“Jealous of you? But you’re her mother!” Megha wondered how anyone could be jealous of one’s mother.
“She is capable of hating her own mother, so you be careful, my dear. When Chandramma wants something, she will get it, by whatever means. And she takes revenge on people that she feels have wronged her.”
“But I haven’t wronged her in any way,” murmured Megha, a sense of cold alarm creeping up on her at Ajji’s words.
“No, Meghamma, you have not. But Chandramma will think you have because you ran away and ruined her plans, no? And in her mind it is a reason for revenge. I want you to be very careful, Megha.”
“I’ll try.”
“But please don’t hate her. It is not her fault that she is like that. Blame me if you like. I always worry about her. Someday, she is going to destroy herself.” Ajji breathed a sad sigh and blew her nose. “I hope I don’t live to see that day.”
Tears welled up in Megha’s eyes. She looked at Ajji with newfound respect and admiration. The woman had lived through a long, endless nightmare, practically all her life. She continued to suffer from the trauma inflicted upon her years ago. And yet, she had managed to preserve her dignity and honor. She had found it in herself to love the child borne from that inauspicious union. She had done the right thing by that child. Here she was now, sharing her innermost secret with her grandson’s wife, so she, Megha, could find it in her heart to forgive Amma for the many wrongs she heaped on her.
By confiding in Megha, Ajji had broken her sacred oath of never revealing her shameful secret to another living soul. Megha knew that in her own way Ajji was trying to protect both women. She quickly dried her eyes. “Now I understand why Amma is so different from her brothers, so different from you.”
The old woman’s smile was tremulous. “I am glad you understand, Meghamma. But that is not all of it. As Chandramma grew older, she was looked at like an outcast by the servants in the house, by the neighbors, and by the girls at school. The more they rejected her, the more malicious she became. Then, when all her classmates got married and settled down, she had no suitors. She must have felt hurt and unwanted. I prayed to God to find her a good husband.”
“But she did get married,” prompted Kiran.
“Yes. One day, when someone suggested Vinayak Ramnath for her, we wondered why. They explained to us that Vinayak had tuberculosis during his youth and his parents had no luck in finding him a bride. When we approached his parents about matching horoscopes for a possible marriage, they agreed at once. For us it was a miracle.” She let out a long, relieved breath and glanced again at the holy picture on her table. “Because of the Lord everything has been okay for my Chandramma after that. She may not be rich like her brothers, but she has a kind husband and children now. If she can stop being so greedy and evil I believe she will be okay. My sons also have good wives and good children.” She threw a fond look at Kiran. “When my husband passed away some years ago he died a contented man.”
Agape at what she’d just heard from Ajji, Megha whispered, “Appaji had tuberculosis?”
“They did not tell you that? Chandramma and Vinayak kept that a secret from your parents or what?” Ajji seemed genuinely surprised.
All Megha could do was nod. Tuberculosis! And yet, nobody had seen fit to tell her parents about it. Not that it mattered much, especially since Appaji was cured now. She loved Appaji dearly and didn’t think any less of him. The fact remained that if she and Suresh had any children, they could have been susceptible to the disease. Her knowledge of TB was extremely limited, but she knew in some cases the propensity for it could be genetic and that it was highly contagious. Suresh was a thin and weak man just like his father, and so was Shanti. Could they be carriers of the disease, or even future sufferers?
Megha wondered if it was horribly selfish on her part to feel relieved that she was no longer pregnant. Pregnancy was a non-issue now anyway, since she would never again sleep with Suresh, and never go back to the Ramnaths.
All at once she felt emotionally exhausted. It was too much to digest: Amma’s strange parentage; Appaji’s childhood illness; Ajji’s sudden desire to confide in her and Kiran about a long-held secret. Everything had come at her in one single evening. Her sympathy for Ajji was so acute that it formed a tight ball in her chest. And to think that she herself had a hard life—poor Ajji had endured much worse in some ways.
She thought about Amma’s obsession with caste and class. The incident with their neighbor’s appendicitis attack came to mind. Amma had called Megha a sinner because she had entered a Muslim home and come back to pollute the pure Brahmin environment in their own.
It was ironic that the devout Amma’s father was not a purebred Brahmin but an untouchable whose job was to clean people’s toilets. Well, being a bhangi was not the man’s fault, but he was a heartless rapist who had left an innocent young woman shattered for life, and for that Megha could find no kind sentiments for him in her heart.
Sometime later, when Megha and Kiran felt Ajji had calmed down sufficiently, they decided to leave. Visiting hours were over and the nurse had knocked on the door then checked Ajji’s blood pressure and pronounced it normal. Then she had given Ajji her nightly medicines. The old lady was comfortably settled amongst the pillows, a serene look on her face as they wished her goodnight. Megha touched her feet in a respectful salute. Ajji’s tears had dried and the agitation from earlier was gone. She smiled at them and held their hands briefly. “Be careful, both of you. Go home and have a very good New Year, okay? God bless you.”
“Hope your health improves in the coming year, Ajji.” When Megha said, “Would you like me to visit you again sometime?” Ajji merely dismissed her with a casual wave.
Megha wondered if the visit had been too traumatic for the elderly woman. Somehow she felt it was odd that Ajji was so calm, unnaturally tranquil for a woman who’d had an emotional evening.
The old lady’s sudden decision to confess and then her rapid transition from agitation to resigned calm left Megha puzzled. Was she on some kind of medicine that affected her mind? Exactly what kind of pills had the nurse given her? She threw Ajji one last, troubled look before pulling her chunni over her head and walking away with Kiran. Ajji looked like she was ready to doze off.
Chapter 27
Disturbed by fitful sleep and strange dreams, Megha tossed about on the bed. Her eyes traveled to the bedside clock frequently. She could not get Ajji and her story out of her mind. And there was the other thing: the gentle old lady had warned her more than once about Amma. I want you to be very careful.
There was some rationale for telling Kiran and Megha her sad tale. There had to be. Why else would she unburden herself for the first time in her life after so many decades of silence, and to someone so young and practically a stranger? The horror and tragedy of Ajji’s rape continued to trouble Megha.
She had never come across anyone who’d been raped. She hadn’t even heard of anyone who’d been through it, until now. In the kind of cloistered environment she’d been raised, no one talked about such things. If a rare case of rape ever occurred, it was likely to be hushed up quickly. The man responsible for it would never be punished because of the secrecy surrounding the incident. The violation of a woman’s honor was a matter of shame and degradation, therefore pretending it never happened seemed to be the only way to deal with it. The sad part was that the victim was left to cope with the trauma all alone. Ajji was a classic example of how lonely the life of a rape victim was—a life of humiliation, guilt and helplessness.
Thoughts about Ajji left Megha with a tight feeling in the pit of her stomach. That ominous sensation had set in when she had bid Ajji goodbye and then it had stayed with her.
The shrill ringing of the telephone made Megha jump. The time was precisely 2:07 AM. That feeling of foreboding immediately sprang to the fore, stronger, more urgent. Through the closed door she heard Kiran’s voice answer the extension in the drawing room, first sounding drowsily muf
fled then alert. She strained her ears to listen to the conversation. Kiran’s concern was unmistakable as he spoke for a few seconds and ended the call. Then there was silence.
Something was clearly wrong.
Unable to contain herself any longer, Megha climbed out of bed, opened the bedroom door and hurried to the drawing room. She found one of the floor lamps turned on and Kiran sitting on the sofa, his arms hanging loosely on his pajama-clad knees, staring at the floor. “Kiran, what’s wrong?”
Kiran appeared dazed. He glanced up when he saw her. “I can’t believe this.”
“What is it?”
“Ajji’s gone, Megha.”
“What do you mean?”
“She had another heart attack and they couldn’t resuscitate her. She passed away half an hour ago.” The dismay on Kiran’s face told Megha the news had hit him like a slap in the face. It also indicated how deeply he cared for his grandmother.
“I’m sorry, Kiran.” She went to sit beside him.
“But she looked so well when we left her, better than other days when I’ve visited her.” He scrubbed his face with one hand. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I.” Though Megha had experienced an uneasy feeling for the past few hours, the news still came as a shock. Ajji had seemed to be in reasonably good spirits for a woman in her condition. Had that emotional confession been too much for her fragile constitution? Had she intuitively known the end was near? Was that the reason she had bared her soul to Megha and Kiran? She had a resigned look on her face when she had wished them goodnight. Hopefully that meant her soul was at peace.
“Do you think telling us her secrets was too exhausting for her?” Kiran asked Megha, echoing her thoughts. “I should have stopped her, Megha. I shouldn’t have let her go on and on, reliving that nightmare from more than half a century ago.”
Kiran looked so miserable that Megha gently touched his hand, hoping to offer some comfort. “If anyone is to blame, it’s me, Kiran. It was my visit that started all that confession business, remember? Besides, I think she needed to tell her story to someone, get it off her chest. She seemed to be at peace with herself afterward. If you recall, she was no longer agitated when we left her.”
“I thought that was because of the medicines the nurse gave her.”
“At first I assumed that, too, but the more I thought about it the more it seemed like a sense of relief from having rid herself of a burden she had been carrying around for most of her life. Look at it from her point of view. She had a full life; she was tired of living in pain; and she was ready to give up. She probably wanted to confess to someone she trusted before she passed on.” When he still looked glum, she squeezed his hand. “We all have to die sometime, Kiran.”
He seemed to ponder that for a long time before he said, “I guess you’re right. It was her time to go.” With a deep sigh Kiran rose from the sofa and headed for the bedroom. “I better get ready for the funeral. They’re transporting her body to my parents’ house right now.”
“Kiran,” Megha called out.
He turned around. “Yes?”
“I’m so sorry. I know you loved her very much.”
He gave her a long, thoughtful look. “I’m glad you were with me when I visited Ajji for the last time. I always wanted her to get to know you better.” He shook his head. “I just wish you and she had a chance to meet a few more times. She was an educated woman and liked reading, and for her age she spoke good English and had a nice sense of humor. You two would have found a lot to talk about.”
Megha smiled, remembering Ajji’s words. “I was impressed by her. Do you think she guessed…you know…about the two of us?”
He shrugged. “I’m quite sure she knew how I felt about you all along. She is…was a very perceptive and intelligent woman.”
Megha watched him disappear into the bedroom then removed his sheets from the sofa, folded them and set them aside along with the pillows. She pressed her fingers to her eyes, feeling the first ripple of grief. But her heartache was more an extension of Kiran’s emotions. She hadn’t known Ajji long enough or well enough to feel deep sorrow. Tears pricked her eyelids, but she kept them under control so Kiran wouldn’t see them. He’d have more than his share of weeping women at his parents’ house.
Naturally, Kiran had to go to the funeral alone. A few minutes later, dressed in sober gray slacks and a white shirt suitable for a funeral, Kiran left with a promise to call Megha later.
But his call never came. And she understood why. The viewing was likely to last many hours since the Rao family had scores of friends, customers, acquaintances and contacts. As soon as the news spread through town, people were likely to show up in large numbers to pay their respects. Kiran would have to play his part in accepting condolences on behalf of the family and taking care of the visitors. Distant family members would arrive from out of town and they would need some attention as well.
One good thing was that Hindu customs didn’t allow the body to be preserved for several days, drawing out the funeral process endlessly. The cremation was conducted as quickly as possible after an individual’s demise, bringing with it closure. No matter what, Kiran was likely to be occupied for the next several hours.
Nonetheless Megha sat by the phone and waited for his call. A feeling of helplessness had engulfed her since the sad news had come in. A much-loved member of the family had died, and she could do nothing. As a daughter of the house she would have liked to be involved in helping with the funeral, grieving with the family, but she could do none of those things. She was no longer one of them.
It only served to magnify the sense of wrongness of her presence in Kiran’s house, the sense of alienation. The only consolation was that she and Kiran had helped somewhat in diminishing Ajji’s guilt and easing the painful burden she’d carried all of her adult life. Ajji had lived a long life, albeit a life tainted in a lot of ways. As Kiran and she had agreed earlier, it was Ajji’s time to go—a quick and relatively painless death. The only regret was that she had died alone in a cold nursing home instead of in her own house, surrounded by family.
When the sun came up and the phone still remained silent, Megha quietly rose and took a shower. She hoped Kiran, amidst all the chaos, had remembered to call his office and explain his absence. While she made herself a cup of coffee, she wondered if he’d had a chance to have a cup of anything yet. Then she started cooking. With so much going on, Kiran was likely to neglect his stomach and would probably come home exhausted and hungry. She could at least feed him a decent meal and make sure he got some rest.
Late that evening, just after sunset, Kiran returned, looking predictably spent. “It’s finally over, Megha,” he said and headed straight for the shower. Bathing immediately after a funeral was a must.
When he came out of the bathroom sometime later, shaved and scrubbed clean, dressed in shorts and T-shirt, he still looked dog-tired. His eyes were red-rimmed. Collapsing into a drawing room chair, he put his feet on the coffee table and threw his head back against the headrest.
Concern for him made Megha go to him and kneel beside his chair. “I’m sorry I couldn’t go with you, Kiran. I know this is hard for you.”
“At least she didn’t suffer, according to the doctor,” said Kiran. “Her heart just stopped. In fact, she looked like she was merely sleeping.”
“I told you she was at peace. By the way, how is Amma holding up?” Curiosity got the better of Megha, despite telling herself she couldn’t care less what Amma did anymore.
Kiran rolled his eyes. “Making it look like she’s the only one affected by this, of course. She’s quite an actress, my aunt. If I didn’t know her true nature, I’d be inclined to believe her tears and emotions were real.”
“Maybe they were real, Kiran. Ajji was her mother, after all.”
“True. She’s very affectionate when it comes to family.”
“I know.” Megha made a face.
Kiran touched her cheek. “Wish s
he’d recognized the fact that you are family, too.”
“How is everyone else handling it?”
“They’re all resigned to the fact that Ajji was old and ill and had to pass on. Papa is naturally very upset.”
“Of course, because Ajji lived with him and your mother all these years, they were close.”
“That and the fact that, as her eldest son, Papa had to perform the last rites with the priest.”
Megha knew what that involved. Funeral ceremonies were rather complicated. Hindus believed that one had to have a son to perform the last rites, or one’s soul would never find moksha—salvation. In fact, that was one of the prime reasons Hindus obsessed over producing boys. It was a good thing Ajji had two sons.
“You look worn out, Kiran. Would you like something to eat?” Megha rose to her feet. “I did some cooking so I’d have a meal ready whenever you came home.” When he shook his head, she said, “A cup of tea or coffee then?”
After a long moment of what appeared to be contemplation, Kiran grasped both her hands and tugged, pulling her onto his lap. Megha went rigid, ready to slide off and scoot away. He hadn’t touched her in this manner since that night. But he put his arms around her now and drew her close, positioning her firmly against his chest. “I know you don’t want me to do this, Megha, but please, just stay with me.”
She shifted. “How about something to eat first?”
He shook his head. “All I need is you right now.”
Although the closeness sent a brief sensual flutter through her, Megha stayed within his embrace, with his face buried in her neck. His breath was warm against her skin, and it was a pleasant sensation. He smelled of soap and aftershave.
They sat in total silence, and yet she knew they were connected in the closest possible way. Despite the tight physical bond, there was nothing carnal about this. It was all about offering consolation to Kiran, and about comforting each other, she told herself. He needed her in a way no one had ever needed her. All I need is you right now. Only she could give him what he wanted, and it was precious little. And by God, she’d give it to him.
The Dowry Bride Page 31
