The Dowry Bride

by Shobhan Bantwal

  After several minutes, she felt his hold on her slacken, and his body begin to relax. His breathing had gradually gone from shallow to deep and even. He had fallen asleep. An almost maternal rush of emotion swept over her. She gently removed his arms from her. He stirred when she slid off his lap, but she placed a warm, soothing hand over his forehead until he fell back into a deep sleep. He needed to sleep off the exhaustion and grief.

  Tiptoeing to the bedroom, she picked up a light blanket and returned to cover him. On a sudden impulse she bent down to place a soft kiss on the top of his head. His abundant hair was still damp from the shower. Then she turned off the lamp and returned to the bedroom to practice typing on the computer.

  Chapter 28

  Several days after Ajji’s passing, Megha, dressed in her usual camouflage, carefully stepped out of Harini’s house. From sheer force of habit she made a quick survey of the immediate area before starting down the footpath. A few remnants of New Year’s celebrations were still on the ground: muddied pieces of streamers, bits of colored latex from popped balloons, a gaudy, neon-pink Happy New Year sign in a store window. It reminded her of Ajji wishing Kiran and herself happiness in the coming year. Had Ajji known then that death was near, that she wouldn’t be around to usher in the new year?

  Megha must have been walking for no more than two minutes when all of a sudden a large hand clamped over her mouth, effectively cutting off her startled scream. A strong arm banded her from behind, immobilizing her right arm. She found herself held against a chest that felt like a thick, solid brick wall.

  Instinctively her free arm shot out, blindly trying to fight off the attacker, but all it managed to punch was air. Then that arm, too, was grabbed and pinned to her side. She tried to kick, but she was trapped between a car’s fender and someone’s big, tough thighs. Her body was a dead weight while her heart exploded into a frightened pounding. She was tightly restrained by a large man, a man she couldn’t see.

  “You make noise and you will die, okay?” whispered a gruff male voice in her ear. Numb with terror, Megha abruptly quit squirming and went still.

  In the next instant she was roughly shoved into the back seat of the dark car, a big hand pushing her down, slamming her face into the seat. Then the man got in beside her and shut the door. The engine was already running. She was whisked away. With her nose squashed into the vinyl upholstery and her body hunched over at a painful angle, she couldn’t even see who her captor was. He was crowded against her rear end, practically lying on top of her back in an effort to keep her silent and still.

  The car was moving erratically. Megha could feel the thrust of the engine and the weaving motion required to maneuver the car at high speeds around vehicular and pedestrian traffic. The driver kept blowing the horn continuously. The brakes squealed a few times, people yelled, and she heard the driver curse under his breath. And all the while her subjugator remained firmly on her back, making it hurt like hell. Her slim body was getting crushed under his weight.

  The hand across her mouth shifted, but before she could work up a scream the voice whispered again, “No making sound and no moving, or you die.”

  When she made a slight move to lift her head, the voice barked, “Stay!” So she stayed, motionless, her eyes shut tight. Something foul was stuffed into her mouth, then a smelly rag was placed over it and bound tightly. Next her hands were tied behind her back with rough rope. Only when satisfied that she was safely bound and gagged did the man yank her up by her braid and throw her head against the backrest.

  Despite the pain associated with the brutal handling, she realized she was at least sitting upright now and his immense weight was off her back. But it was too damned shadowy in the car to see the man beside her. All she could make out from the corner of her eye was a balding head and a huge, wrestler-type body. She was too scared to turn her head and get a good look at him. He could be carrying a knife and cut up her face or stab her eyes.

  Stunned, Megha stared into space. Her heart hammered a thunderous beat in her chest and her breath was all but cut off by the filthy piece of cloth covering her mouth. Despite the heat, she had broken into a cold sweat. God, what happened?

  One minute she was scurrying down the footpath and in the next instant she was grabbed and hauled into an automobile.

  Her throat burned from the gag that penetrated deep into her esophagus. Her ribs ached from being crushed with such brute force. Every time she tried to inhale, all she managed to get was foul fumes from the gag that smelled like sour sweat.

  After her brain adjusted to the shock and the paralysis eased, Megha dared to turn her head and cast a cautious glance outside the fast-moving car’s window. They had left the familiar streets of Palgaum and moved on to less-traveled ones. She had no idea how long she’d been sitting in the car. She was completely disoriented. Something was making her brain dull.

  The car bounced over something, her stomach lurched, and a wave of nausea struck it hard. Megha closed her eyes for a moment to let the churning in her belly recede, then gingerly looked around her in the muted light of the car’s dashboard. Very slowly she began to comprehend her plight.

  She had just been abducted. And the terror she’d felt only weeks ago came back with twice the intensity.

  Telling herself to close her eyes once again and breathe, she prayed, then took a few shallow breaths. It was the only way she could think rationally. Breathe in…then out…breathe in…out…It was hard to draw breath with her mouth completely covered but she tried.

  Surely someone on that busy street had seen her being ambushed? At least one individual would have the sense to note down the vehicle’s license number and call the police? Every other middle-class person these days carried a mobile phone. Somebody had to have witnessed the crime? She desperately hoped they had.

  Summoning enough courage, she ventured to steal a wary glance at her abductor. A huge, bald man sat beside her. He reeked of perspiration. From the looks of the car’s interior and the meter obvious on the dashboard, they were in a taxi. Her only view of the driver was the back of his head, a rather small head with longish, curly black hair. The rearview mirror was at an angle, so she couldn’t see his face.

  Who were these men and what did they want with her? She had heard of big-city thugs that abducted young and pretty women and sold them into prostitution. But here in the rural town of Palgaum? And if they were professional kidnappers and pimps, where were they taking her? She had heard sickening stories of young girls sold as slaves to Middle Eastern sheikhs, who then whisked the girls off to their harems and did hideous things to them.

  She stole another peek at the fat man. Was he in the flesh trade? What did men in the flesh trade look like anyway? Was she headed for some secret airport where she’d be put on a plane destined for some remote city somewhere on the globe?

  Oh God! This couldn’t be happening to her!

  Panic welled up like hot lava inside her and she wanted to struggle and scream for help. But no sound could emerge from her gagged and bruised throat. Her hands were bound solid and the most she could do was stare helplessly at the man. He returned her stare, silently telling her it was futile to struggle. She was at his mercy. When she looked meaningfully at her feet resting on the floorboard, he shook his head, essentially warning her, “Don’t even dream about trying to kick me, you idiot. You’ll die if you try.” Her sense of panic shot up by several degrees. This was no joyride. These men were serious.

  The bald man went back to carefully observing the passing street scene, his watchful eyes moving back and forth. He seemed taut as a rubber band about to snap. Maybe all that sweat on him was from nervousness. His dark shirt looked damp and clung to him like a wet rag. It was the only positive sign: he was scared and tense about something.

  Turning his head every few seconds to look behind them through the windshield, the man blew out short breaths. Was he checking for police or was he waiting for more of his accomplices? From his anxious frown she coul
d only conclude it was the police he was concerned about. She wished there were police around. Maybe she could do something to get their attention. But what? She was bound and gagged. The stink going up her nose and mouth was only getting more potent and sickening. Soon it would nauseate her so much that she was likely to choke on her own vomit and die.

  Hopelessly she slumped in her seat once again, the tears beginning to cloud her eyes. How in heaven’s name was she going to get out of this?

  The driver inclined his head slightly to address the bald man. “Kidhar, saheb?” Where, sir?

  The bald man’s voice was low and urgent. “She said to take her directly to the burning ground.”

  She? Who was the man referring to? Who had ordered him to take her against her will? And burning ground? That’s where they cremated dead people!

  In a flash the truth came to Megha. Amma!

  With a sinking heart she realized Amma had won after all. Amma had hired these men to abduct her and burn her to death. What Amma couldn’t do on her own she would now accomplish through hired killers. Could the woman have gone to such bizarre lengths to get what she wanted? And how in God’s name had Amma known where and when to find her? How had the old witch managed to orchestrate a perfect abduction?

  The taxi was moving faster now, and the chance of rescue grew more remote with every kilometer they covered. There was practically no traffic here. It was pitch dark outside except for the pools of light created by the taxi’s headlights, but the smell of hay and cattle instead of the familiar street odors told Megha they were on the highway, far from town. She had never been to the burning grounds. Hindu women never went to the cremation site; only men were allowed there. She had no idea how far it was.

  Stark alarm made her sit up. She was alone with two killers and she was headed straight for her funeral pyre. Was this what a sheep headed for the slaughterhouse felt like?

  A few moments later resignation began to set in. She was as good as dead. Why in heaven’s name had she made the stupid mistake of setting foot outside Kiran’s flat? Today was Thursday and Thursdays were supposed to be special. Megha got to visit Harini one evening a week when Harini’s father-in-law attended a religious meeting and her husband worked the second shift. Her brother-in-law never came home before eight o’clock on any evening.

  The two young women had met on the sly the last two Thursdays and today was the third. After obsessing for days over the safety of meeting clandestinely with her friend under the cover of darkness, Megha had finally come to the conclusion that she couldn’t live like a recluse forever. Kiran was delightful company in the evenings, but his nearness was more of a threat than a comfort. Besides, Megha needed a friend to talk to, a female friend, someone who would sympathize and advise and provide solace. And Kiran had encouraged the visits, too.

  In retrospect, it had been a grave mistake to venture out of the house, especially when her sixth sense had been prickling. She had sensed that she was being watched every time she’d stepped out of the flat. It was stupid to assume Amma might have given up on her and that the danger was behind her. She should have recognized that Amma was nothing short of tenacious, despite the fact that she was supposedly still in mourning for Ajji. Like a rabid dog, Amma went after what she wanted with a ferocity that bordered on pathological. God, why hadn’t she listened to Ajji’s advice? Hadn’t Ajji cautioned her emphatically about Amma’s viciousness, her capacity for revenge? Why had Megha not anticipated this sort of thing?

  But it was too late to rue the fact now. The stench of perspiration jerked her back to the present reality. With a pang she remembered Kiran would be waiting for her on the street corner. In the trauma of being abducted, she had forgotten that he was expecting to pick her up at the designated place. Immediately the fear mounted once again. Kiran! Oh Lord, where was he? Was he patiently waiting for her in his usual spot or had he started to look for her? What would he do once he realized she wasn’t coming back from Harini’s house?

  Her only hope now was that Kiran would recognize foul play and do something. Deep in her heart she knew Kiran would do everything in his power to locate her. But could he find her in time to rescue her? Would he even dream of looking for her in the funeral yard of all places? Not likely.

  Gradually the taxi slowed down and made a sharp right turn onto an unpaved surface. The vehicle bounced around on the uneven surface for a while. The fat man barked out instructions to the driver as to which direction to take. Then the taxi came to a slow stop, but the engine stayed on.

  A fresh surge of fear spiked through Megha’s brain. They had reached their destination!

  The driver turned to ask the fat man if he should wait, to which the man nodded yes. “Wait here and make sure she stays! And you keep the headlights on,” he ordered. Then he opened the door on his side and got out, leaving Megha alone with the driver. With her breath coming in short, frantic puffs, she turned her head around to the back, and saw the man open the trunk, pull out a metal can and walk around to the front of the taxi. He stopped next to something that looked like a stack of wood.

  A muffled moan escaped her, making the driver turn around and glance at her. He had a thin face, a hooked nose and a mustache, and eyes she could barely see. She struggled and whimpered some more. He continued to stare at her, but said nothing. He had installed a small picture of the goddess Lakshmi on his dashboard. He was obviously a Hindu and believed in God. How could a devout man take part in killing an innocent woman?

  She said a silent prayer to that picture of Lakshmi. What was it her mother had said—that in the long run prayer was always good? If nothing else, she could at least ask for forgiveness before she died, ask the goddess to give Kiran the very best in life.

  Meanwhile, in the golden pools of light cast by the taxi’s headlights, she watched the bald man stack the wood to construct a platform of sorts. Her funeral pyre!

  The hopelessness of her situation struck Megha. She was going to die a gruesome death. Here on this dark and lonely cremation ground she was going to die, all alone and totally helpless to save herself. Despite having escaped from a similar fate earlier, the gods had destined for her to die just such a death. Tears of frustration formed in her eyes again and began to roll down. Sobs formed in her chest, but all that came out were pitiful muffled sounds because of the gag.

  Although her legs were unbound, how far could she run in the dark with her hands tied behind her back? She didn’t know her way around here, in any case. And the taxi would overtake her in a second.

  She wasn’t sure whether it was the sobbing or something else that drew a response from the driver. Maybe it was her heartfelt prayer to Lakshmi. His expression changed—even in the semi-darkness she could see that. She thought she saw something like guilt flash through his eyes in the dull light coming from the dashboard. Or was it pity? She couldn’t say, but there was something in his look that told her he was getting uncomfortable with the situation. His mouth opened once and then closed immediately.

  She continued to hold his stare, hoping that she could convey to him her desperate plea for help. She’d take his pity or whatever it was that could move this man to help her. The wooden platform for the pyre was steadily building up.

  Dear God, she was going to die! Five minutes from now? Ten?

  She tried to send the driver a frantic, pleading look. Do something. Please! Drive away. Take me far from here. Please…Perhaps it worked, or maybe it was the man’s conscience that wouldn’t let him stay still. He sent a guarded look at the bald man, who was now positioning the last of the logs on the platform. The uppermost layer toppled and Megha saw the fat man curse and bend down to retrieve the logs. Although she couldn’t hear him, she knew he’d muttered something foul under his breath. All of a sudden the driver whipped out a mobile phone from his pocket and dialed a number, his bony fingers shaking.

  Megha’s eyes bounced between him and the fat man. Who was the driver calling? Was it the police or Amma? Was he calling for
help or to report that things were progressing as planned? Then she heard him say, “Hello, police station?”

  Haltingly the taxi driver told the police his location and what was happening in Hindi, all the while casting anxious looks at the other man, who continued to work steadily. Because the old, clunky engine was still running and making a racket, the fat man had probably not been able to hear the driver’s whispered conversation with the police.

  Once or twice the fat man turned and looked directly at the vehicle, giving Megha another panic attack. The driver looked terrified, too. He had barely shoved the phone back into his pocket when the fat man returned. Megha noticed the look of dread on the driver’s face, the perspiration on his dark nose and forehead. He had made that phone call just in the nick of time. Or had he?

  The wooden platform was ready. The fat man opened the door on Megha’s side and grabbed her arm. He reeked of gasoline. It could only mean one thing. He had poured the liquid over the platform and had come to drag her out. She went limp in an effort to resist him. Dead weights were supposedly harder to move. He tugged on her arm, but she fought him, desperately kicking him in the chest and thighs. He groaned in pain when her foot connected with his groin, but recovered in the next instant and turned more vicious. In retaliation for her aggressiveness, he grabbed her hair and yanked it till the pain burned in her head. Meanwhile the wrenching on her arm was putting pressure on the rope binding her wrists, cutting in deeper.

  Even as she fought, Megha’s eyes flew to the driver. One last plea! The man obviously had a conscience, or he wouldn’t have called the police. Would he help her any further or was he afraid for his own life? Would he just sit there and expect the police to rescue her? But the police were in town and this was miles away outside the town limits. Would they ever make it here? Even if they did, she would be burned to cinders by then.