The Dowry Bride

by Shobhan Bantwal

  “Fine. But I want you to know something first,” he said.

  There was such a sad and regretful note in his voice that it tugged at her. “What?”

  “Although it’s a relief that it didn’t happen, in other ways I’m disappointed.”

  She knew the exact feeling. “Why, Kiran?”

  “If the circumstances were right…I mean if you were my wife, discovering that you were carrying our child would be the most wonderful news in my life. Nothing would make me happier.” He must have seen the look of intense longing in her eyes, the one that matched his own, because he laid a hand on her arm. “We’ll make it happen someday…when the time is right.”

  Hearing him voice her own sentiments so candidly brought a lump to Megha’s throat. Oh, Kiran! I would give anything in the world to have your baby. But she couldn’t say it aloud. Instead she said. “The circumstances are far from right, so it’s best not to dwell on it.”

  “All right,” he agreed. “If it’s not that, then why are you so tense? You’re not—”

  “No! I’m not planning to run away or attempt suicide again, if that’s what you’re insinuating,” she interrupted, at once reading his thoughts.

  “I’m glad to hear that. But something’s still bothering you. I can tell.”

  “Don’t pay any attention to me; I was just indulging in a bit of reminiscing and self-pity. It’s a woman thing—we tend to get emotional for no particular reason sometimes.”

  “Let me get changed and we’ll talk.” Kiran plucked his jacket off the chair and disappeared into the bedroom. Several minutes later he came out, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Pulling out a chair, he sat at the table and sniffed the food she’d just finished ladling on his plate. “Umm, this smells wonderful. Aviyal is one of my favorites.” Then he spooned some of the mixed-vegetable curry cooked in a white, ground-coconut gravy into his mouth. “Excellent.”

  “Glad you like it.” Relieved that Kiran had temporarily forgotten her glumness, she started to eat her own dinner. She knew he planned to go out later to visit his grandmother. Ajji, as everyone referred to the elder Mrs. Rao, was in a nursing home, where she was recovering from a heart attack followed by a crippling hip fracture. He diligently visited his grandmother every Wednesday. Each member of the family picked a different day of the week to visit Ajji, so the old lady would have someone for company every day.

  “I have an idea,” Kiran announced after a few seconds of quiet introspection.

  “If it’s more shopping, forget it, Kiran,” she said. “I have all the clothes, toiletries, makeup and footwear I’ll ever need.”

  He shook his head. “Not shopping, but a visit to someone special.”

  She looked at him sharply. “Visit?” Her furtive visits to Harini’s house were enough to keep her in a constant state of nervousness. Still suspicious that someone, most likely Amma, was watching her every move, she couldn’t stand another clandestine outing. Her nerves couldn’t possibly handle it.

  “Don’t look so scared, Megha. I’m sure Ajji would love to see you.”

  “Ajji! You must be joking! Your grandmother is family. She’ll tell the rest of them that I’m still in town and that I’m staying with you.”

  “No, she won’t—not if I tell her not to.”

  “But she’s Amma’s mother and your grandmother! Why would she protect me?”

  “She’s a very bright and astute lady. You’ll be surprised at how good she is at keeping secrets. She’s known many of my childhood secrets. She hasn’t divulged a single one yet.”

  “You don’t have any real secrets. I’m probably your first and only dirty secret.”

  “Don’t put me on a pedestal, Megha.” He looked amused. “I wasn’t exactly a saint in my adolescent days, and I’m not one now either. You should know that better than anyone else.”

  Megha flushed furiously, recalling their naked bodies tangled amidst the sheets the other night. “But this is not the same. I’m her grandson’s runaway wife being sheltered by her other grandson. How is she going to react to that?”

  “Listen, I know how serious this is.” Kiran put his spoon down and leaned forward. “But believe me, Ajji is one person you can trust. She’s the only one who is likely to believe that Amma is capable of murder. And, she’s also the only individual in the family, besides me, who’ll be willing to protect you.”

  Toying with her food for several minutes, Megha deliberated over the idea. The thought of going out of the house in itself was enough to give her heart palpitations. On top of that, visiting the Rao family matriarch? How could she manage that? The old lady was an elder, most likely a woman of honor with conservative ideas and a stringent code of ethics. She probably believed Brahmin women had a role to play and it certainly wouldn’t include abandoning one’s husband and in-laws.

  But on the other hand, Megha argued with herself, maybe it was time she met Ajji, got to know her a little. If Kiran said she could be trusted, then it was probably safe to do it. Also, it would feel good to get out for a change, breathe in some fresh air. She looked at Kiran hesitantly. “I…I guess I could go.”

  “Good. We can wish Ajji a Happy New Year together—cheer her up a little,” he said with an encouraging nod.

  Megha vaguely remembered meeting Ajji a year ago, on her wedding day to be exact. That was the one and only time she’d met the old lady. Almost immediately after the wedding, Ajji had gone off with other elderly relatives on a pilgrimage of the famous temples of central and south India. Then, at the end of the trip, she had stayed with her widowed sister in Chennai for several months. A few days after her return, Ajji had suffered a severe heart attack followed by a fall in the bathroom that ended in a fractured hip. The doctor had advised her to remain in a nursing home for several weeks while she recuperated because the family was not capable of giving her the constant care she needed.

  Although Amma visited Ajji every Monday and Thursday, sometimes accompanied by Appaji or Suresh or Shanti, she had never invited Megha to go with her. Whether it was because Amma wanted to make her feel like an outsider or some other reason, Megha had never been able to comprehend. Although Megha had wanted to visit Ajji and get to know her, she hadn’t had the courage to ask. What if Amma denied her request in that brusque way of hers, saying she wasn’t welcome? In recent months, everything that Megha did or said had set Amma off.

  Ajji, the tiny woman with soft gray hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck and dressed in a simple widow’s white silk sari, had sat in the front row at Suresh and Megha’s wedding, an honored place reserved for the eldest member of the Rao family. The old lady had very sharp features and despite the wrinkles, had an expressive face that was still attractive. Somehow Ajji had reminded Megha of a delicate and exotic white-plumed bird. When Megha, the new bride, had bowed low to touch the lady’s feet in the reverent Hindu tradition, Ajji had beamed. “What a beautiful girl you are! You will make our Suresh a very happy man, no? May God bless you with a long marriage and many healthy children.”

  When Kiran pulled into the parking lot of the single story building that housed the nursing home, Megha glanced around to make sure no one else from the family was there. Kiran, noticing the look on her face, said, “I’ll go inside and make sure nobody else is visiting her. I’ll also explain to Ajji about what’s happened between you and Suresh recently.”

  “She must know that already. Amma will have filled her in on all the details—her own twisted version of them.”

  Kiran shook his head. “Doesn’t seem that way. I’ve been seeing Ajji every week, and she hasn’t brought it up. Maybe Amma didn’t want to upset her.”

  Megha rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, this is too big a thing for Amma not to have mentioned it to her own mother.”

  “As of last week, Ajji had no idea. She makes kind inquiries about you all the time, asks why you’ve never come to see her.” He seemed to think the matter over for a second. “I’ll just tell her the truth now.”
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  “Do you think that’s wise?”

  “Better to tell her the whole story before she sees you, don’t you think? Otherwise, she’s sure to mention your visit to the others since she’ll have no idea you’re hiding from them. I have to first make sure she understands that she can’t tell another soul about you.”

  “I’m afraid she’ll hate me, Kiran. How can a woman her age accept something like this?”

  “She’s very modern in her thinking, Megha. She’s really quite amazing—sharp as a dagger, you’ll see.” He stepped out of the car. “Stay here; I’ll be right back.”

  Several tense minutes later, he returned and opened her door. “I told her everything.”

  Megha closed her eyes for a moment. “She’s thoroughly upset and doesn’t want me anywhere within a thousand meters of her, correct?” She should have known this wasn’t going to work. Kiran was too damned optimistic.

  “Wrong,” he said. “She’s enraged at Amma, but she’s very sympathetic to your situation and says she wants to tell you something.”

  “What is it?”

  Kiran shrugged. “I don’t know, but she’s being very mysterious—says she has been meaning to tell me something for a long time, but didn’t know how. Now that we’re both here, she says it’s best if she shares it with both of us. ‘Highly important,’ according to her. Come on.”

  Megha hesitated for an instant then pulled the veil partly over her face and followed Kiran around the building to what appeared to be an inconspicuous side entrance, perhaps an employees’ door. He had obviously decided it wasn’t wise to enter through the main door. All visitors used that entryway and they could run into someone they knew.

  Now that she was here, Megha wondered what she should say to Ajji. Despite Kiran’s assurances that his grandmother was a modern woman, Megha wasn’t sure of her welcome. What would the old lady think of her grandson living in sin with his cousin-in-law? Or hadn’t Kiran mentioned that part yet?

  She began to have serious doubts. Maybe she could still go back to the car and wait for Kiran to visit his grandmother alone.

  As if reading her thoughts, Kiran shook his head at her. “Don’t worry. She’ll be happy to see you. She told me that herself.” He escorted her down a short corridor with rooms opening out on either side.

  A few wheelchairs were lined up on one side of the aisle. The overhead fluorescent lights were bright, making Megha even more apprehensive about being seen. The smell of antiseptic combined with traces of chlorine cleanser and urine was unmistakable. Memories of visiting her father when he’d had bypass surgery came to mind. The hospital he’d been in was crowded and not particularly clean, but that was all they could afford. Seeing Appa in pain and all those tubes attached to him had made Megha weep. She could picture him now, looking gaunt and lying on the narrow bed, his eyes glazed. She had thought he was going to die, but he had survived and returned home, a pale image of his former self, both physically and emotionally. Life at home had never been the same since.

  No matter how upscale, all health-care facilities smelled the same. For a nursing home in a small town in India, this one was surprisingly clean and modern. But then it was a small and exclusive facility for the wealthy, so they probably provided better care.

  Voices emerged from a few of the rooms. Megha instinctively pulled the chunni lower to cover most of her face. Visiting hours were on and she could easily end up running into a familiar face.

  A stooped old man, walking with the help of a metal walker, shuffled along, entirely oblivious to their presence. A heavy-set nurse dressed in a starched white sari marched by, frowning oddly at Megha, making her feel like an object in a shop window. The veil over her face was bound to be an odd sight. An anxious thought struck her just then. What if Amma questioned the nurses about anyone new coming to visit Ajji? She tried to put it out of her mind. The nurse hadn’t been able to see her face.

  Moaning sounds coming from somewhere made Megha shudder. This was depressing. Poor Ajji! She had been confined to this convalescent home for weeks now. No wonder Kiran said she looked forward to his visits. He was also her favorite grandchild, from what Megha had gathered.

  At the end of the corridor, Kiran steered her into a large square room. It looked spacious as compared with the other rooms they had glimpsed in passing. Megha guessed that rich folks probably got the bigger and more comfortable rooms. This one had a cream tiled floor and two curtained windows that overlooked several trees and part of a street. A cool breeze stirred the cream and gray checkered curtains and brought in some fresh air, helping to dispel the antiseptic odor. Kiran quickly shut the door behind them and moved to the windows to close the curtains. Megha sent him a grateful look. He had become so adept at shielding her.

  A picture of Lord Balaji sat on a bedside table. Holy incense sticks burned in a silver holder, emitting a woodsy smoke—probably a good thing to drive away mosquitoes and sweeten the air while it was being offered to God. Next to it was a dog-eared copy of the verses of Purandardas, the sixteenth century poet-saint. From the looks of the book and the reading glasses placed on top, Ajji read it often.

  Megha’s eyes were drawn to the huge bed sitting in the center of the room. Ajji reclined on it, leaning back against a stack of pillows. In a white cotton gown she looked even more frail and bird-like than Megha remembered. The silver hair looked a bit disheveled and her arms were loose skin and bone, but the keen eyes that peered at her were the same ones from the previous year. The old woman struggled to sit up.

  “Don’t try that on your own, Ajji,” chided Kiran before rushing forward to lift her into a more upright position. “Megha was a little afraid of how you would react to her.”

  For a moment, a hush fell over the room. Megha let the pastel green chunni slide off her head and fall around her shoulders. The two women gazed at each other for what felt like eons to Megha. The stillness was thick and taut. Her heartbeat thumped. What now? Was the old lady going to faint or something? Was there time enough to turn back and run before grandma ended up having another seizure?

  But an unexpected smile came over the old woman’s face. “Megha.”

  Megha put her palms together and greeted Ajji with a Namaste.

  “Come here, putti.”

  Hesitating, Megha took a small step forward.

  “Do not be afraid. Come, come, sit here.” Ajji indicated a spot beside her on the bed. “Let me look at you.”

  Instinctively Megha cast a glance at Kiran, then seeing his encouraging nod, she proceeded to sit on the bed beside Ajji, but not before she touched her feet. It seemed to please Ajji, since she smiled. “Very nice…your mother has taught you to follow our old customs, Megha.”

  Kiran pulled up a chair close to the edge of the bed and made himself comfortable, stretching his long legs in front of him. Megha found his closeness comforting.

  Grabbing Megha’s wrist with her rough and bony fingers, Ajji brought her face closer. The intensity in Ajji’s eyes made Megha tremble a little. “Still very beautiful, but you have become very thin,” she remarked. “You would have made Suresh very happy and made the Rao family also happy. But Chandramma spoiled it. What a pity, no? She always does that. She destroys her own life and destroys other people’s lives.” The old woman shook her head sadly. “When she will improve, God alone knows.”

  At a loss for words, Megha merely looked toward Kiran for direction. He said nothing, clearly letting Ajji set the tone and pace.

  “Megha, Chandramma treated you very badly, no?” said Ajji. Probably because she noticed the hesitant look in Megha’s eyes and received no response, Ajji let go of her wrist and went tsk-tsk with her tongue. “She was not always so bad, my dear. She has bad blood in her; that is what makes her like that.”

  “Bad blood?” What did that mean? Megha turned to Ajji with a raised brow. Amma always boasted about her family tree, her pure, clean Brahmin roots.

  Ajji’s eyes unexpectedly filled with tears and she used her fin
gers to brush them away. “Oh, Meghamma, what I can say? It is a very long and sad story.”

  Megha nodded, remembering that Ajji wanted to tell them something “highly important.”

  “I will tell you and Kiran something if you both promise not to tell anyone.”

  “We won’t, Ajji,” prompted Kiran, “but are you sure you feel up to it?”

  “I am old and tired, Kiran. If I don’t tell someone now, then nobody will know after I die. At least this will make you understand why Chandramma behaves in this manner. You may not forgive her, but at least you will have more understanding, no?”

  “Whatever you tell me will stay with me.” Megha patted the old woman’s hand to emphasize her oath. But she wondered what could be so highly secret in Amma’s past that even her own brothers didn’t know.

  Megha felt immensely relieved that Ajji had been cordial to her so far, and pleased at being addressed as Meghamma, an affectionate variation of Megha. No one had called her that in years. It brought back poignant memories of her early childhood. Her father, in his younger and happier days, used to call her his little Meghamma. He used to let her accompany him to his mango orchard and help him supervise the mango picking. School was always closed for the summer holidays at the time of the mango harvest, which was wonderful. He would call out to her on those hot and steamy May afternoons, “Come on, Meghamma. Help me make sure the mango pickers are doing a good job. If you are a good girl, you can keep two of the best mangoes for yourself.”

  He would help her lace up her special black shoes with the thick soles so the thorny weeds growing under the mango trees wouldn’t prick her tiny feet. He would hold her hand all the way to the orchard. He would hoist her up on his wide shoulders if she complained of being tired. Sometimes he would tickle her ankles just to hear her giggle hysterically and squirm, then beg for more. “Tickle some more, Appa, tickle some more.” Then he’d tickle her once again and laugh along with her.

  She loved to hear the high-pitched screech of pure joy erupting from her own throat, followed by her father’s gruff, amused chuckle. Perched high atop his shoulders, she could reach the luscious mangoes in the trees with little difficulty. In fact, from way up there, she could see the whole world, and she would feel like a pampered little princess without a care in the world. Appa was all hers—he would love and protect her forever. At least it had seemed that way then.