and he’d never really questioned why he was an only child. It was something to which he’d never given any thought, always assuming his parents had ended up with a single child because fate had determined it. And well…it had.

  No wonder his parents doted on him and the rest of the family treated him like a precious commodity. As the son of the oldest Rao brother, Kiran’s was a special position to begin with. On top of that, his father’s brother had two daughters and no son. As the only male in the Rao clan, it was up to Kiran to carry on the family name. It was small wonder that they thought he was handsome and bright although he considered himself ordinary. Their adoring attention bordered on smothering at times.

  Kiran had forced his attention back to the drawing room and its occupants.

  “That girl is getting too clever for her own good. She has started to question my actions,” Amma fumed.

  “What exactly has Megha questioned?” inquired Kamala.

  “Do you know what she did last week? She openly defied me by going next door to that Muslim family’s house when I told her not to go.”

  “Oh dear!” Devayani seemed to agree with Amma’s cause for indignation.

  But Kamala asked, “Why did she go there?”

  “She said she went to help that woman because she had an appendicitis attack.”

  “What was Megha doing there if the woman had appendicitis? She needed a doctor, not a housewife,” Devayani, in her infinite wisdom, added.

  “But Megha claims she stayed with the woman until her husband came home. She said their three-year-old daughter was crying and she had to do this to help out. I suspect she stayed there to laze, to get out of doing her own work here. When I asked why she disobeyed my orders, she called me selfish and thoughtless.”

  There was a moment of silence as the two other women apparently absorbed this interesting piece of information, while Kiran silently cheered for Megha.

  “Then she comes back home as if nothing happened. She polluted our Brahmin home by stepping into a Muslim house. That is total disregard for our religion, no?” Amma’s tone was one of righteous indignation.

  Kiran nearly laughed out loud. So Megha had helped a neighbor in distress and for that she was branded a villain. Amma’s sense of right and wrong was twisted beyond imagination.

  Unfortunately, too intent on eavesdropping to pay attention to his surroundings, Kiran’s elbow had accidentally struck a hairbrush on the dressing table and sent it crashing to the floor. Damn! After that, probably realizing that Kiran was able to hear them, the rest of the conversation in the other room had turned to whispers and gone on for several minutes. Kiran hadn’t been able to catch any of it. That was the part he needed to hear the most, and clearly, it was also the most damaging part of the meeting. And he hadn’t a clue as to what it was.

  The only portion he’d managed to overhear at the end was his mother saying with an ominous sense of finality, “Chandramma, please, I beg you, don’t do it, at least for the sake of family honor. Imagine the scandal.”

  A sense of dread had engulfed Kiran. The men had returned from their walk shortly after that. On the drive home, his mother had been strangely quiet and contemplative. He’d been tempted to ask her about it, but he knew she’d never reveal a family secret, especially when it involved her older sister-in-law. In old-fashioned Hindu households, one did not betray family, and especially not an elder.

  After he’d dropped his parents off at their large, affluent home, Kiran had driven back to his flat. He hadn’t been able to relax or sleep. Something had nagged at him for hours, especially his mother’s last remark: Don’t do it, at least for the sake of family honor. Imagine the scandal.

  What could be that scandalous? Was Amma planning to force Suresh to divorce Megha? If that was the case, then it would be a good thing—for Kiran. Megha would be free, and perhaps Kiran would have a chance to offer her marriage in the future. Of course, it was all conjecture at that point. And his parents would never condone his marrying a divorcee, especially one who had been previously married to his cousin.

  But somehow he’d sensed that divorce was not what Amma had in mind. If not divorce, then what? He had no idea what she was contemplating, but the ominous feeling in his gut only escalated. Then there was that mysterious bit of information he had accidentally found in Amma’s bag recently. That, too, was something that kept bothering him. But would his aunt stoop to something that evil? It was hard to say.

  Megha was in some sort of trouble. He was sure of it.

  After considerable private debating, he had pulled on some clothes, hopped into his car and driven to the Ramnath home. It was well after one-thirty at night then and the town quite dead. In all the chaos no one had questioned his unexpected arrival at such a late hour and he was grateful for that.

  The scene confronting him at the Ramnath’s made his stomach lurch: lights on; the door open; and two policemen in the house. And his aunt weeping! His immediate thought was that something had happened to Megha—either accident or illness. Or worse?

  But after listening to what his aunt and uncle had to say, one thing was clear to Kiran. His instincts had been right. He’d sensed all night that something was wrong. And it was.

  Megha was gone.

  Chapter 5

  Megha knew that Kiran Rao lived alone in a flat, and vaguely remembered the address: Gandhi Road. It was some distance from the center of town, a high-class suburb of Palgaum. Amma made a point of mentioning the address to her middle-class friends quite often—her wealthy and peerless nephew’s home. As far as Megha could recall, there was only one building on that street with multiple flats. The rest were plush, sprawling individual homes.

  Without giving much thought to what time it was, she raced towards Kiran’s house. Her foot continued to throb, her head hurt, and her stomach kept churning, but she couldn’t stop. It was too risky. The police were probably combing the streets for her. According to the Hindu edict she was a runaway wife now, a common criminal escaping from the law. The thought pushed her forward. Besides, who knew how many other drunkards were lurking around, waiting to pounce on hapless women?

  Despite having to run
and hide every time she heard a vehicle or unusual sounds, it didn’t take her very long to find Kiran’s residence—a modern, three-story building sitting amidst a walled and landscaped compound. It had a parking area on the ground floor.

  The compound wall was a couple of inches taller than she, so she stood on her toes and surveyed the complex. There was no sign of people. The parking lot was almost full, indicating that the residents were all home and likely asleep in their beds. Every one of the windows facing her was darkened. All she could hear were the typical night sounds: insects twittering and the very distant drone of trucks on a highway somewhere.

  The bad part was that the compound was brightly lit and nearly every part of it was clearly visible. Tiny moths fluttered around the brass pole-lamps standing like sentries at attention around the building. Not a single dark corner was available in case someone were to see her. For the residents it was probably an asset, but to her it was a major problem.

  Afraid that she might be spotted by a passerby, she hunched down and crawled along the length of the wall to the black steel gates, which fortunately stood open. Once again she made a careful survey of the surroundings. She wasn’t sure if there were security cameras or any of those fancy surveillance systems they repeatedly advertised in newspapers and on television. Who knew what kinds of advanced gadgets these types of neighborhoods used to keep the riffraff out?

  What if there was a security guard for the building? She hadn’t thought of that when she’d come running here. Expensive buildings usually had one or more guards or gurkhas. Given her present condition, there was no way a guard would let her in. She crept up to the glass windows of the lobby and, positioning herself behind a croton bush, looked in. From where she stood she had a wide view of the entire lobby. It was bright and spacious—tan marble floors, recessed lights in the high ceiling, and a modern wall-hanging on the largest wall. But there was no sign of a gurkha anywhere.