The Dowry Bride

by Shobhan Bantwal

  She returned to the bed and sat on its edge for several minutes, trying to get a grip on the turmoil of emotions. Now that the sun was shining and it was a new day, her situation didn’t look any more promising than it had the previous night. If anything it seemed worse. She was in a lot of pain and hiding in a stranger’s house. She was still a woman with no home and no family. And not a single rupee to her name! A good night’s sleep was supposed to refresh her mind, allow her to think of some way out of this mess, but her brain still felt dead.

  What the hell was she going to do?

  Rising from the bed for the second time, she went to the window and drew the curtains aside a little. There was a small park-like enclosure with a children’s play area across the street. Child-size swings, a see-saw and two slides were separated from the adult-size benches by a large sand-pit. At the moment the park was empty except for two men trimming the hedge along the perimeter. The occasional car, scooter, bicycles and pedestrians moved back and forth on the street below. The traffic on this street was sparse compared with Cantonment Galli. It seemed blissfully quiet here. No wonder she’d slept so well.

  Turning around, Megha headed back to the mirror. Her eyelids were swollen from last night’s weeping. She had cried and sobbed until there were no more tears left. But the crying had been cathartic to some extent, although thinking about it now brought an embarrassed flush to her face. She’d made an utter fool of herself in front of Kiran.

  She wondered what she could do to tame her wild locks. Finding two combs on the dressing table, she picked up the sturdier one to draw through her hair. The tangles were hard to smooth out because she’d gone to bed with damp hair, but she managed to bring some semblance of neatness to it by braiding it.

  Looking around for her clothes, she realized she had left them in a heap on the floor by the washer. In her strange getup she was diffident about stepping out of the room. She was convinced she looked like the little beggar boy in the bazaar, except, unlike him, the clothes she had on were expensive. Both shirt and shorts had the Polo logo embroidered on them.

  No longer able to hide in the bedroom, she tiptoed to the door and carefully opened it wide enough to poke her head out. The fragrance of fresh coffee greeted her and she breathed in deeply to inhale the mouth-watering aroma.

  “Good morning.”

  Startled, she turned her head to follow Kiran’s voice coming from the drawing room. He sat on the sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him and his big, bare feet parked on the coffee table. He held a writing pad in one hand and an uncapped pen poised in the other. Dressed in fashionably faded jeans and a navy T-shirt, he looked freshly shaved and bathed. Kiran’s pleasantly casual attire made Megha feel even more ill-at-ease about her own. She smiled at him but didn’t step out of the room. “I guess you didn’t get any sleep, huh?” she asked him, hoping he wouldn’t notice the embarrassing warmth seeping into her cheeks.

  “I managed to get some.” He gazed at her face for a moment. “I noticed you slept soundly.”

  “Hmm. I didn’t even realize you came in and cleaned the floor.” She offered him a rueful smile. “Sorry about making you do all that.”

  “No problem,” he replied cheerfully. “Hope the bed was comfortable.”

  “Need you ask? It’s the most luxurious bed I’ve ever seen.”

  His grin was amiable, making her feel less awkward. “Are you planning to come out of there anytime soon?” he teased.

  “I can’t come out. I feel funny in these clothes. They’re very nice, mind you, but I look silly in them.”

  “Is that right?” He continued to look amused.

  “Okay, I’m embarrassed to come out,” she finally admitted.

  “I saw you in those last night, remember?” Kiran’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “I remember.”

  “Come on out—I made fresh coffee.” The jesting grin flashed again, showcasing his fine set of teeth.

  The promise of coffee made her stomach rumble in response. She was starving. Arms tightly crossed over her chest to hide what she considered her nakedness underneath the clinging softness of the cotton shirt, she stepped out. Last night, under the dimly sophisticated lighting, it hadn’t seemed that bad, but now, in the bright sunlight streaming in through the dining room window, she felt exposed. “I think I’ll go brush my teeth,” she mumbled and made a dash for the bathroom.

  Inside the bathroom she found a little surprise. On the marble countertop she saw her sari, blouse, petticoat and underwear sitting in a neat pile—washed, dried and folded. They smelled wonderfully clean. When had Kiran managed to do it? Between that and cleaning the rug and floors, had the poor man slept at all?

  The inexpensive cotton of her once-white undergarments had long ago turned to a dull gray from constant washing. Oh dear, Kiran had touched her bra and knickers! It didn’t feel right that a man other than her husband had handled her most intimate garments. If her mother ever found out about this, she would faint from the sheer shock of it.

  Turning away from the clothes, she took care of the necessities, then carried her folded clothes back to the bedroom and changed as quickly as she could. She knew Kiran’s eyes had followed her as she’d darted across the dining room. She was also sure he’d grinned at her silliness.

  Feeling a little more relaxed in her own clothes, she managed to enjoy the simple breakfast of buttered toast and mango jam Kiran prepared for her. The gnawing hunger in her stomach began to ebb. The coffee was excellent. She felt like a spoiled kitten with all this attention he was heaping on her. God, this was so much better than home.

  The thought of home gave her a sudden jolt. That miserable place in Cantonment Galli was no longer her home. In fact, she had no home anymore. She had run away from her husband and she was no longer welcome at her parents’ house. She was homeless. A wave of self-pity brought on the urge to start weeping again, but she suppressed it. Feeling sorry for herself wasn’t going to get her anywhere. Besides, Kiran was already swamped with her tears and her innumerable problems. She took a few deep breaths and forced herself to calm down.

  Looking for a suitable topic to break the awkward silence between them, she glanced at Kiran. “I thought you’d be at work by now.”

  “Remember I told you last night I was going to take the day off?” He poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and sat across from her at the table.

  Recalling it through last night’s turmoil, she nodded. “Thanks for washing my clothes. How did you manage it so quickly?”

  He shrugged. “I have a washer and dryer.”

  “You didn’t have to do it, Kiran.”

  “Don’t look so guilty. I didn’t do much.” He watched her thoughtfully while she ate. “Megha, I’m trying to make a list of all the things you’re going to need right away. You’ll have to help me here. I don’t know anything about women’s clothes or toiletries.” He pushed the pad and pen towards her.

  She chuckled as her eyes traveled down the sheet of paper and the extensive list he’d drawn up: lipstick, mascara, rouge, foundation, face powder, saris, blouses, footwear, undergarments, comb, brush, beauty products. That’s where the list ended for now. There were question marks next to two of the items: undergarments and beauty products. She suppressed her urge to laugh, but a second later a giggle erupted and she placed a demure hand across her mouth. It wasn’t right to laugh heartily or giggle before a man—it would be considered unsuitable behavior for a young woman, in essence flirting.

  She looked up to meet his amused gaze. His lips were twitching. All at once they both burst out laughing. She didn’t care about proper behavior at that moment—it felt wonderful to laugh with someone who had a sense of humor. She hadn’t laughed wholeheartedly in months.

  He was the first to recover. “Told you I don’t know much about girly things. Why don’t you make your own list?”

  She confidently crossed out the first five items. “These are totally use
less to me. I don’t use any makeup. The rest looks okay.”

  Kiran’s brows shot up. “No makeup at all? Then how do you manage to look so beautiful all the time?”

  “Who says I look beautiful all the time? Right now my eyes are swollen from crying and sleeping too much, and the scab on my chin is turning to an ugly shade of brown. As for my arms and legs, I can’t bear to look at them.”

  He parked his elbows on the table and rested his face between his cupped hands. Leaning forward, he studied her face. “The scab on your chin is minor and will be gone in a day or two. Your eyes are dark brown with a wide black rim around the irises,” he declared. “That’s why I’d assumed they were black.” He let his gaze dwell on her face for a few moments. “I don’t see any swelling. Your eyes are just as big and pretty and mysterious as they always are. Your cheeks are glowing, too. Sleeping late agrees with you.”

  Her cheeks were probably pink because of the blood rising into her face and neck. “You’re very kind, Mr. Rao.” She laughed, flustered by his close scrutiny, but genuinely pleased by his compliments. Then the pleasure was replaced by serious distress as she considered the list lying between them on the table. “Kiran, how am I going to pay you back for all this? I don’t have any money.”

  “I don’t want to be paid back.”

  “I can’t accept things from you,” she argued. “It’s…not right.”

  “Why not? We’re family, and families help each other.”

  She shook her head, unable to accept his explanation. “But still…”

  “Besides, I can afford it.” He pushed the list forward again. “Now, go ahead and add whatever you like. I’ll see that you get them,” he announced, with typical male confidence.

  Megha looked at him reflectively. Kiran was a manager at a major corporation and probably accustomed to issuing orders. But she didn’t mind his bossiness somehow. It was rather endearing, especially because she knew now that she could trust him and he was trying so hard to help her. She started to add to the list. Hairpins, sanitary pads…

  He rose from the table, but pivoted on his heel as a sudden thought struck him. “Why only saris? Why don’t we buy you some salwar-kameez outfits, Megha?” he said, referring to the two-piece outfits with a shirt and matching drawstring pants topped with a long, flowing, boa-like piece that fell across the shoulders. They came in a variety of styles and fashions and colors that went from simple and plain to stylish and elaborate, loose and modest to tight and outrageously revealing.

  “I’m a grown woman, Kiran, and married. I can’t wear girlish outfits. Besides, they’re expensive. I can’t let you spend that kind of money on me.”

  “Sure you can.”

  “Then you have to promise me something. You have to let me repay you for whatever you spend on me. Otherwise, I won’t let you buy anything for me.”

  “Oh, stop it, Megha! I won’t take any money from you.” He glanced at her speculatively. “But if you insist on paying me back…maybe you can in other ways.” A suspicious scowl from her brought an amused grin to his face. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Megha Ramnath! And stop looking at me like that. My intentions are entirely honorable.”

  Megha felt foolish when he put it like that. “I’m sorry—I’m still on edge.” How could she have doubted his intentions in the first place? Last night, even when she was at her most vulnerable, he had been the perfect gentleman.

  “All right, since I have no talent for cooking, perhaps you can cook for me,” he said. “Tell me what you need in the kitchen and I’ll get it. You’re a fantastic cook, by the way.”

  Relieved that there was a way to pay him back, she jumped up. “That’s easy enough. I’ll look through your kitchen and make a list of what we’ll need.”

  As she began to search through the cabinets, alarm flooded her mind like it had earlier. Why was she fooling herself into thinking this was home, and that Kiran was some sort of surrogate husband? Her situation hadn’t changed one bit in the hours between last night and this morning. Kiran was still a stranger to her in many ways and she was still someone else’s wife. Playing house with this man was not the answer to her problems. Besides, how long could she stay in hiding? A day? Two?

  She abruptly shut the cabinet and turned to face him. “Kiran, I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to work. I can’t stay here indefinitely. This is your house, not mine.”

  Kiran sighed and shook his head. “Megha, when will you realize that it’s dangerous for you to venture out on your own? The police are looking for you. You have no money, no job, and technically, no home. You could easily get kidnapped and forced into prostitution.”

  He seemed to note with satisfaction Megha’s eyes expanding in fear and her quick intake of breath. “Now listen to me. You’ll be safe here. Except for one or two close friends nobody comes to visit me. They come very rarely and never without an invitation.”

  “But what will your neighbors think?”

  “My only neighbor on this floor is a pharmaceutical sales manager who travels on business most of the time. The other residents of this building are mostly single professionals like me who work very long hours. Nobody will know you’re here. In a few weeks we can go to Mumbai and stay in my flat.”

  “Mumbai’s the same situation as here, Kiran. I can’t stay with you indefinitely.”

  “I’ll find a hotel or some other place for myself in Mumbai, so there won’t be any impropriety, all right?”

  “What about your servant,” she argued, “the one who comes to clean your flat on Sundays?”

  “I’ll tell him I’ll be out of town for several weeks and I don’t need him until I come back.” Kiran groaned in exasperation. “Are you finished with the thousand and one arguments?”

  “Well…I’m not happy about this. How about if I go to my sister’s house in Hubli? I could go there today,” she countered.

  “No, that’s the first place they’ll look for you. Both your sisters will be questioned about your whereabouts. This is still the safest place for you, Megha. Nobody will ever dream of looking for you in my home.”

  She nodded reluctantly, digesting everything he’d said. He made a lot of sense. She had no other choice. Last night she’d instinctively come to him for help. It was no different now. She’d have to take his advice and depend on his good sense and generosity, at least until they could come up with another solution.

  As she leaned against the counter and speculated, she realized with a pang that she was a ship without destination and anchor. Despite the repressive atmosphere of her husband’s home she’d had her rightful place there as Mrs. Suresh Ramnath. Now she didn’t have a place in life. She was no longer a wife, a daughter or a sister as long as she was on the run and remained in hiding in this flat. How had her life come to this? All her dreams of becoming a journalist someday, even of a simple happy life with a husband and home and children, were reduced to nothing now.

  The vague notion about leaping off the balcony flashed through her brain once again. Nobody would miss her. But just as quickly the thought left her. She was a fighter. She’d managed to hold her own against the neighborhood bullies in her childhood, and in her own way she had managed to keep her sanity intact under Amma’s hulking domination. She hadn’t come all this way only to kill herself now. And, contrary to her dark thoughts, there were one or two people in the world who cared about her.

  Although reluctant to get in touch with her parents, and with her anger at her father still raw, she didn’t want her mother to worry. Avva would make herself sick with despair if she didn’t know her youngest child was alive and well. She was probably beside herself already if she’d found out about Megha’s disappearance. So Megha sat down and wrote her mother a brief letter, explaining that she was alive and safe, and why she was driven to do what she’d done. She begged her mother not to tell the Ramnaths about the letter.

  No return address was indicated on the outside of the envelope and Kiran promised to have it delivere
d to her mother by special courier. Thanking Kiran once again for his support, Megha breathed an uneasy sigh as she sealed the envelope.

  It was hard to think of herself as a fugitive, but there was no other word for her.

  Chapter 9

  Vinayak Ramnath observed his wife as she shifted yet again. Chandramma had been restless ever since she had come to bed. At the moment her clasped hands rested over her protruding belly. Her eyes were shut but he knew she was wide awake. She seemed to be meditating. He wondered if it was her conscience bothering her, but then, as far as he knew, she didn’t have a conscience.

  Lying beside her, Vinayak glanced once more at the bedside clock. It was late, well past bedtime. “Can’t sleep, Chandramma?” he murmured.

  She opened her eyes. “I’m thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “About the shame that has fallen upon us. We can’t even show our faces in public anymore, no?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “How can you even ask? Our daughter-in-law ran away. God knows whom she eloped with. It could be the sweeper, the one-eyed man who sells vegetables on the corner, the postman…who knows?”

  “I don’t think Megha is capable of that. She loves Suresh.”

  Chandramma turned her head and aimed a withering look at Vinayak, making him flinch. “Women who love their husbands do not run away in the middle of the night!”

  “She must have a good reason.”

  Another look of utter scorn was his reward for opening his mouth, so he turned away and let her think in peace. Thinking was just another word for scheming anyway.

  Vinayak knew fully well what was going on in his wife’s evil mind. She was plotting her next move: get hold of a solicitor who would file an application for Suresh’s divorce. Chandramma had put out the word that her innocent son had been treated shabbily by Megha—a fine, upstanding man with a promising career and a wonderful family behind him had been shamed by his unfaithful and immoral wife.