The Dowry Bride

by Shobhan Bantwal

  “So your parents married you off to the first man who settled for a small dowry?”

  “Precisely.”

  “I didn’t know all the details until now, Megha.” Harini threw her an accusing glance. “You…never really told me.”

  “It’s not something to be proud of.” Megha bit her lip in misery.

  A pained groan came from Harini. “Oh, Megha, no wonder you looked so tense all the time during the past year. And your lord and master did nothing to protect you from that fat hippo?”

  “Which lord and master do you mean—senior or junior? There are two in that house, remember. Senior quakes in his chappals at the sight of his beloved Chandramma. Junior simply doesn’t care. To him I’m just a free sex slave, cook, and servant rolled into one.”

  Harini squeezed Megha’s hand. “I wish I could do something to help. Does Kiran have any suggestions?”

  Megha rose to put their empty cups in the sink. “Kiran thinks it would be good for me to stay with him for a while and worry about the future after I get a divorce.”

  “But divorce could take years!” Harini looked scandalized. “You can’t live with a young bachelor in secrecy for that long. You have to get a job or something, Megha.”

  “What kind of job? A bachelor’s degree in liberal arts is good for nothing these days. I have no money or influence. I’m a fugitive, so I can’t even stir out of the house. I’m here today under cover of darkness, my face hidden behind a chunni.”

  “Maybe you can teach English? You’re good at English, especially poetry.”

  “I don’t have a teaching degree or a certificate, Harini.”

  “What about working for a newspaper or magazine? You always wanted to be a journalist.”

  “And exactly how many English language newspapers and magazines are there in this town?” Megha’s laugh was dry. “Exactly one: The Palgaum Messenger. And that is a small, one-man operation.”

  “Oh! But you write and speak beautifully. That should help.”

  “A lot of good that did me! Writing and speaking talents had no place in the Ramnath household. Only culinary and drudgery skills were welcome. They eat like gluttons. Amma looks forward to each meal like a starved animal.”

  “Starved hippopotamus.” Harini grinned for the first time, easing the mood for both of them.

  They moved to the drawing room and settled themselves on the couch for a while, immersed in their own private thoughts. Then Harini slid a hand in Megha’s. “I’m glad you came to see me today.”

  “So am I.”

  “And I’m relieved that Kiran is taking such good care of you.”

  Megha stroked the pudgy hand that lay on hers. “You must promise not to mention this to anyone.”

  “I promise. But you have to stay in touch, okay? Don’t make me worry about you again.”

  Megha’s anxious glance wandered to the clock on the wall. “I better go now. Kiran will start to worry.”

  “Can’t you stay a little longer and eat dinner with us? I’m making your favorite—”

  “No! Vijay will be home in a little while and we don’t want him to find me here.”

  “He’ll understand if we explain. And we’ll call Kiran and tell him you’ll—”

  “No!” Megha held up a hand. “You can’t tell Vijay. It’s too dangerous—not just for us, but for him, too.”

  “All right. But at least stay in touch,” Harini added, as she watched Megha reach for the phone to call Kiran.

  After a few minutes, picking up her purse, Megha slipped into the chappals she had left by the front door. She gave Harini a tight hug. “I feel so much better now.”

  “You don’t look like you’re better. Something else is troubling you, isn’t it?”

  Megha closed her eyes for a moment. “I’ve been having nightmares lately. I have this…this feeling that something is about to happen…that someone is watching me. I can feel it in my bones. Amma is waiting to pounce on me. Even walking here this evening, I had a feeling someone’s eyes were following me.”

  “It’s just nerves, Megha. I don’t know much about psychology, but I’m sure anybody who’s had an experience like yours would have nightmares. You were almost murdered, for goodness’ sake.”

  “Nearly burned to cinders.”

  Harini winced. “Thank heavens you’re okay now. I’m sure Kiran will keep you safe.”

  “Kiran tries very hard to keep me safe, even to the extent of putting himself in danger.”

  “Oh, my God,” said Harini, a strange look coming over her round face.

  Megha frowned at her. “What’s wrong?” When Harini said nothing, she grabbed her arm. “Harini, are you okay?”

  “I just realized something. Kiran is in love with you, isn’t he?”

  “What!” Megha gasped. “Don’t be silly—he’s my cousin-in-law. That’s as good as brother-in-law in our family.”

  Harini shook her head. “I noticed him during your wedding. He kept staring at you all day, completely fascinated. I thought he was admiring your good looks like everyone else at the time, but now I know why he’s doing so much for you. He’s crazy about you, Megha.”

  Afraid that Harini’s words might have some basis, Megha hurried to the door and unlocked it. “No, no, there’s nothing between Kiran and me. He’s a perfect gentleman.”

  “I didn’t say he was not a gentleman,” Harini replied quietly. “Listen, call me. And tell me if I can do anything for you. I have a little money of my own if you need it.”

  Megha shook her head. “You’re very generous, but I can’t take your money.”

  “In case you need it, you just have to ask. And be careful.”

  Leaning against the doorframe, Harini waved goodbye, the worry clearly showing on her face. Her eyes still looked red with tears.

  Keeping her well-covered head down and her eyes on the ground, Megha hurried to the end of the street. Her palms were damp and her heartbeat pounded in her ears. The sense of dread was worse than the kind that used to come just before a final exam while in high school and college. It went beyond anything she had felt in the past. Was she doomed to live like this for the rest of her life, looking over her shoulder, worrying over where she went and what she did and who saw her?

  She quickened her pace, telling herself she had only a few more steps to cover before she’d be safely ensconced in Kiran’s car. For a moment she panicked. What if Kiran wasn’t at the designated spot, waiting for her? She noticed the starved-looking beggar boy on his usual corner and quickly crossed the street to avoid him. Surprised that he hadn’t come after her, she kept walking. The little devil hadn’t recognized her in her camouflage. Or this late in the evening he was probably too tired to run.

  Her heart was racing at a giddy pace now. This secret visit to Harini was more stressful than she’d imagined. What Harini had said about Kiran just now was disturbing, too. The more Megha thought about it, the more sense it made. Was Kiran really in love with her? Was that why he was so kind and attentive, so generous and wonderful?

  And if he was in love with her, what was she going to do? Her feelings for him were…well…what were her feelings for him? She appreciated everything about him. He was a highly attractive man. He dressed elegantly, too. She’d have to be blind not to notice his sex appeal. She had seen women, young and middle-aged, look at him with frank admiration. The pangs of possessiveness and jealousy that came over her whenever that happened were hard to deny. So did that mean she was interested in him, too…as a man and not as a cousin? She wasn’t sure. Everything was so confusing these days.

  She realized she had reached the end of the street. When Kiran’s parked car came into view, she broke into an excited run.

  Chapter 16

  As Megha slid into the passenger seat, panting, Kiran shot her a smile. “Calm down. You’re all right.”

  “Thank…God! That was…quite an adventure,” she managed to murmur.

  “Take a few deep breaths. You’re whe
ezing.”

  “Okay…okay.” She did as he said and felt her frantic heartbeat settle a bit.

  “So how was it?” Kiran put the car in gear and pulled out.

  “Good. Really good.”

  “Is your friend doing well?”

  She took another long breath and pushed the veil away from her face. “Harini looks wonderful. She’s getting nice and round.”

  Kiran chuckled. “She’s supposed to get nice and round if she’s going to have a baby soon.”

  Megha sniffed and looked around. “Why do I smell flowers?”

  Kiran stretched his arm onto the back seat and retrieved a small plastic bag. “Because I bought you these.”

  Opening the bag, Megha pulled out a handful of champak flowers. “Why, thanks, Kiran.” Holding the pale yellow flowers with their long, pointed and graceful petals in her cupped palm, Megha leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes to inhale their fragrance. “Umm, they smell fantastic…so soothing.” No wonder spas and salons offered something called aromatherapy these days for calmness and serenity.

  Why was he giving her flowers? But then he kept giving her things all the time, some big, some small, but gifts nonetheless. Maybe Harini was right. If he wasn’t in love, he was at least suffering from a crush of sorts. But was she worth it—worth the attention of a man like Kiran? He was rich, educated, sophisticated, a man of the world. So how could he have a crush on her? But if it was true—and it was a big if, there was a major hitch: she was married. She might be a runaway, but she was very much married. She looked down at the beautiful flowers in her lap. It was such a sweet, sentimental gesture. Damn, it was nearly making her cry!

  The scent of the flowers reminded her of that other occasion when Kiran had given her a single champak flower. It was the night his cousin Mala had turned thirteen. There had been an elaborate birthday party—more a gaudy spectacle than a party. The evening had started on a sour note with Amma ordering Megha to wear a different sari than the one she’d had on.

  “That sari is not suitable. I don’t like it.” Amma’s nose wrinkled in disapproval. “Change into something more proper, Megha. This is a very special occasion. Mala is turning thirteen.”

  Megha looked down at her pale green polyester sari with the pink rose print. It looked fine to her. “But, Amma, this is—”

  “Just change!” Amma snapped. “What will people think if they see my daughter-in-law in a cheap sari? That we can’t afford to even dress you properly?”

  So that was it—Amma’s ego. Megha gave Amma an acquiescent nod and rushed to the bedroom to reach into the steel almirah for a silk sari. The choice was easy. She had only three decent silk saris. They were from her wedding trousseau. She preferred to save them for very special occasions, not birthday parties. But she dare not stand up to Amma, who had decided that her youngest niece’s birthday was a momentous occasion that called for silk.

  Hurriedly pulling out the turquoise sari with the orange border and gold motif, she changed into the appropriate orange blouse.

  She wished she could enhance the sari with more elaborate jewelry, but she didn’t possess anything beyond the simple mangalsutra, gold earrings, and four bangles. A coral necklace to highlight the orange border on her sari would have been nice. She had seen a beautiful one in the window of a local jewelry store. It had three rows of tiny corals that dipped to a V with a circular pendant surrounded by pearls. The matching, dangling earrings were equally lovely. She had yearned for that coral set since she’d laid eyes on it almost two years ago.

  While she finished wrapping the sari around herself as hastily as she could, there was a harsh rap on the door. “Come on, Megha, we are late!” Amma bellowed. “The taxi is here and the meter is running.”

  “Coming, Amma.” Megha made a dash for the door. It wasn’t her fault they were running late. She ran to the drawing room, thrust her feet into her chappals and stepped outside. Suresh was pacing by the front door. Amma, Appaji and Shanti were already seated in the taxi. Suresh put the heavy padlock on the door, then both he and Megha hopped into the taxi. Or rather, squeezed in.

  The taxi was a compact old model that shuddered and stalled as it lumbered up the street at a crawl with its overload of passengers. The cloying scent of Amma’s perfume was stifling in the close interior of the automobile. Megha bit back a mild wave of nausea.

  The party was in full swing by the time they arrived at the Raos’ home. Although smaller and plainer compared to the elder Raos’ mansion, it was still quite elegant and was located in a high-priced neighborhood.

  While Amma haggled over the fare with the taxi driver, Megha stood aside and admired the familiar house. It had a garden abounding in flowering bushes, a sturdy champak tree with full, graceful branches, and a wrought iron fence with a red and white painted gate. Hot-pink and white bougainvillea covered an arbor. The second floor had a balcony that boasted Devayani’s prize rose bushes in giant terracotta pots. Fat roses in every possible color were in bloom at the moment, lending the house a lush, tropical look. To give Devayani due credit, despite her spiteful ways, the woman had created a lovely home.

  Megha reflected with a wistful sigh that if she could own a house like this some day, she’d be more than content. She could almost picture it in her mind: lots of flowers; a dream kitchen; two children; a cat…

  Devayani appeared at the door, bringing Megha’s fantasy to an abrupt end. She was decked out in a red silk sari, a jasmine garland tucked around her elaborate hairdo. Lots of heavy gold jewelry complemented the ensemble. Her overbite seemed a bit more pronounced today, perhaps because she had decided to use a generous layer of blood-red lipstick that was in stark contrast to her large, white teeth. Her brows were crimped in irritation. “Why so late? I was beginning to worry,” she said with the usual sinus twang and sniffle.

  Amma inclined her head towards Megha with a long-suffering eye roll.

  Devayani glanced at Megha, taking in her appearance and passing silent judgment at the same time. “Oh.”

  Megha offered an apologetic smile. She disliked apologizing for something that wasn’t her fault, but it had become a habit lately. She tried not to let the resentment fester, but some days were harder to endure than others.

  Devayani’s husband and Amma’s youngest brother, Rama Rao, smiled and nodded at them. He was a quiet, unassuming man with a mop of dense gray hair and a pleasant face. Everything about him was low-key. In spite of being a successful businessman he seemed to maintain a modest image. That was probably the reason Appaji and he got along so well. The two men usually huddled together and watched everyone else do the talking, especially their wives.

  Megha looked around the room decorated with pink and white balloons. Mala was dressed in a powder blue and silver salwar-kameez outfit. She looked ill at ease and unhappy—not at all like a young girl celebrating a birthday. Short and chubby, with coffee-colored skin and wavy dark hair, she was a plain-looking adolescent, but an affectionate one. She was also a bright girl and excelled in school, especially at mathematics and science. She had dreams of pursuing a career in medicine. Megha liked her best among her husband’s female cousins. Although Mala was a coddled child and complained at times, she was fun to be with when they talked about topics of mutual interest.

  After everyone else had wished Mala a happy birthday, Megha gave her a brief hug. “Happy birthday, Mala. Why do you look so sad on your big day?”

  Grabbing Megha’s arm and dragging her to a quieter corner, Mala whispered through clenched teeth, “I hate this. I got my first period last month and this silly party is to celebrate that. Can you imagine that, Megha? They’re going to humiliate me by telling the whole world that I got my period.”

  Poor child, reflected Megha. This was never an event to be proud of. Some Hindu families liked to make a big splash over a girl’s transition to womanhood. Fortunately for herself, her own family had never paid attention to such routine matters. Nobody had noticed when Megha and her sisters had
gradually turned into young women. Besides, her parents didn’t have a large family or scores of friends or money to go out of their way to celebrate anything in style. Obviously the Raos preferred to make this event symbolic. She gave Mala a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “I’m sorry. I can imagine how awful it must be.”

  “I don’t think anyone can imagine this.”

  “Try to grin and bear it. It’s only one evening.”

  Mala cast an annoyed look at the crowd in the drawing room and especially at her mother, who was blowing her nose periodically and carrying on an animated conversation with a relative at the same time. “I’d love to disappear somewhere and come back after the party is over.”

  “It will be over in a few hours, Mala.”

  “Megha, will you stay with me through the evening?”

  Surprised at the unusual request, Megha’s brow flew up. “You want me beside you? Why not ask your sister?”

  “Kala is a fat frog.”

  “Shh! She’s your older sister; you shouldn’t say such things.”

  “Kala is mean and fat and jealous. She always makes unkind comments about you and Shanti.”

  “I don’t think she means any of it.”

  Mala pressed on. “She’s jealous of you because you’re pretty and tall and slim. And she can’t stand Shanti because they’re classmates and Shanti gets better marks than she does in all the subjects.”

  Megha laughed. “Why would your sister be jealous of me? She’s such a smart girl and very ambitious. She has a brilliant future ahead of her. I’m only a housewife with no job and no interesting hobbies.”

  “Just stay with me when my mother makes the stupid announcement and distributes the ceremonial sweets, okay?” Mala rolled her eyes in indignation. “Uh-oh, here comes another one of our aunts.”

  Megha and Mala observed Kamala Rao, Kiran’s mother, making her way through the crowd towards them. Both girls stiffened in response. Kamala had an impressive-looking gift-wrapped package in her hands.