“That’s not true. You’d have found a way to get here.” He gave a wistful sigh. “Sometimes I feel like a doting parent watching a fledgling try its wings and succeed. And I start to wonder if you’re going to become so self-sufficient that you’ll stop needing me.”
She shook her head. “That will never happen. I’ll always need you in my life…but in a different way than I did two years ago. Needs come in different shapes, you know.”
“But at least tonight you’ve given me hope…maybe even a brief glimpse of the future.”
“That’s another lesson I’ve learned lately: take it one day at a time because fate has a way of thwarting one’s plans for the future. And don’t forget your parents. It’s going to be a tough battle convincing them about us.”
“I’m prepared for it. For you, I’m willing to fight a hundred battles.” He smiled and raised her hand to his lips, making her heart twist painfully. She couldn’t help but gaze at him in adoration.
“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to have to take you to the nearest hotel,” he said with a shaky laugh and tore his gaze away from hers. A second later, perhaps to get both of them back on an even keel, he changed the subject. “I’m looking forward to reading your articles. I’ll probably go out and get a dozen copies of The Daily Herald.”
“You better! I won’t forgive you if you don’t,” she threatened him. “When will you visit me again?”
“I’d like to next weekend, but I better not. After today you’re even more dangerous to be around. And I don’t want to interrupt either your studies or your writing. I’ll send e-mails instead,” he said, before stepping out of the car and coming around to open her door.
They both stood beside the car, reluctant to say goodbye. Instead they absently observed the small group of young women sitting on the steps, carrying on a heated discussion about something while stealing glances at the two of them. Megha wondered if they’d witnessed the kiss. She doubted it since the car’s windows were heavily tinted and it was dark outside.
“I’m counting on your lucky pen to perform its magic,” she said finally, breaking the silence.
“It won’t let you down,” he promised. “Good luck in your exams.”
“Thanks, Kiran. I’m going to need it. Goodnight.” She turned on her heel and started walking towards the building.
Stepping into her room, Megha turned on the light and ran to look outside the window. Kiran was still out there, leaning against the car, waiting for her light to come on. It was such a gallant and endearing habit of his, making sure she got to her room safely before he took off.
She waved at him. Watching him get behind the wheel and drive away was painful—especially today. She was still shaking from the kiss a few minutes ago. Another minute more and she would have begged him to tear her clothes off and have his way with her. The expression in his eyes had told her that’s exactly what he had in mind, too.
He seemed anxious to marry her, brand her as his own. It felt wonderful to know that. It was also satisfying to learn that he was somewhat unsure of himself where she was concerned. She’d never again be taken for granted. Of course, she wanted all that he’d mentioned earlier—marriage, children and a cozy home with him by her side. But when she made a commitment to Kiran, she wanted it to be on equal terms.
Besides, it wasn’t a good idea to jump instantly from one marriage into another, sort of on the rebound. For a little while longer, she wanted to savor her hard-earned independence, build a career for herself, and enjoy the choices other young women seemed to take for granted. Meanwhile, she had plenty of work to do.
She watched the tail-lights on Kiran’s car disappearing into the distance. “See you in three weeks,” she whispered and started to change into something more comfortable before she could settle down for a long night of cramming for her exams.
A Special Chat with Shobhan Bantwal
Until I left my native India and came to live in the U.S. in 1974, I didn’t realize that my simple life may actually appear interesting to others. I arrived as a young and naive bride in an arranged marriage—naive because I was raised in a strict and sheltered Hindu Brahmin family. Surprisingly though, I was a tomboy, the one hellion among five sisters. But once I got past adolescence, I mellowed and settled down, much to my anxious parents’ relief.
Over the years, my American friends, neighbors and coworkers have asked me curious questions about the way I was married. I had tied the knot with a stranger and thought nothing of it. To me it was the most normal way to get hitched. My parents did some serious research, found a suitable young man from a similar caste and class, compared and matched his horoscope against mine through a couple of astrologers and then introduced us to each other. The rest is history. I’m still happily married to the same guy and very much in love with him.
When I decided to take up creative writing, rather late in life I might add, it was only natural for me to weave my stories around my Indian heritage: arranged marriage, the decadent but still prevalent practice of dowry, Hindu religion, spicy curries, colorful silk saris and exotic gold jewelry. They say you should write what you know, so I’ve stuck to what I know. Also, I’m proud of my rich culture and heritage and there’s so much fodder in it to feed the imagination.
Was I a dowry bride myself? No. My parents didn’t pay any dowry for me or my four sisters. And thank goodness for that! With five girls to marry off, the poor dears would have been in perpetual debt after paying those fat dowries.
I’m often asked why I picked the dark subject of dowry deaths for my book. I have certain reasons: First of all, the subject has always fascinated me to no end. While growing up, I often read news items about young Indian brides burned to death or killed by other means, or simply abused because they had failed to produce the expected dowry. I was horrified by these stories, especially because I was lucky enough to be born in a community called the Saraswat Brahmin caste, a forward-thinking, educated bunch of people who don’t believe in the dowry practice. I wondered what could possess otherwise normal and sane individuals among certain social groups to kill someone for money, especially an innocent young woman whose only fault was to come into this world as a female. My second reason was to enable folks outside India to get a rare peek into an element of Indian culture that’s rarely written about in fiction. I needed to tell the world about it in my own fashion: a story of one young woman trapped in an arranged marriage and the dowry system and her extraordinary journey to freedom. The third is because few Indian authors write mainstream books. Most of them write literary novels that are beautiful but don’t always reach large segments of the reading public. I’m talking about the readership that wants to learn about other cultures, but wants to be entertained at the same time, with stories that have romance, mystery, sadness and humor. I wanted to give those readers something to sink their teeth into. So for all those reasons, THE DOWRY BRIDE became a project that I felt compelled to write. I was probably destined to write it. I firmly believe in destiny, fate, karma, whatever its name is. And I also have tremendous faith in astrology and horoscopes.
Although the term dowry and its practice have been around for centuries, very few modern Americans and Europeans know much about it. It’s the custom of paying a certain sum of cash and/or gifts to the groom by the parents of the bride. The system existed in Asia and many other parts of the world. Regency and Victorian eras were notorious for peers of the realm giving huge sums of money and real estate to marry off their daughters. But Europe abandoned the system ages ago, whereas India still has the unfortunate custom in many communities. In fact, to a large degree, it has escalated, despite laws to ban it.
THE DOWRY BRIDE started out as a short story, my class project for the one and only brief course I took in creative writing at the local community college. When I read the story in my class, my classmates were fascinated by its cultural elements. My instructor thought I had enough characters and material to make it into a book. That’
s all the encouragement I needed to make Megha’s story a full-length manuscript. I never imagined how much I would enjoy writing this story, how much of my heart and soul I would pour into creating my protagonist and crafting her adventures.
The town of Palgaum, where my story is set, is entirely fictitious. But although a product of my imagination, many of the descriptions are based on the small southwestern town of Belgaum, where I was born and raised. As I wrote about Megha’s town, its streets, its shops, its people, and Megha’s home, I always had a vivid picture of my hometown firmly planted in my subconscious, all the way down to its landscape, colors, textures and scents.
Coming to my hero, Kiran, I truly wanted Megha to have a caring yet passionate man to save her from ruin, nurture her and heal her heart after what she’d been through. I needed him to be a true hero. I’m a hopeless romantic and have a tendency to fall a little bit in love with my heroes. And Kiran is no exception. I totally adore my heroes’ virtues, foibles, long noses, thick eyebrows and all. They may not always be macho men, but their hearts are made of gold. To that end, they display many of my own husband’s characteristics.
I’ve been asked why I’ve denigrated the practice of dowry throughout my book and yet I’ve decided to call my contest prizes “Dowry Bags.” That’s because I have a wry sense of humor and calling my raffle and contest giveaways by that name is just my idea of injecting some fun in introducing the book to my readers. Doesn’t everyone like to open a mystery goody bag and find out what’s in it?
Some of my friends who read the manuscript before publication were curious as to why I hadn’t fleshed out Megha’s sisters. Why were they not shown interacting with Megha? Honestly, I didn’t think they would have added a lot to the story. I wanted them to be shadows in her background and her back story. Also, with their stable and comfortable middle-class lives, they would provide a perfect foil to Megha’s own miserable marriage. Consequently, it makes Megha’s life that much more interesting by contrast and that much more compelling for my readers.
Amma’s character is loosely based on someone I used to know when I was a child. The woman was a bit insane and used to scare the dickens out of me whenever she visited our home. To this day I get the chills when I think of her. So when I needed a woman who could be a suitable, evil mother-in-law for Megha, I immediately visualized a person similar to that woman from my childhood. Appaji, Suresh and Shanti were just characters that popped into my fertile imagination. There is no resemblance to anyone I know.
With my second manuscript, once again I plan to use Palgaum as my background. Another interesting Indian topic that’s been swirling around in my mind will be the theme of the next book. Palgaum has a tremendous attraction for me and I want to base other stories there as well. I hope you will read each and every one of them and share them with your family and friends.
Now that I’ve given you a small taste of my culture, my characters and their respective stories in The Dowry Bride, I hope you’ll read my short fiction and nonfiction works as well. My web site, at www.shobhanbantwal.com, has my award-winning short stories and freelance articles, also lots of photographs from India and some of my favorite recipes.
I love to hear from my readers, so please write to me with feedback and ideas, and suggestions for future books at shobhan @shobhanbantwal.com.
Thanks for being such a wonderful audience.
Warm regards,
Shobhan
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
850 Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022
Copyright © 2007 by Shobhan Bantwal
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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ISBN: 0-7582-5287-0
Table of Contents
Cover
Half Title Page
Title Page
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
A Special Chat with Shobhan Bantwal
Copyright
The Dowry Bride Page 36
