The Dowry Bride

by Shobhan Bantwal

  She waited a few minutes to see if a gurkha would appear. When there was still no sign of anyone, she tried the heavy front door and miraculously it opened with no effort. Where was all the security she had expected? She entered the lobby cautiously and sighed with relief to find it empty. Then, for a few moments she froze, wondering if some sort of alarm would go off. It made sense that an electronic sensor or something would be on guard, if not a human being. But several seconds passed and nothing unusual happened—no whistles, bells, or buzzers.

  Well, she’d made it so far. What next?

  The marble floor felt cool and smooth under her feet—a relief after the hard, rough surfaces she’d been traveling. Looking around she spied the red sign marked Stairs and made her way towards it. She dashed up the staircase. Amazingly, in her heightened state of mind, she even remembered that Kiran lived on the second floor. She was panting again by the time she reached the landing. Holding on to the handrail, she bent over to inhale some much needed air and calm her elevated heartbeat.

  There were only two flats there, one to the right and the other left, with a long, wrought-iron balcony running the length of the landing. It looked down on part of the concrete and landscaped area below and a portion of the street was visible. She turned to the flat on the right, anxious eyes scanning the nameplate on the glossy polished door. It was a name she didn’t recognize. Her heart slumped in disappointment. She ran to the second door and almost cried in relief. It read K. K. Rao. This had to be Kiran’s flat. Please God, please let it be Kiran’s flat.

  She raised a hesitant hand to ring the doorbell. Although during the last several minutes it had made perfect sense, all of a sudden it felt strange to be standing here in the middle of the night. Earlier that evening, Kiran had said very little to Megha other than to compliment her on her cooking. Conservative Hindu families frowned on a young woman socializing freely with any men other than her husband. There had been lots of general chatter and noise around them, but there had been no interaction between Kiran and her. Now she was standing on his doorstep, desperately looking for help. How odd was that?

  Overcome by doubts, she withdrew her hand from the doorbell. Although she’d had frequent contact with Kiran, she didn’t really know him well enough.

  Under the bright overhead lights Megha looked down at herself and the slovenly picture she made. She knew she looked like a destitute woman. Her sari was crushed and muddied; her hands and feet were scratched and filthy from having traveled miles over dusty streets. Her injured foot was bleeding on the gleaming gray tiles.

  With her sari she wiped her face to remove the dripping perspiration and any traces of dirt. Then she tucked the stray tendrils of hair behind her ears and smoothed down the rest. There was nothing she could do about her ruined sari. Despite her efforts to improve her appearance she knew everything about her said beggar.

  Coming to Kiran’s flat was a ludicrous idea. How could she have dreamt up something this witless, even in her wildest dreams? Although Kiran was a compassionate man, his loyalties would surely lie with his own flesh and blood. Why would he want to help her? Just because he’d acted as her champion on a few difficult occasions it didn’t mean he was going to be disloyal to his family in times of crises. Aiding a truant wife was probably against the law, and Kiran didn’t appear to be the sort to resort to anything illegal.

  After giving herself another minute to regain a little of her composure, Megha decided she would hide out somewhere for a day or two. Maybe Harini would take her in for a brief period. Harini was loyal to a fault.

  Sometimes, when doing homework together as little girls, Megha had been mean to Harini, beyond mean, especially when Harini couldn’t figure out the answer to a problem. Megha had deliberately given her the wrong answer and watched her getting humiliated in Mother Doreen’s arithmetic class. Then the guilt would set in after Mother Doreen yelled at Harini or hit her over the knuckles with the sharp edge of the ruler. Megha would resort to apologetic hugs and regretful tears, promise Harini and herself she’d never do it again. But she’d do it again…and again. After all that, Harini had forgiven her. How could one not love a person like that dearly? It wasn’t until the girls had become teenagers that Megha had recognized her own malicious ways and stopped herself from mistreating such a wonderful friend. After that their friendship had become stronger.

  So, how could Megha put her best friend through such deceit now, especially when the friend happened to be pregnant? Besides, Harini and her husband lived with the husband’s family. What would Harini’s in-laws say? She couldn’t throw Harini’s life in turmoil. So that option was out.

  There was the women’s shelter in town, but someone had told Megha it was a smelly, grubby building filled with prostitutes and abused women battered beyond recognition. Even if she did go to that hellhole, the police were certain to look for her there.

  She needed a plan right away. But no matter how many times and how many ways she examined the different options, she came back to a single solution: ask Kiran for a loan and then get out of town as quickly as she could. Kiran was her only hope. But would he be willing to help her? Well, she’d never know if she didn’t try.

  With her mind finally made up, Megha rang the doorbell. There was no answer. Of course, Kiran had to be in bed at this hour. She repeatedly pressed the bell with no more luck than the first attempt. She wondered what was keeping him from answering the door.

  Naturally Kiran would be astonished to see her. He might even ask her politely to go home to Suresh. If she refused, he’d probably threaten to turn her over to the police. Quickly she made a mental note of what she would say and how she would say it convincingly. She had to make him see reason. Being a practical and intelligent man, he’d be likely to listen to logic.

  Just then a dark car drove up the street. She couldn’t recognize the exact color or the make from where she stood beside the metal railing of the landing, but she anxiously watched it come through the gates and enter the garage below. It disappeared from sight as it moved further inside and then came to a stop. The engine went silent.

  A few seconds later she heard footsteps coming up the staircase—firm, heavy, masculine steps. Gripped by panic, she huddled close to the door. Her eyes darted about, making a quick survey of the landing for a place to hide. Unfortunately, there was none. This building probably had more lights than Rashtrapati Bhavan, the President of India’s official residence.

  The person climbing the stairs would be sure to mistake her for a thief trying to break into Kiran’s flat. Total disaster! The police, neighbors, relatives—they would all converge upon her. And, the deadliest of horrors: Amma!

  Taking a deep breath, Megha braced herself to make a run for it. Her only hope for escape would be to dart quickly past the unsuspecting stranger, fly down the stairs at lightening speed and disappear into the night before he knew what hit him. She’d have to count on the element of surprise to help her along. With any luck the person would be too stunned to react instantly. Clenching her fists, she readied herself for escape.

  A split second later, instead of bewildering the man as she’d planned, it was she who became immobilized.

  Kiran came into view as he reached the landing. Megha held her breath in. Their eyes collided and held for a stunned second. Her body tensed instinctively. Like a wild animal caught in the headlights, she stood poised to take flight in an instant. She had come all the way here to talk to Kiran, and yet, now that he stood before her, she’d lost her nerve. All she wanted to do was run.

  The expression on Kiran’s face was wide-eyed astonishment. “Megha! What are you doing here?”

  At a complete loss for words, Megha merely continued to stare at him, her heartbeat slamming inside her chest.

  Kiran seemed to recover quickly. He made the first move. Stepping forward, he held his hand out to her. “Thank God you’re okay!”

  Still dazed, but astounded at Kiran’s unexpected greeting, Megha took a step backwar
ds, her eyes wary and unblinking. Something was odd about this scenario. Had he said thank God? He was supposed to be furious with her, wasn’t he? He should have turned her away or threatened to call the police. Instead he looked relieved and almost glad to see her on his doorstep. Was her traumatized mind playing tricks on her? She eyed him suspiciously, and took another step back.

  But his expression still looked relieved and his hand remained extended. Something was wrong here. Very wrong. Megha couldn’t trust her own eyes or ears. Was Kiran playing a prank on her, only to trap her later? A flutter of fear went through her.

  He stepped closer and took her clammy hands in his. “Megha, I went looking for you at your house, but Amma told me you were gone. The police have been summoned. It’s chaos over there. They’re frantically searching for you.”

  So the hunt for her was already under way. And Kiran knew about it. Surely now he’d turn her over to the police. He had a clever way of getting her to trust him, too, pretending to be all concerned and sympathetic. She should have known. It was a stupid move on her part, coming to him for help.

  Trembling, she withdrew her hands from his and held them behind her, backing into the corner until there was no place to go. The cool iron railing pressed against her side. Her lower lip started to quiver uncontrollably. Kiran stood only a couple of feet from her and she was trapped between him and the railing. He was a big, strong man. She’d never be able to escape, unless she arched her back and somersaulted over the balcony. And even that wouldn’t guarantee death from this height.

  She was terrified of heights—they made her dizzy, but then what did it matter when she was hurtling down to meet her death? However, with her miserable streak of bad luck she’d probably end up with a broken neck and paralyzed for life. And wouldn’t Amma just love that?

  No, she resolved in that instant, she wouldn’t let Kiran take her back to that slaughterhouse. She would make him see sense. She’d try that logical approach she’d been practicing during the last few minutes. She’d make it sound nice and rational, even fall at his feet and beg if necessary. If all else failed, only then would she throw herself over the balcony. It would surely be less painful than death by incineration.

  However, instead of sound argument her voice erupted in a high-pitched torrent of desperate appeal. “I d-don’t want to go b-back, Kiran! Please, please, don’t make me go back. I can’t—”

  “Shhh,” he interrupted. “It’s okay, Megha.”

  “It’s not okay! They want to burn me to death because my father can’t give them a dowry. Kiran, don’t tell them you saw me here…please…” Her voice trailed away and her brain froze once again. Kiran was one of them. It was no use wasting her breath pleading.

  “Burn you to death!” His jaws clenched visibly. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure! Do you think I made the whole thing up?” Her heart sank even lower. He couldn’t even bring himself to believe her. Why would he bother to help her?

  “But…killing in cold blood? My aunt and my cousin?”

  She nearly punched him in the stomach for the look of disbelief on his face. “Do you think I imagined Suresh in the woodshed, preparing the wooden bed and pouring kerosene over it? Their talk about how Amma would explain my death—that I was supposedly picking up wood and the lantern tipped over and set me on fire?” A sob caught in her throat, making her voice come out raspy. “How dare you think I fabricated it, Kiran!” Angry tears came rolling down her cheeks and she brushed them away. “What else does burning Megha and finding a new wife with a big dowry for Suresh mean, damn it?”

  Comprehension slowly replaced the shock on Kiran’s face. “Dear God! I didn’t think that horrid woman would sink to…murder!” He pulled the mobile phone out of his pocket. “That’s it! I’m calling the police superintendent right now.”

  “No!” Megha yelled. “Y-you can’t do that! It will be Amma’s word against mine.”

  “But you can easily explain what happened, Megha. We’re talking premeditated murder here, for God’s sake!”

  “Who will the police believe—your aunt or me? She’s a very clever woman, a pillar of the community who can lie with a straight face. All I know is what I saw and heard; I have no proof of any kind.”

  Kiran studied Megha thoughtfully for a second, then thrust the phone back into his pocket. “You’re probably right. Come here.” His thick, black brows settled in a scowl before he gently disengaged her hands from behind her back and held one of them in his own. He reached inside his pocket with his other hand to pull out his keys. “Let’s discuss this.” Unlocking the door to his flat, he ushered her inside.

  With some reluctance she went in. At this point, what did she have to lose? Foolishly she had come here expecting the impossible. Within the hour she’d be shipped back to Amma’s house of horrors. And from there straight to hell, unless…she could…still jump off that balcony? Going up the stairs to the roof of the building would improve her chances of quick death. Anything would be better than perishing in a fire.

  They stood in a small entrance hall. Megha’s anxious eyes fell on the interior of the flat. A night light glowed in the drawing room and she could see the outlines of a modern, comfortable-looking sofa, two matching chairs, and an oblong wood-and-glass coffee table.

  Kiran shut the door behind them, pocketed the keys, and led her to the sofa. He turned on a floor lamp, flooding the seating area with light. She looked at the expensive upholstery and hesitated. “I better not sit. My sari is very dirty and I…uh…well, your sofa will be ruined.”

  “Sit down, Megha,” he said firmly. So she did, conscious of the dirt on her clothes and wondered if she smelled as bad as she looked. Heaven knew what kind of filth from the streets and the private properties she’d traveled through had attached itself to her sari. When she trembled he sat down beside her and patted her arm. “Calm down, Megha.”

  She shifted away from him. “I must smell awful, Kiran.”

  “You don’t. You probably feel that way because you’ve been walking through some rough neighborhoods to get here.” He must have seen how she sat warily on the edge of the couch or perhaps noticed the apprehension in her eyes because he said, “Relax, Megha, and sit comfortably. You’re safe here and you don’t have to go back.”

  “You won’t let them kill me?” Despite his smooth assurances Megha was still suspicious.

  He nodded and smiled a little, offering her a glimmer of encouragement. “I promise. I knew they were planning something. I heard them discussing it earlier. When you and my cousins were playing cards in the kitchen I was in the master bedroom at your house. I was pretending to read the newspaper while the rest of the men went for their forced walk.” He stopped then, seemingly trying to gather his thoughts.

  “I had a hunch Amma was up to something. She made it sound harmless enough while she discussed it with my mother and my aunt, but this defies reality.” He still seemed dismayed. “I didn’t think it was this bad. I thought it involved packing you off to your parents and then getting Suresh to divorce you. I even heard Amma mention big words like breach of contract and infertility.”

  “I thought she might have been considering divorce, too,” said Megha, “especially after I disobeyed her and helped our Muslim neighbors.”

  “Although I should have—” As he stopped in mid-sentence Megha’s head bobbed up instantly, her eyes posing a mute question. Kiran raked a thoughtful hand through his hair. “Damn, I should have guessed!”

  She stared at him. “Guessed what?”

  “Several weeks ago, I found some literature on bride-burning in Amma’s bag,” Kiran said.

  “Amma’s bag!”

  “She forgot her shopping bag at my parents’ house and I was asked to return it to her. Curiosity made me look in the bag. It had all kinds of articles on national and regional statistics and about how no arrests are ever made because of lack of evidence and how the police usually look the other way when offered substantial bribe
s. It even had information on the unique ways people dispose of the bodies so no one can guess what happened to the brides who disappear mysteriously.”

  “You didn’t think it was strange that Amma was reading such bizarre things?”

  “It was very puzzling, but I didn’t understand the purpose at the time, so I dismissed it from my mind. The articles were printouts from the Internet.”

  Megha frowned. “But there’s no computer at home.”

  “She probably went to a cyber café or some such place to do her research. I should have suspected something then, but I didn’t put two and two together, never thought my aunt could be that evil.” His expression was bitter. “Even a little while ago, I thought of every possible thing that could have happened to you, but I never wanted to believe my aunt and cousin could have tried to kill you. I guess I was wrong.”

  At hearing his chilling words Megha shivered once again. “We were both wrong.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t rescue you from them earlier, Megha.”

  Something in Kiran’s expression let loose the emotions within her. Despite her efforts to rein them in, she couldn’t help bursting into tears. Kiran offered her a handkerchief then sat quietly, letting her cry as long as she wanted. All he did was pat her hand occasionally and say, “I’m sorry.” When the sobs finally turned to mere sniffles, he looked at her. “You must be exhausted and hungry. Would you like something to drink or eat?”

  She shook her head. How could he think about food at a time like this? Didn’t he understand the gravity of her situation? “I would have been dead by now, Kiran. They were going to tie me down to a bed of wood and burn me to death.” The dread in her voice had lessened after the weeping fit, she realized. Now it sounded hollow, devoid of emotion, her gaze dispassionate, as if she were looking on the scene of her own execution and yet completely removed from it, like watching it happen to a stranger.