by Zeenat Mahal
“…who cares for looks when there’s money and status?”
“She’s pretty enough, though.”
“…why else…but money…”
Impulsively, she flashed a dazzling smile, and said in a theatrical whisper to Swaba, “I can’t believe I’ve finally got him. I’ve been dreaming of this day since I was ten. I’m so happy!”
The chatter dwindled for a moment. There were jokes, laughter and no one mentioned money again or Fardeen’s accident.
Swaba gave her a big hug and whispered, “I love you, Zee. You’re just the thing for my wonderful but foolish brother.”
Not so sure of that, she hugged Swaba back anyway, and saw Fardeen staring at her blandly. She smiled reassuringly.
He looked away.
***
If there was one thing Fardeen did not want, it was pity. He didn’t want anyone’s charity and he had every intention of making it clear to little Miss Sunshine at the first opportunity. He was never letting anyone treat him the way Neha had. Besides, this marriage was as much an escape for her as it was for him. Or as much her imprisonment as his, depending on how you looked at it, really.
Soon, he and Zoella were escorted to their room by a few of their close friends and relatives, amidst merry banter. Zoella was led inside the room but his way was barred by Swaba, who had the gall to stand with a dupatta stretched across the threshold, wanting money for nek or some such rubbish. Her smile faltered when he glared at her but she didn’t budge. Impatient with the proceedings, he took his wallet out and handing it to her, bit out softly so that only she could hear, “I can end this right now, and walk the other way like I want to, and embarrass your little friend…sorry, your sister.”
“She is my sister now that she’s married to you, Bhai. You’ll be embarrassing the whole family with your juvenile threats and behavior. Grow up! Not everything is about sex.”
She gave him glare for glare and then let him pass. He was too taken aback to do anything but walk in.
Had his little sister just talked to him about sex?
Zoella sat on the bridal bed, looking demure and pretty.
And, Salaar was back.
“Zee, you could bunk with Swaba if you like. Just like old times.”
Titters and laughter met this inane bit of comedy. To her credit, Zoella had tried to smile. Evidently, she had more sense than his brother. This might just work. Not for her obviously. But she’d opted for this. It wasn’t his problem. She wasn’t his problem.
“All right people let’s go. Maybe we should give the newlyweds some time alone now.”
Suddenly everyone was trooping out and then all too soon, they were alone. Now that he could tell her what this marriage meant, he had no idea what to say, or how to say it. He just sat there, looking at everything but her, wondering how to tell her that he hadn’t wanted to add to her misery. It had just happened that both of them had ended up together and would be mutually unhappy for as long as she decided to stay in this marriage.
Before he could manage to say anything though, she spoke up, “Fardeen, I’ve practically grown up in your house, and although I don’t know you as well as I know Salaar, I do know that you like your solitude and your space. I’ll do my best to stay out of your way and your life, if that’s what you want. Or if not…it’s totally up to you…”
She stopped and looked at him, her face briefly showing how troubled she must be.
But like the selfish man that he was, he felt a load lift off of his shoulders with relief that she didn’t expect anything from him. That had been his line, though. He’d wanted to say it and tell her he wouldn’t be bothering her. But with the relief he was feeling, he could afford to have a sense of humor.
Wry humor coming to the surface he responded, “I thought you’d been dreaming of being my bride since you were ten.”
She laughed nervously.
“This wasn’t what you had in mind though, was it?” he said. Why was he pressing her? What did he want to hear? That indeed it was, still? What would that accomplish? She’d already made her position clear. Good for her.
“I really do mean it. I’m not going to be a liability to you in any way, so rest assured…”
“I think your vision may be slightly askew, Zoella. I think we both know who the liability is here.”
He hadn’t yet ended his sentence when she gave him the strangest look. Then she spoke in her little Miss Sunshine voice, “When we were kids some of our friends thought you were the rising sun in all its glory. All of us—them, I mean. It’s not just your looks, it’s you know…everything.”
He laughed. Rising sun in all its glory? How did she have the gall to say things like that? She wasn’t even embarrassed.
“Everything?” he asked, enjoying himself now, almost.
“Yes, you know, the way you talk and dress, very conservative and old fashioned, they thought very attractive.”
She didn’t seem to mind looking at him. She didn’t even avoid looking at his face, or cringe in revulsion. If he didn’t know better, he could almost forget his own grotesque reality, the way she looked at him. Then why had she said…not that it mattered one way or another. He’d have said it, if she hadn’t. He smiled but didn’t say anything. She seemed to have run out of her juvenile confessions too.
She looked so beautiful. Her lips delicate, the upper one a perfect bow. He looked away, concentrating on his breathing.
Silence.
The clock ticked.
Awkward silence.
Then taking a breath, she said in a rush as if afraid she’d lose her nerve, “Don’t let one woman define the way you view yourself, and others. You’re more than just your looks, you know that, right?”
Just like that, the spell was broken.
“I don’t need or want your pity and I certainly didn’t want this—” He stopped just in time.
She didn’t realize, or didn’t acknowledge his near slip and replied in her Little Miss Sunshine voice that was beginning to annoy him.
“I think what you want is a friend. I can be a very good friend, as I’m sure you know already.”
His question came out in a manner that was skeptical, almost accusatory.
“Will that be enough for you, Zoella? You’re a beautiful, young woman, hardly twenty.”
“I’m twenty four!” she sounded insulted.
He had the inexplicable urge to smile, but he didn’t, or couldn’t. Instead, he said, trying not to sound unkind, “Okay, you’re over twenty. So you’ll understand that I don’t think this marriage is ever going to be a normal one. You’re my wife by a twist of accursed fate, Zoella, and I’ll do right by you in every way that I can but please don’t ever try to manage me or my life or expect from me what I cannot give.”
He sounded harsh even to his own ears. She hadn’t meant any harm. She’d been trying to over-compensate, or make him feel better, or whatever the shit it was nice girls like her did for others, but he wasn’t the man he used to be and he couldn’t take a woman’s kindness without feeling bitter.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” she said in a small voice looking miserable.
“Stop apologizing,” he snapped and went to the dressing room.
***
Zoella was filled with a strange sense of loss.
He didn’t offer to sleep on the couch or give any explanations, but he didn’t touch her, and went to sleep on his side of the bed.
Don’t expect this marriage to be a normal one.
She was nothing to him, Zoella realized with that same dead, vast emptiness with which she’d realized that Swaba and she were never going to be the same again. Their paths had forked. Swaba would never understand her ever again, or her dead dreams.
It didn’t hurt or insult her that Fardeen didn’t want her. Zoella knew Fardeen still loved Neha. She’d already known that he mourned Neha’s loss; the loss of the life he could’ve had with the woman he’d almost married. Yet, now that she had evidence o
f it, Zoella felt even more dejected. Determined to salvage her pride, if nothing else, she vowed never to allow Fardeen or anyone else to see the hurt that was already beginning to eat away at her heart. She wasn’t going to be an altruistic cause for him or his family. She would pay her debts.
She turned on her side away from him and stared into the soft darkness of their room. She was to be forever dissected in two, torn apart by the single act of matrimony. One Zoella with a sunny disposition and laughter for the world to see, including her husband—and the other Zoella, the one who knew exactly what she had become—a cipher, merely naught. And the pain of that compromise, no one must ever see.
FIVE
The next morning, and a few after that, were loud, busy, chaotic, and full of little emergencies. Things like who would take the jewelry to the locker? Had Uncle So-and-so left without telling anyone again? Had Aunty-with-the-mealy-mouth made Swaba cry again, and so on.
Gradually, life took on a routine. Wearing the mask of a happy, carefree newlywed who had everyone’s interest at heart, Zoella traipsed around her new home like a glowing bubble of joy. She had a laugh and a smile for everyone, as if everything was as it should be. As if she wasn’t a charity case. As if her once good-looking husband didn’t hate her guts, and didn’t mourn for a lost love every minute of every day.
Fardeen started work the same week. He kept busy with his legal practice and the philanthropic work he’d started after his accident, and which he cared for deeply. He came home late. He was usually gone early in the morning. She sensed he wanted to be left alone. He was marking the boundaries for her. It was okay, she thought. He was hurt. He needed time to heal. She busied herself with preparations for Swaba’s wedding. The busier she was, the less time she had to think. People asked her fewer questions. She saw little of Fardeen. For the time being that was enough.
There were times though, when she began to doubt her happy ending. There were moments when Zoella couldn’t help laughing at her dreams and mocking her unshakable faith in the goodness of people. Those times were rare but they left her shaken. She always managed to talk herself back to her true vocation—faith. Have faith, she told herself repeatedly, and she would smile again. The only time she could still genuinely laugh though, was when she was with Salaar and Swaba. At least until Swaba got married and became a happy, loving wife to a devoted husband and started a life as an equal with him—something Zoella would never have. Until then, she could still laugh with Swaba.
One morning, a week before Swaba’s wedding, Zoella was re-arranging the cupboards to use as little space as possible so as not to disturb Fardeen.
Swaba entered, plonked herself onto the bed and crossing her legs, settled in. Then she looked at Zoella belligerently and asked, “Moment of truth. Is it at all like they say in the romance novels? Or is it really as terrible as Atiya said it was? You’ve been far too evasive. You have to get over your hang ups and tell me…about…you know.”
Zoella had been dreading this. She’d been avoiding Swaba’s questions about post-marriage intimacy with her husband for weeks now. She’d known it would happen eventually, so she had practiced her facial expressions and her answers. Atiya had scared the living daylights out of them with her wedding night scary-story. No way was she sending Swaba off to hers with that in her mind. Somewhere in her now barren heart, she held on to the hope that all those girly dreams they’d shared would at least come true for her friend. Atiya’s story had actually made some of them cry. That horrible husband of hers had been most inconsiderate. Omer would be nothing like him, she hoped.
So she sighed dramatically and replied, “Not at all, Swaba. It’s nothing like Atiya said. In fact, I’d say the romance novels are closer to reality.”
Swaba squealed, “Truly? Oh, thank God. I thought it was just exaggeration.”
Of course it is, Zoella thought morosely. Life wasn’t like that, at least it hadn’t been for her, but she wanted it to be for Swaba. Getting into the mood and her role for her friend’s sake, she gave her voice a dreamy nuance, and closed her eyes as if in ecstasy, “No, no. Not an exaggeration at all. It’s really something. Almost like…finding yourself…or losing yourself.”
Opening her eyes with a theatrical dreamy expression, she glanced at Swaba who was beetroot red and almost choking. God, no, Zoella groaned inwardly. Swaba obviously needed more in order to get over the nightmarish ideas Atiya had firmly planted in their minds. Hiding her resignation, Zoella sat down across her friend on the bed and added, “No need to be afraid, Swaba. It was nice…seriously, don’t worry.”
Swaba nodded and rushed out of the room. Sighing with relief that it was over, Zoella sank face down on the bed.
“Nice? It was nice?” Fardeen’s voice pierced through the silence.
She jerked up. He was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching her with open amusement. “You were okay up until finding yourself or losing yourself but nice? Really, Zoella, I have a reputation to maintain. Couldn’t you have found another adjective? What happened to the rising sun in all its glory?”
She knew he was laughing at her and so she laughed too, but for some strange reason, there were tears in her eyes as well. She tried to hide them but he’d seen them already. He looked embarrassed. How shameful! He probably thought she was dying to have sex with him and the lack thereof was making her weepy!
Oh, dear God. Say something.
“I just thought I should tell her this rather than the truth. It would just embarrass us all I think, and you don’t want to be questioned and I certainly don’t want to explain.”
She couldn’t stop herself from practically digging her own grave. Her voice was now thick with tears. It was impossible to ignore the fact that she was crying.
“I’m sorry, I’ve no idea why I’m crying. It’s not that I want sex. I mean I’m not saying that it wouldn’t be nice…good I mean, if you choose to…but I don’t…if you don’t. What I’m trying to say is that I’m not hinting that you should, just that it honestly doesn’t matter to me either way.”
Then she heard what she’d said and started off again breathlessly, “I mean of course it matters, I didn’t mean that…”
Fardeen cleared his throat, trying hard to repress his growing mirth. “Perhaps, not everyone is as concerned about our intimate life as you seem to think.”
Zoella simply nodded and just melted out of the room.
She heard him laughing as she walked out of the room. He was still laughing when she reached the staircase. Zoella groaned. She was such a little fool!
SIX
Swaba’s wedding soirees were in full swing. Fardeen was too busy to catch more than fleeting moments with Zoella, who was, he suspected, avoiding him actively after the little chat where she had so ingenuously disclosed her…desires? He hadn’t even considered the possibility that she might want to have any sort of physical relationship with him, considering what he looked like now, but it seemed that he may have been wrong about that. Had Swaba been right? Did Little Miss Sunshine still have feelings for him? Even now? For the first time in almost a year, he felt a little like his old self again.
Then the ever present other voice he’d learned to live with since the accident intruded. It may just as easily have been her idea of her duty as a wife. Of course that was what it had been about, he concluded. How gross. It was insulting and just plain primitive. He felt a bitter taste in his mouth. Middle class girls had strangely uncomfortable notions of morality, right and wrong. If an act wasn’t a sacrifice, it wasn’t worth doing.
Human psyche makes its own laws. For many, their minds were their own prison. He was a prisoner too though, and he could barely contain that incarceration from driving him over the edge. He just couldn’t be responsible for this Little Miss Sunshine who’d so foolishly married him without question.
On another such celebratory occasion when he caught sight of Zoella, he experienced that same feeling of quiet surprise at how classically stunning
she was and how completely unaware of that fact too. She glided or romped about according to her mood, her time frame of things-to-do; doing the chores women did on such occasions, which seemed so important to them. Last night she hadn’t come to bed at all, because she had been busy with the maids and his sister decorating the rooms and henna carriers. He had found out later that she had continued even after Swaba had given up and gone to sleep.
Did she by any chance feel that she had to compensate for something? But that was stupid. She couldn’t possibly think she owed them anything, could she? She was perfect and he was damaged goods. If at all, she should realize that she had done him a favor. Was she trying to earn validation? Just the thought made him wince. Dismissing the idea from his mind, he tried to enjoy the evening with a few friends who didn’t stare at him like he was Two-Face.
The next few days passed in a blur of activity and color, laughter and music, exhaustion and obligation, until at last, Swaba went with Omer, laughing while crying. It didn’t seem the same without Swaba in the house, constantly in his way, coaxing or blackmailing money out of him. He noticed that Zoella was quieter, more serious. Obviously, she missed Swaba too. There were a few more days of ceremonial pomp— massive breakfasts, lunches only three hours later, and then those endless dinners where relatives and friends tried to outdo each other, showing off their wealth. He managed to avoid many of those, telling Zoella she could go with his family if she wanted. He was relieved that she never seemed to mind. She never questioned him. Never asked for his time or attention. If it weren’t for her effervescent personality, she’d hardly leave any mark on his life. As it was, it was difficult to miss that throaty laughter or that dazzling smile.
His parents objected though. They were not happy with the way Zoella had given him free rein. He told them categorically that if his wife didn’t mind they had no business interfering. In any case, there were other things on their minds. Like Swaba. It annoyed Fardeen a little that they should give up so soon on Zoella’s rights as his wife. The poor girl was wearing herself thin for them. But, who was he to interfere in her life? She was old enough to take care of herself. In any case the current situation was to his benefit.
