The Dowry Bride

by Shobhan Bantwal

  “I’m not so sure now, Kiran.” Megha gave him another skeptical look. “I’m beginning to think this was a foolish idea.”

  Kiran tried to keep his tone casual. “It’s a bit risky, but you’ve been cooped up in the flat for days, Megha. You needed to get out and see your friend.”

  “But I might be putting her in danger,” Megha murmured, her eyes looking troubled.

  “Just make sure she understands how important it is to keep your visit a secret.” Kiran sent Megha an encouraging nod. “Now go. Keep the chunni over your head until you’re safely inside her house.”

  “Okay. You will pick me up later?”

  “Of course, Megha!” Kiran nearly laughed at the absurdity of her question. How could he not be there to take her home? “You know I won’t leave you stranded here.”

  Apparently satisfied with his assurance, Megha pulled the long, silky chunni over her head and part of her face, took one deep breath and gingerly stepped out of the car. After another quick reconnoitering glance she jogged across the street to the mostly unlit side of the intersection and melted into the shadows. The pedestrian traffic quickly swallowed her up.

  Kiran watched her, trying to keep his eyes glued to the slim, disappearing figure. It was disquieting, watching her go off on her own, outside his protection. This was the first time she was venturing out since their shopping spree a couple of weeks ago. Back then he had been beside her all the time, keeping a vigilant eye on everyone around, making sure they stuck to areas where nobody was likely to know them.

  But this was different. This was their town, where folks knew each other, if not by name, then at least by sight. His parents were well-known in Palgaum society. But the good thing was that Megha was relatively unknown. With any luck, nobody on the street would recognize her, even if they managed to see beyond the veil.

  And it was a good thing his car had tinted windows—they had proved to be a blessing since Megha had entered his life. She’d arrived like an unexpected rainstorm on a hot summer day, drenching yet delightfully refreshing. His quiet and drab bachelor life was suddenly full and bursting with color. It even smelled wonderful, like old-fashioned cooking and Megha’s sandalwood scent—an enticing combination. At first he wasn’t sure how he felt about the intrusion, but he’d begun to like coming home to her each evening. In fact, it was so pleasant he never wanted it to end. He could easily picture her in his home, as his wife, as the mother of his children.

  Shaking off the fantasy, he turned on the ignition and slowly drove away. He was still uneasy about Megha’s visit to Harini, but he had only himself to blame. Watching Megha pace the floor each evening like a caged animal, fretting about keeping her whereabouts a secret from her pregnant friend as well as her parents was beginning to bother Kiran. It was difficult to see that look of guilt and anguish on her face. Finally, he was the one who’d encouraged Megha to pay Harini a secret visit.

  It would be good for Megha to get out and socialize for a while, he’d figured. Even now, despite his misgivings, he was convinced it was the right thing to do. Besides, according to his mother’s update on the Ramnaths, Amma had finally calmed down and resigned herself to Megha’s disappearance. The police had apparently given up their search, too, at Amma’s request. That was good news, the main reason Kiran had assumed it was relatively safe for Megha to step outside. Maybe soon she would be able to move around more freely.

  Kiran assured himself that he was only a phone call away. When Megha was ready to come home, she would call him. He’d pick her up at the same street corner and whisk her home.

  Everything would be all right.

  Neither Kiran nor Megha noticed the little beggar boy skulking on the corner. His bare torso showed every rib through his dark chocolate-colored skin. His threadbare shorts hung down to his calves. A permanent fixture at this particular intersection, he harassed every pedestrian, bicyclist and motorist for alms and refused to relent until he got what he pleaded for. If his amiable, two-missing-teeth grin didn’t do the trick, he resorted to tears to melt the hearts of the passersby.

  Today, he observed with watchful eyes the tall young lady hurry past him. Instead of chasing after her for money, he merely followed her at a safe distance, making sure to keep to the dark shadows. He noted that she knocked on a certain door. When the door opened, she walked inside and the door was shut quickly behind her. The curtains on the windows in that house were tightly drawn, so even if he stood on his toes he couldn’t see inside.

  He had been waiting for her—for the last three days.

  He had a twenty-rupee note in his pocket. He had kept it close to himself, hidden from his father’s drunken eyes. For him, it was about ten days’ worth of alms. It felt good to wind his tiny, rough hand around the note. It was crisp and warm and it promised good things. Tonight he would treat himself to real food, not just someone’s leftovers. The thought of dinner made his hollow, concave stomach growl in loud anticipation. The smell of fried onions and potatoes from the tea shop down the street was calling him.

  Soon he would make another twenty rupees. The ugly old woman who had given it to him had promised more if he brought her good news. And this looked like good news. The young woman was someone he knew well. Although she wore different clothes and hid most of her face, he knew who she was. He saw people passing by all day and he was good at recognizing the way people walked and talked and moved. This was the pretty lady who gave him a coin whenever she saw him here. He didn’t really know why she was trying to hide herself behind a veil, or why she was walking so fast, or why the fat old woman wanted him to keep an eye out for her.

  But he didn’t care, because the old woman had shown him a photo of the young lady and asked him to watch out for her and report everything he saw. He would get another twenty rupees soon, maybe more if he could think of a way to make it worth it for the fat old cow. A smile touched his gaunt face at the thought—his own money, and lots of it.

  Megha let her eyes wander over the familiar drawing room in Harini’s home. She had missed it so much—the hominess and the warmth of it. The black vinyl couch with the hand-embroidered cushion covers—made lovingly by Harini’s mother. The picture of Harini’s late mother-in-law framed and hung on the wall above the couch, the small TV set that sat on a scarred table. The two wooden chairs with the faded pink and gray floral pillows looked just like they always had, dented in the middle where someone’s bottom had sunk in deep. Although a humble room, whatever little it contained was neat and spotless.

  Even the scents were the same—the day’s cooking mixed with the smoky odor of the jasmine incense that Harini burned all the time to chase away mosquitoes. The old teakwood coffee table still held a week’s stack of Times of India and the latest copy of Femina magazine.

  It felt like coming home.

  The wave of nostalgia that came over Megha was so overpowering that she turned around and hugged Harini one more time. What she’d never noticed before was now so precious. She’d visited her friend at least once a week in the past—a hurried detour before she went to the kirana, grocery shop, while Amma took her long afternoon nap. Harini and Megha had always shared a hot cup of tea, a homemade snack and lots of news and gossip during those visits. With Harini’s husband and father-in-law at work, and her young brother-in-law at college, the house was all theirs.

  It had been that way for the past year—Megha visiting Harini, and never the other way around, because Amma had made Harini feel unwelcome in the Ramnath home.

  “What have you got yourself into, Megha?” Harini’s forehead gathered in a troubled line as she grasped Megha’s hand, pulled her into the drawing room and examined her from head to foot. Then apparently satisfied that Megha was still in one piece, she let go of her hand. “I still can’t believe you ran away and never told me!”

  “But I—”

  “Do you know how worried I was?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be!” Harini’s lips tremble
d. “I thought you had been kidnapped or killed or something.”

  “I couldn’t tell you where I was. Even now, I shouldn’t be here.”

  “I’m so relieved to see you, you stupid girl. I was ready to have a breakdown when I heard you had disappeared. I had all kinds of nightmares.”

  “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t get in touch.”

  “Never do that to me again, no matter where you are!” Harini’s eyes filled up and she used her knuckles to brush the tears away.

  “Okay,” Megha said regretfully. She should have known Harini would be affected badly by her unexplained disappearance. Harini was always like that with her—so concerned, so maternal. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just too confused and scared to do anything but hide and protect myself.”

  “All right then. Let’s have some tea.” Obviously recovering from her fit of wounded indignation, Harini ushered Megha into the kitchen and poured her a cup from the deep stainless steel pot reserved for tea.

  To see the familiar green ceramic cup again tugged at Megha’s heart. She nearly cried as she smelled the tea, piping hot, sweet and fragrant—just the way she liked it. Simple things could bring back such poignant memories.

  Gratefully accepting the cup, Megha started to pace the kitchen floor, drinking the tea in small sips. Restless pacing had become a habit with her lately. Her face felt warm from the fear and excitement of being here and the steam rising from the scalding liquid in her cup. Going to the small window, she made sure it was tightly shut. Warned ahead of time, Harini had done a good job of closing off the house from potential Peeping Toms.

  Harini silently watched her pace for several seconds. “Sit down, Megha. Tell me what’s happening.”

  “When I ran from Suresh and Amma, all I had in mind was to run and save myself. Nothing else mattered.”

  “Of course not!”

  “Now I’m not so sure.” She took a thoughtful sip. “I feel…oh…sort of homeless.”

  “Why didn’t you go to your parents? Or one of your sisters? They’re family.”

  “How could I? The first place Amma would look for me would be there.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Harini settled back in a chair, looking sufficiently convinced for now. “But couldn’t you have worked it out with Suresh? Maybe see if he and you could move out of Amma’s house and stay somewhere else?”

  A bitter laugh erupted from Megha’s throat. “Move out of Amma’s house? Are you dreaming? But then, you don’t have a mother-in-law.”

  “I have a father-in-law.”

  Waving away what she considered Harini’s weak argument, Megha said, “Your father-in-law is a pleasant, quiet person, and he’s hardly ever home. Besides, your husband is a nice man. I envy you.” She stopped to put her cup on the table and placed a hand on Harini’s shoulder.

  Harini Nayak was so very lucky. Megha studied her friend’s rounded figure, well into its fifth month of pregnancy. Harini’s ordinary face looked almost pretty with the soft glow of approaching motherhood and the happiness that put a shine in her eyes. Her dark, stubborn curls seemed glossy—perhaps because of the hormonal changes associated with pregnancy. She looked plump and sweet and wholesome—like a ripe, juicy mango in May. Lucky, lucky girl.

  Megha and Harini had been best friends since they were seven years old. They had been classmates, played together, shared their deepest secrets, argued fiercely, and even fought aggressively at times. But they had stuck together like twins all these years. Despite having two older sisters, Megha had turned to Harini for moral support whenever she’d needed it.

  Harini had three brothers and no sisters, so she too had looked upon Megha as more of a sibling. Even now, they looked to each other for advice. Harini, older than Megha by a few months, was fiercely protective of Megha. And so damned loyal! In spite of all the nasty things Megha had done to her in their youth, including putting her up to silly pranks that got her punished, Harini had not wavered in her devotion to Megha—a true friend indeed. Fortunately, Megha had discovered Harini’s true worth in time and improved her ways, started to give back some of the friendship she had received for years, or she would have lost Harini forever.

  At the moment Harini looked like a mother hen whose chick had been snatched by a hungry cat.

  Although plain in looks and average in brains, Harini was born with better fortune than herself, Megha concluded. It only went to show that good looks and intelligence didn’t necessarily guarantee a happier life. Everything in life was entirely predetermined by fate: who you were; what you did; whom you married; and where your life would eventually take you. Karma. Kismet. Destiny. They all boiled down to fate.

  And yet, Megha loved her friend and was happy for her, truly glad that Harini had found a blissful home and a kind husband. Her dear friend deserved the best. Harini looked content and Megha knew for a fact that she was eagerly looking forward to the birth of her first child.

  Like Megha, Harini had married immediately upon completing her degree, just a few months prior to Megha’s wedding. Harini’s husband, Vijay, worked as an engineer for the local public works department, or PWD as it was known, and they lived in middle-class comfort. Her husband’s younger brother was an engineering student, a shy young man who was easy to get along with. All Harini had to do was make sure the house was clean and everyone was fed well. In fact, that was the main reason Vijay had married a homemaker and not a career woman. With no women to take care of their all-male family, the men needed someone like Harini with her housekeeping skills.

  Glancing at Megha, Harini smiled wryly. “Envy me? What for? I’ve always wanted your model-like beauty and elegance. You’re clever, too. I can’t imagine why you would envy someone like me.”

  “Because you have such a quiet and safe life.”

  Harini’s worried frown instantly returned. “Talking of a safe life, Megha, what are you going to do? You can’t hide forever.”

  Megha stopped pacing and came to sit in one of the old-fashioned kitchen chairs. Harini’s kitchen was somewhat like Amma’s kitchen, ancient and small, but it felt so much more cheerful. There was a radio softly playing Hindi songs. A burning incense stick on the altar exuded the pleasant and familiar smell of jasmine. Gleaming stainless steel pots and pans were lined up face down on a three-tiered wooden shelf that had turned gray with age. A small blue refrigerator hummed in a corner.

  A package of Monaco biscuits lay open on the kitchen table, but Megha had yet to eat one. This kitchen had such a cozy and warm look about it as compared with the Ramnaths’. Even the tea tasted so much better here.

  “I know,” Megha agreed with a sigh. “I can’t hide forever, but I can’t go back to my husband, Harini. That’s not an option. One of these days I’ll contact my parents, but in the meantime I don’t know what to do.”

  “What made you go to Kiran Rao for help, Megha? Why did you go to your husband’s cousin when you had family and friends?”

  Megha took a deep breath. Hadn’t she asked herself the same question over and over again? “Because he is the only person who seems to understand me, the only one who has been on my side when Amma and her family picked on me. And like he says, no one would dream of looking for me in his house, whereas all my family and friends will be suspect.”

  “I see.” Harini took a second to think about it.

  “Kiran is very kind and generous,” said Megha, “but that makes my hiding in his house even worse.”

  “Why?”

  “I feel so guilty about putting him in this awkward position.”

  “Oh, Megha, I hadn’t realized how hard this is for you. That horrible woman could have burned you to death. Why would she want to kill her son’s wife?” Harini’s eyes turned moist with tears once again.

  Watching Harini shed tears for her, Megha’s own voice turned hoarse. “In…in Amma’s eyes, I’m worthless. I didn’t come with a dowry, nor did I get pregnant.”

  Harini stared in contemplation at her cup fo
r a long moment. Perhaps instinctively, she put a hand over the gentle swelling of her own growing middle before she turned to Megha. “I know the dowry business bothered her, but what is this fuss about you not being pregnant?”

  “I was brought into the lofty Ramnath household for a purpose—like a prize cow. I was supposed to produce one or two good-looking grandchildren, preferably boys, for Amma and Appaji to bounce on their knees. If, God forbid, my children looked like their side of the family, I’d probably be tossed out on my backside in a minute. If I produced a girl, again a similar fate. No dowry and no grandchild—therefore I was to be killed off.”

  Sucking in an incredulous breath, Harini exclaimed, “They’re lunatics!”

  “Much worse—they’re psychopathic killers. Now do you see why I had to run away?”

  “Why didn’t you go straight to the police when you started running? Those murderers should be put in jail.”

  “What proof did I have? Who’s going to believe the words of a distraught, twenty-one-year-old runaway against upstanding, upper-caste citizens like Amma and her rich, influential brothers? The police would laugh in my face and have me back in Amma’s possession in a minute.”

  Harini’s mouth formed a visible O. She looked as if she’d finally begun to comprehend the situation. “But how are you supposed to produce beautiful children with those ugly genes coming from their family? They look like three anemic rabbits mixed in with one raging hippopotamus.”

  Despite her anguish Megha chuckled at Harini’s apt description of the Ramnaths. “And you thought I had a flair for colorful descriptions?”

  But Harini didn’t seem to think it was funny. She still looked indignant. “And why did your parents marry you off into such a horrible family in the first place?”

  “My father said the Ramnaths were well-off but were willing to settle for a smaller dowry than the other families they had considered for me. My father is also getting old and sickly. Amma never missed an opportunity to remind me that she made a big sacrifice by accepting me into their family in spite of the measly dowry and my lack of a career.”