The Dowry Bride (11 page)

“All right, since I have no talent for cooking, perhaps you can cook for me,” he said. “Tell me what you need in the kitchen and I’ll get it. You’re a fantastic cook, by the way.”

Relieved that there was a way to pay him back, she jumped up. “That’s easy enough. I’ll look through your kitchen and make a list of what we’ll need.”

As she began to search through the cabinets, alarm flooded her mind like it had earlier. Why was she fooling herself into thinking this was home, and that Kiran was some sort of surrogate husband? Her situation hadn’t changed one bit in the hours between last night and this morning. Kiran was still a stranger to her in many ways and she was still someone else’s wife. Playing house with this man was not the answer to her problems. Besides, how long could she stay in hiding? A day? Two?

She abruptly shut the cabinet and turned to face him. “Kiran, I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to work. I can’t stay here indefinitely. This is your house, not mine.”

Kiran sighed and shook his head. “Megha, when will you realize that it’s dangerous for you to venture out on your own? The police are looking for you. You have no money, no job, and technically, no home. You could easily get kidnapped and forced into prostitution.”

He seemed to note with satisfaction Megha’s eyes expanding in fear and her quick intake of breath. “Now listen to me. You’ll be safe here. Except for one or two close friends nobody comes to visit me. They come very rarely and never without an invitation.”

“But what will your neighbors think?”

“My only neighbor on this floor is a pharmaceutical sales manager who travels on business most of the time. The other residents of this building are mostly single professionals like me who work very long hours. Nobody will know you’re here. In a few weeks we can go to Mumbai and stay in my flat.”

“Mumbai’s the same situation as here, Kiran. I can’t stay with you indefinitely.”

“I’ll find a hotel or some other place for myself in Mumbai, so there won’t be any impropriety, all right?”

“What about your servant,” she argued, “the one who comes to clean your flat on Sundays?”

“I’ll tell him I’ll be out of town for several weeks and I don’t need him until I come back.” Kiran groaned in exasperation. “Are you finished with the thousand and one arguments?”

“Well…I’m not happy about this. How about if I go to my sister’s house in Hubli? I could go there today,” she countered.

“No, that’s the first place they’ll look for you. Both your sisters will be questioned about your whereabouts. This is still the safest place for you, Megha. Nobody will ever dream of looking for you in my home.”

She nodded reluctantly, digesting everything he’d said. He made a lot of sense. She had no other choice. Last night she’d instinctively come to him for help. It was no different now. She’d have to take his advice and depend on his good sense and generosity, at least until they could come up with another solution.

As she leaned against the counter and speculated, she realized with a pang that she was a ship without destination and anchor. Despite the repressive atmosphere of her husband’s home she’d had her rightful place there as Mrs. Suresh Ramnath. Now she didn’t have a place in life. She was no longer a wife, a daughter or a sister as long as she was on the run and remained in hiding in this flat. How had her life come to this? All her dreams of becoming a journalist someday, even of a simple happy life with a husband and home and children, were reduced to nothing now.

The vague notion about leaping off the balcony flashed through her brain once again. Nobody would miss her. But just as quickly the thought left her. She was a fighter. She’d managed to hold her own against the neighborhood bullies in her childhood, and in her own way she had managed to keep her sanity intact under Amma’s hulking domination. She hadn’t come all this way only to kill herself now. And, contrary to her dark thoughts, there were one or two people in the world who cared about her.

Although reluctant to get in touch with her parents, and with her anger at her father still raw, she didn’t want her mother to worry. Avva would make herself sick with despair if she didn’t know her youngest child was alive and well. She was probably beside herself already if she’d found out about Megha’s disappearance. So Megha sat down and wrote her mother a brief letter, explaining that she was alive and safe, and why she was driven to do what she’d done. She begged her mother not to tell the Ramnaths about the letter.

No return address was indicated on the outside of the envelope and Kiran promised to have it delivered to her mother by special courier. Thanking Kiran once again for his support, Megha breathed an uneasy sigh as she sealed the envelope.

It was hard to think of herself as a fugitive, but there was no other word for her.

V
inayak Ramnath observed his wife as she shifted yet again. Chandramma had been restless ever since she had come to bed. At the moment her clasped hands rested over her protruding belly. Her eyes were shut but he knew she was wide awake. She seemed to be meditating. He wondered if it was her conscience bothering her, but then, as far as he knew, she didn’t have a conscience.

Lying beside her, Vinayak glanced once more at the bedside clock. It was late, well past bedtime. “Can’t sleep, Chandramma?” he murmured.

She opened her eyes. “I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

“About the shame that has fallen upon us. We can’t even show our faces in public anymore, no?”

“Why do you say that?”

“How can you even ask? Our daughter-in-law ran away. God knows whom she eloped with. It could be the sweeper, the one-eyed man who sells vegetables on the corner, the postman…who knows?”

“I don’t think Megha is capable of that. She loves Suresh.”

Chandramma turned her head and aimed a withering look at Vinayak, making him flinch. “Women who love their husbands do not run away in the middle of the night!”

“She must have a good reason.”

Another look of utter scorn was his reward for opening his mouth, so he turned away and let her think in peace. Thinking was just another word for scheming anyway.

Vinayak knew fully well what was going on in his wife’s evil mind. She was plotting her next move: get hold of a solicitor who would file an application for Suresh’s divorce. Chandramma had put out the word that her innocent son had been treated shabbily by Megha—a fine, upstanding man with a promising career and a wonderful family behind him had been shamed by his unfaithful and immoral wife.

As far as Vinayak’s own limited knowledge of the law went, the abandoned spouse had to wait for a year or two before anything could be resolved legally in the divorce courts, but then who could say what Chandramma could accomplish in her quest for a new daughter-in-law with a fat dowry? The woman was enterprising when it came to such things. And she had two rich and influential brothers who knew how to pull a few strings when necessary.

Chandramma had made a deliberate decision not to decorate the house with the traditional oil lamps for
Diwali
or hang the paper lantern on the front veranda this year. Showing the world that the family was devastated by Megha’s disappearance, and therefore in no mood to enjoy the season, was a brilliant strategy on his wife’s part. It was a worthwhile sacrifice for the long run. Soon Suresh would have a new wife and all would be well. Maybe sometime after that there would be a grandchild in the picture. The memory of Megha was already fading into the background. His wife couldn’t have planned it better.

But it made Vinayak deeply unhappy to think about Megha. He had his suspicions about what had happened to her. In spite of his timidity, he was no fool. When questioned by the police, he had pretended ignorance about where she may have gone. In many ways he was glad she had run away—escaped a horrifying death. He had become fond of her. She was so much more of a daughter to him than his own child.

As a young man, Vinayak had often fantasized about having a pretty wife and beautiful, good-natured children. Those dreams hadn’t come true. And then, suddenly and unexpectedly, it seemed God had blessed him with one such special child in the guise of Megha. Alas, the joy was fleeting, like a shooting star that was gone even before one could think of making a wish. Megha was probably too good to be true anyway. His luck had always been rotten.

It served him right, too. He had proved himself useless in protecting Megha from Chandramma. When a young girl came to her in-laws’ house, she was handed into their care. What had he done to fulfill his responsibility towards his daughter-in-law? Nothing. He felt acute shame every time the image of Megha’s trusting face rose in his mind.

Vinayak had nearly become sick when he found out what had almost occurred the other night. Even now the thought made him shiver. He had slept through Chandramma’s planning phase like a fool until he had heard her shriek that Megha had fled from home. “Ree, wake up, wake up!”

Startled by her screaming, he had awakened at once. “What?”

“Megha is gone. That inconsiderate little bitch is gone.”

“What do you mean
gone?
Look in the bathroom,” he had retorted grumpily.

“She has abandoned Suresh.” Chandramma’s eyes had blazed with raging fire.
Revenge
had been written all over her face.

But, like a fool, at first Vinayak had believed Chandramma. He had shot out of bed and called Megha’s parents, her sisters, even her best friend. Then he had gone looking for Megha, walked up and down the street, knocked on the immediate neighbors’ doors, and done all he could to calm Chandramma down. Finally, in desperation, assuming Megha had been abducted, he had called the police. Dear God, what if his young and lovely daughter-in-law had been kidnapped and sold into prostitution? What if she was raped and maybe even killed?

He had actually put his faith in Chandramma’s story. Not because he believed Megha had done anything terrible, but because it was unlike Megha to do something quite so thoughtless. But as he had gone around the house and yard to look for possible clues, he had found the telltale wooden bed reeking of kerosene in the shed and nearly vomited in fear and disgust. It had taken him a few seconds to deduce the implications and then several minutes to recover from his reeling senses. Chandramma had found him there, clutching his throat and staring at the floor. She had quickly dragged him out and brought him back to the house. Then she had disappeared for a few minutes, obviously to get rid of the evidence before the police arrived.

She and Suresh had lied about everything to the police and the neighbors. Chandramma was fully capable of such behavior, but Vinayak’s disappointment in his son was acute and painful. The boy had no backbone, but that he had aided his mother in such a horrific plot was hard to accept. How could he have produced such a callous child? Nevertheless, Vinayak could not betray his wife and son by voicing his suspicions to the police. Besides, there was no solid evidence. Wood and kerosene were part of the supplies always stored in the shed and Chandramma was clever enough to come up with a credible explanation for them. So Vinayak had kept his mouth shut.

The thought of what could have turned into the cold-blooded, gruesome murder of an innocent young soul haunted Vinayak now, and would haunt him forever. The smell of kerosene would invade his senses henceforth. His role in this cover-up would surely hang over his head during his future lives, too. He would have to pay dearly to make up for his lack of courage.

Thank God, Megha had fled! In his mind he applauded her for her brave decision. He had been wondering how she had managed to flee in time. Had she overheard something, or sensed danger perhaps? How was it that she had known about it, while he himself had been oblivious to the whole affair when it was going on right under his nose? Whatever it was that had saved Megha’s life, he was grateful, assuming she had run away and that she was alive and safe.

He had his suspicions as to where Megha might be hiding at present. He clearly remembered the look on Kiran’s face the other day and on other occasions, too. That boy had feelings for Megha. Vinayak had suspected that for some time. Kiran had always eyed Megha with a light of adoration and desire in his eyes and had defended her when other family members criticized or condemned her. Kiran was also a strong and bright man with a firm sense of loyalty, so unlike Suresh. Kiran would be the first person, and perhaps the only person she might have turned to in her attempt to escape.

Megha would be safe with Kiran, if indeed she had gone to him for help. Kiran, with his connections, would help her get away from Palgaum, perhaps even find her a job somewhere far away, where Chandramma couldn’t touch her. Vinayak decided that someday, if God would grant him an opportunity, maybe he could make it up to Megha.

As Chandramma obviously hatched her own evil plans, Vinayak began to conceive one of his own. But he couldn’t put it in to action yet. Not just now, he told himself. He would have to wait for the right moment and then tread with care, or Chandramma, with her sharp mind, would discover his plans and ruin them.

But he couldn’t wait too long. His secret might be out soon.

“M
egha! Wake up, Megha!”

With a shudder Megha came awake from the sinister darkness of the foggy backyard to the brightness of the room, blinking—the scream still inside her throat. Her heart was beating so frantically it seemed ready to jump out of her breast.

“Megha, were you having a bad dream?” A pajama-clad Kiran was bending over her, frowning. His hands were on her shoulders, pinning her down.

Dry-mouthed and bathed in a cold sweat, Megha nodded. “I…I think so.”

“You were thrashing around and moaning. You must have been terrified.”

Puzzled, she looked at him, but then glanced around and realized she was in bed. It all came back to her in a flash. She’d been reading in bed and must have fallen asleep. The magazine still lay beside her. The clock read 11:29 PM.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, Kiran.”

He slowly let go of her shoulders. “That must have been some nightmare. Let me guess: Amma again?”

“It must have been. I don’t really remember.” All she could recall was the dark shadow and its cold grip on her, and the cat hissing and arching its back. Shivering, she touched her right shoulder. It still felt cool.

But the voice at the end…the one that called out to her when she’d screamed for help, she’d recognized it, even in the dream. That voice was Kiran’s.

Kiran strode towards the kitchen and came back a moment later with a glass of water. “Here, drink this. You’re perspiring, you must be warm.”

No, I’m shivering.
The icy water was refreshing nonetheless and she drank it down to the last drop before Kiran took the glass from her.

“Feeling better now?” Kiran still seemed concerned.

“Yes, thanks.” She was glad he’d woken her from that nightmare. She didn’t want to be in the grip of terror like that. She didn’t want to wake up in a cold sweat. “I’m sorry I interrupted your sleep, Kiran. You can go back to your bed now.”

Watching him walk away from the room and shut the door behind him, she realized she wanted him to stay a while longer. Going back to sleep was frightening. It meant more nightmares.

The evening after the nightmare had come to disturb her, Megha stood at the dining room window, her thoughts going to Kuppu. He had appeared in the previous night’s dream, if only for an instant. She missed the cat dreadfully and wondered what the fat little devil was doing. Was someone feeding him, or were they letting him go back to being the miserable, scrawny creature he was before Megha had come on the scene and started to fatten him up? Did he miss her? She knew nobody bothered to stroke his head or talk to him like she did. Starved for affection, he’d loved curling up in her lap every chance he got.

They’d made quite a team since the day they’d met—Kuppu and Megha, both melancholy souls, looking for a little attention. Kuppu had become her companion, and he had responded to her in his own feline way: licked her hand in gratitude when she’d fed him, pawed at her indignantly when she’d ignored him, and wagged his luxurious tail when she’d poured out her heart to him. She prayed he was okay.

Parting the curtains a crack, she took a peek outside the window. Nothing seemed any different out there since the last time she’d looked, only minutes ago. The sun had set a while back, giving way to the velvety darkness that usually came with a waning moon. The nightly fog was rolling in. The houses on either side of the building had their elaborate
Diwali
lights glowing bright. The children in the neighborhood played with seasonal fireworks. Cars honked and bicycle bells jingled to warn careless pedestrians; people walked along the footpaths as they always did. She observed the scene carefully. No one looked suspicious.

But her paranoia lingered; the world closing in on her continued to feel like a steel mantle. And for good reason. From his parents Kiran had deftly managed to ferret out the information that the police were still on her trail. In fact, their efforts had been intensified since Kiran’s father had requested his friend, the DSP, to make the hunt for Megha a priority. Apparently the net had been cast wide. Megha’s sisters in Hubli and Bangalore, respectively, uncles in Chennai, and cousins as far as Delhi, Nagpur, and Mysore had been contacted.

From Kamala’s description of the developments, it appeared that “poor dear Chandramma” was on the verge of an emotional breakdown. Kamala had evidently painted a tragic picture of a tormented Amma, sorely wanting her family to rally around her in her time of need. Kamala had even requested Kiran to pay Amma a visit and offer his sympathies. Kiran had made a token effort to stop by Amma’s house one evening and have a brief but sympathetic chat.

The disturbing fact was that Amma hadn’t stopped looking for her. Megha would never feel safe until a divorce could completely sever her ties to the Ramnaths. Until then she couldn’t let her guard down. And in the meantime she was stuck here, in a sense trapped.

Turning away from the window, she cast a critical eye over the kitchen and dining room. Having cooked one more well-planned meal for Kiran, she was now done with the dishes and the cleaning up. She had always enjoyed cooking, which her mother had taught her sisters and her at an early age. By the time Megha had become a teenager, she’d been able to produce elaborate meals.

Kiran appeared delighted with her culinary efforts. He’d been consuming large quantities of food. Blessed with a hearty appetite, he seemed to enjoy eating. But then that tall, muscular body had to have ample nutrition, didn’t it? He exercised most days by playing an early morning round of tennis with friends and colleagues at the Palgaum Club. So those masculine muscles were in fine shape. Megha liked to see the pleased expression on Kiran’s face whenever he took his first bite of whatever she served for dinner. He’d gone to his parents’ home only once during the week, mainly to avoid suspicion. His weekly routine of dining with his parents had to remain in place if Megha’s presence in his home was to be kept secret.

The kitchen and dining room looked spotless, yet she picked up the cleaning rag and gave the counter tops another quick wipe. It was when the sun went down and darkness descended that she became restless and started to pace—it reminded her of that fateful night a week ago. Amma had clearly been planning the murder for some time. And all the while Megha had been totally oblivious to what was going on. How could she have been so blind, so ignorant? There had to have been signs. Even Kiran, an infrequent visitor to the house, had noticed something different about Amma’s demeanor that evening.

Kiran and Megha had fallen into a routine of sorts during the week. Since he left very early in the morning and didn’t return till late in the evening, Megha was alone most of the day. It was the evenings that presented a challenge. Since the flat was compact, it was awkward the first couple of days. She hadn’t known how to behave around him. He was a stranger yet not an outsider, family yet not a blood relative, comrade yet not a friend in the true sense, a cousin-in-law and yet more like a brother-in-law because of his closeness to the Ramnaths. He’d gone out of his way to make her feel welcome and comfortable.

Initially, the two of them had bumped into each other even as they’d tried to avoid direct contact. But somehow, by the third or fourth evening, they’d found a level of comfort around their mutual presence. By an unspoken agreement they kept out of each other’s way. He worked on his laptop computer or read technical books and reports that were obviously part of his work.

Meanwhile, in an attempt to remain as invisible as possible, Megha confined herself to the bedroom or the dining area and ironed clothes or read one of the countless women’s magazines or books Kiran insisted on bringing home for her. The two of them had watched a couple of television programs together in companionable silence.

The previous evening they’d played a game of chess at Kiran’s suggestion. Megha had enjoyed that immensely. Both she and Kiran were highly competitive and the game had become heated, keeping them up well past midnight. Kiran had won the game, boisterously smug in his victory. Megha had delighted in his mock theatrics while accepting her own defeat. Mostly she’d savored the camaraderie they’d established with just a game. She’d had a chance to become acquainted with a very likeable side of Kiran: his zest for life and his sense of humor. Since she’d grown up with older sisters and not brothers, she hadn’t realized until now how fiercely competitive men could be, even outside of their careers.

Now she had some fresh clothes to wear, too. Pramila Pai, wife of Kiran’s colleague Ashok Pai, had gone out and bought some saris, matching blouses, petticoats, nightgowns, underwear and toiletries for Megha. When Kiran had first told Megha about his plan to confide in Ashok and his wife, she had turned to him agape with shock. “You can’t tell anyone I’m here!”

“They’re my friends, they won’t betray us,” he’d assured her.

“We can’t be sure.”

“Listen, Megha, we have to trust someone. I know nothing about buying women’s things and I can’t think of anyone other than Pramila. She’s a very nice and discreet lady and she’ll get you whatever you need.”

Realizing that she couldn’t live with one set of underwear and one sari, Megha had reluctantly agreed to Kiran’s plan. “All right, but only Ashok and his wife, and nobody else. Promise?”

Kiran had given her his solemn promise.

Standing by the dining table, she studied Kiran across the room. At the moment he had his head buried in the laptop computer set up on the coffee table, his brows drawn in concentration. From his expression he seemed to be puzzling over something. She’d noticed he worked long hours at his office and still brought work home every evening. His briefcase was crammed and he received work-related calls at home, sometimes even in the middle of the night.

Being ignorant about computers and technical matters, Megha didn’t understand any more than the gist of his conversations with his staff. He seemed intense during those phone calls, very focused on whatever issue was brought to his attention. Another surprising thing was that even when obviously riled or disappointed with the caller, he never raised his voice or became abusive. At the same, time he remained firm and distantly polite—quietly conveying his disapproval. On another occasion she had heard him thank his staff and compliment them on a job well done. She also knew he had treated his entire staff to a lavish lunch the previous day as a Diwali gift.

To Megha these were all marks of a good manager. No wonder they liked him so much at his company.

Kiran wasn’t exactly handsome in the conventional sense. His nose was a bit too long and narrow, his eyebrows thick, and his jaw was square and stubborn-looking. And yet his face, with its capacity to break into an amused smile combined with the warmth and humor in his deep-set eyes, had depth and character. Right now he looked rather attractive in a white Hilfiger T-shirt and khaki shorts. The stark whiteness of the shirt contrasted with his tan skin and sharp features. A dense mop of hair that always seemed to curl, no matter how hard he tried to brush it down each morning after his shower, only made him look all the more appealing.

With a mental groan Megha reminded herself it was inappropriate for her to think of her brother-in-law in terms like “attractive” or “handsome.” He was a good man, a generous man, a trustworthy man. In fact, she shouldn’t even think of him as a man. Okay, so he was a relative by marriage, even a friend…certainly a Good Samaritan. And that’s where it ended.

There was a certain strength about Kiran that was comforting. He exuded confidence. Even in her nightmare, she had instinctively turned toward the sound of his voice.

Amma and the rest of the family had always proudly claimed that Kiran was super-bright and that he’d performed exceptionally well in school. He had an engineering degree from the prestigious Indian Institute of Technology and an MBA from an American school. At twenty-seven, he was already an executive at a high-tech company. Everyone in the family knew he would eventually take over his father’s business. He had mentioned heading his father’s branch office in Mumbai. His future seemed bright.

Kiran was so different from Suresh—wonderfully, refreshingly so. Megha couldn’t help making that comparison every time she looked at Kiran.

Perhaps sensing her eyes on him, Kiran looked up from the computer. “Feeling restless, Megha?”

“A little,” Megha admitted, the heat rising in her face at being caught staring.

“Still worried about being discovered?”

She moved to the drawing room and sat down in the chair across from the sofa he occupied. “The thought does cross my mind often.”

He pushed aside the computer and leaned forward, looking her in the eye. “I don’t want you to worry, Megha. Haven’t I promised to protect you?”

“I trust you completely, Kiran, but Amma is a vindictive woman. I’ve lived with her for the past year. When she wants something, nobody can stop her. She’s like a rock hurtling down a steep mountain.”

“I know that. That’s why I want you to move to Mumbai. It’s so big and crowded, she’ll never find you there.”

“Maybe,” she replied with an uncertain smile. The subject of Mumbai sent an involuntary tremor through Megha. It was a big, bustling city, an unknown place. She’d heard about the heat, humidity, crime and poverty existing side by side with unimaginable wealth, tall buildings, beautiful shopping areas, and the beach in Mumbai from friends and TV and movies. She’d never been beyond fifty miles of Palgaum in her entire life. Although she disliked the idea of big cities, Mumbai sounded like heaven at the moment, compared to Palgaum, but it also scared her to no end—the classic dilemma of the known versus the unknown evil.

Assuming she went with Kiran to Mumbai, what would her place in his life be? What was she to him now? Every day she asked herself that. She hadn’t found an acceptable answer yet.

Kiran rose and stretched, then invited her to take his place on the couch. “Why don’t you get on the computer and amuse yourself on the Internet?”

“But you’re still working on it.”