The Dowry Bride (32 page)

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.

All at once the taxi lurched forward, the rear door still open. With the vehicle’s abrupt motion, the fat man’s head knocked against the side of the cab with a dull thud. He cursed, losing his hold on Megha’s hair, but refused to let go of her arm. She tried to pull away from him so she could slide over to the other side of the seat, but he had a firm grip on her arm. The taxi gained speed, going over what seemed like bumps and holes in the dirt and grass of the cemetery.

The vehicle continued to drag the fat man alongside it, his thick fingers fastened on her arm. Megha pressed her back into the backrest and pushed her feet against the front seat to gain leverage in her efforts to fight the pull on her arm. She had to somehow lose the fat man, even if she died trying. Gathering every ounce of her strength, she managed to draw up one leg and kicked him in the ribs.

The recoil motion combined with the taxi fishtailing at that moment sent her sliding over the vinyl seat straight to the other end. The right side of her head and face slammed into the window. She saw stars for a moment. Her head seemed to explode and her arm felt like it had come out of its socket. It was torture. Through her own excruciating pain she clearly heard the fat man’s cry of agony. She must have hit him in a sensitive spot, but she hadn’t managed to shake him off—yet. He now had a hold on her foot. Persistent bastard!

She watched in horror as the taxi speeded up some more, bouncing forward unsteadily in the dark. The fat man must have stumbled on something, or lost his footing, because abruptly he let go of her ankle, and then fell away from the vehicle. She heard a thump as he struck the rear fender before falling off.

The open door hung loose, its hinges squeaking and grinding. Was the fat man dead? She didn’t really give a damn. He was no longer in sight, no longer chained to her ankle, and that was all that mattered. And she didn’t care what direction the taxi continued to go in, as long as it was away from the cremation ground. She was still alive and wanted to stay that way. The same partial sense of reprieve she’d felt when running for her life the first time some weeks ago came to mind.

And the pain…oh God, the pain was roaring through every inch of her body. She knew for sure that her arm was either broken or dislocated. She started to feel faint but fought to keep her eyes open. She couldn’t afford to lose consciousness now. What if she woke up and found she was still under the fat man’s control? What if she woke up to feel flames licking at her?

The ride seemed to last forever, with the driver hunched over the steering wheel, presumably trying to peer in the dark, looking for the main road. Megha prayed some more.

As if in answer to her prayers, headlights appeared in the distance, dozens of them with golden halos around each. Such bright light! She’d never seen anything like it. Had that knock on her head killed her by any chance? Had she died and gone to
swarg?
Heaven?

She hadn’t even had a chance to thank Kiran properly for all he’d done for her. If she’d known she was going to die, she would have told him how she felt about him. He had a right to know that his feelings were reciprocated. She would have made love with him again, experience the sublime beauty of it…one more time. She would have admitted to him that she, too, would have liked to have a child. His child.

And she was too damn young to die! She couldn’t be dead. Perhaps her brain was badly injured and she was merely hallucinating?

Everything after that appeared to go so fast it became a blur. She was vaguely aware of the taxi moving onto steadier ground, slowing down and finally coming to a stop. All at once they were surrounded by vehicles. Uniformed men came at them from everywhere. She heard a jumble of voices, speaking in Hindi, in English, in Marathi, cars honking. Her vision was blurred. Was she going blind, too? She desperately tried to keep her eyes open.

Someone came to the open door, slid into the seat beside her and exclaimed, “She is here! She is alive!”

In an instant the other door opened and two men were untying her hands and removing the gag. Blood pounded in her head. And it hurt…horribly. She screamed in pain when one of the men touched her shoulder.

“Does your shoulder hurt?” he asked her gently. She nodded.
Yes, damn it! I’m dying from pain.
She heard him say to the other man. “She may have a fractured arm or shoulder, no?”

“Looks like some respiratory damage with her breathing cut off,” said the other man.

Despite hearing their murmured conversation, she remained silent, mutely staring at the back of the driver’s seat, shivering. Oh God, it was so cold.

“Breathe!” one of the men said. “Try to breathe deeply.” She tried to do as he asked, but she couldn’t. There was no strength left and the shivering had become more intense. She was freezing. Then, more briskly, the same voice commanded “Breathe!” while he thumped her gently on the back.

“I—I…can’t…” she whispered. She just couldn’t. She wanted to close her eyes and die.

“Please try, come on!” the man urged. “You need oxygen in your lungs.”

It was hard to concentrate, but she focused every bit of energy on breathing and managed to swallow some air. Her chest felt like it was on fire—the pain was that intense. The smell of sweat remained in her throat. She still couldn’t see very well—everything and everyone around her appeared hazy, as if they existed in a dream. And she couldn’t stop shaking. A pair of strong arms hoisted her out of the taxi, once again making her cry in pain. She was in agony.

“Let us get her out of here.” Someone yelled, “Get a blanket or something—she is in shock.”

Then she saw Kiran, or rather someone who appeared to be Kiran, standing among a number of men looking like a row of tin soldiers all exactly alike. They were so out of focus she wasn’t sure if this was not just another hallucination. Was it really Kiran?

“Megha!” Kiran stepped forward, his arms held open to receive her. It was he! It was his voice calling her name. He had been looking for her after all. She knew he’d come for her. Her guardian angel! She promptly passed out.

W
hen Megha opened her eyes, she found herself in the familiar bed in Kiran’s bedroom. Gingerly she reached out to touch the pillows, the sheets, her face and arms, to make sure this was not a dream. She was alive. Alive and reasonably well. Her muscles felt sore, especially her right shoulder and arm, and there were ugly cuts and bruises on her wrists. That was only four days ago, or was it five?

She looked at the bedside clock and grimaced. It was mid-afternoon and she was still in bed!

No, this wasn’t a dream. And what happened to her some days ago was not merely a nightmare either. It was as real as the sounds of vehicles and people outside that open window, as real as the nagging ache on the side of her head. She put a hand up to her temple. Sure enough, there was a lump, still painful when touched. But she wasn’t seeing hazy images anymore. The digital clock’s readout was clear and sharp. Everything else in the room showed a single, crisp image.

She had lived through another harrowing experience. That added up to three: two serious ones engineered by Amma and one minor episode involving a drunkard in a dark alley—and all within the span of a few short weeks. Would there be another? Yes. Knowing Amma and her demented doggedness, she would keep on trying. And if it happened again, Megha’s chances of coming out of it alive were next to zero. Amma wasn’t that big a fool. She’d failed twice and learned from her failures. Plus, even
Yama,
the god of death mentioned by the astrologer, couldn’t be that generous after so many attempts.

Outside the room she heard the click-click of Kiran’s computer keys—a monotonous, comforting sound. He was nearby. He had come for her, to bring her home. When she’d been pulled out of the taxi and seen him, or rather the blurry image of him, it was as if she’d glimpsed heaven. All she wanted to do was hold on to him and forget everything else. She’d done exactly that and then fainted like a weak fool.

She had woken up in a small private hospital that belonged to one of Kiran’s friends, where she’d been treated for concussion and shock in addition to a dislocated shoulder. She recalled screaming in pain when her shoulder was manipulated back into the socket. She clearly remembered Kiran staying by her side, talking to her. He had assured her that her presence at the hospital was a secret. His doctor friend would be very discreet. The next evening, when her vision had cleared up, the shivering had stopped, and her headache and shoulder pain had eased a little, he had carried her to his car and brought her back to the flat under cover of darkness.

She’d been sleeping a lot since then, although Kiran had tried to keep her awake with strong tea and coffee, and pills of some kind. “You need to keep your eyes open…you had a concussion…come on, open your eyes…try to sit up…look at me, Megha. You must stay awake…do it for me, sweetheart. Do it for me.” She could hear his words, especially the endearments, and remembered obeying them as much as she could, but it had been a tough battle.

To her embarrassment, he had helped her to the bathroom several times. The poor man had gone to ridiculous lengths for her.

As she slipped in and out of consciousness, her memories of the last few days were vague and wispy, like clouds. One thing she was sure of—she had talked to Kiran about her past. Although she had kept a lot of it to herself while she had lived in his flat, somehow during her recuperation she had felt the need to confess. Maybe it was the combined effects of the concussion and medicines, or perhaps she believed she was going to die and, just as Ajji had felt the need to confess before dying, Megha had experienced the same desperate need to tell someone. And who better than Kiran, her friend and confidant?

She remembered telling him about her life with the Ramnaths, the nasty barbs from Amma, getting reprimanded for the most ridiculous mistakes, the way Suresh ignored her most of the time and then how, at nights, in the darkness of their bedroom, he would grab her body as if she were a whore. There was no love, no tenderness, not even a kind look or word—just a minor bruise or two around her hips where his thin fingers had gripped her. He would take what he wanted, roll over and start to snore.

She recalled Kiran’s soothing touch, his voice telling her everything was all right now—she never had to go back to Amma’s house, never had to put up with Suresh’s callousness. Kiran promised he would take care of her; he would never treat her like Suresh did; he loved her.

Now recalling the extent of her confession, she put her hands over her eyes. Oh God! She had gone on and on. Her story had been told in bits and pieces, whenever Kiran had fed her caffeine and asked her to talk, to stay awake, and keep her eyes open.

How had all that nonsense about her intimate life with Suresh come into the conversation? How stupid was that, telling Kiran what had occurred in her marriage bed? And exactly what had Kiran thought about her babbling? He must have been embarrassed to death, hearing the shameful details of her life. He had probably wondered what in heaven’s name had compelled him to take her to
his
bed. Ugh! This was beyond embarrassing. She’d never be able to face him again!

Nothing seemed to make sense about what had happened after coming home from the kidnapping. Then, to add to everything, there were the nightmares, more intense than before, more real, more terrifying. Her screams still echoed in her brain. Each of her experiences had been worse than the one before.

Now they were all turning into one giant nightmare—dark and deadly.

The bedroom door opened slightly, making her jump. Kiran’s face appeared in the door. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, but I thought I heard you stirring,” he said softly. Probably seeing she was wide awake, he stepped in. “How are you feeling?”

“Very sore, but otherwise okay.” Megha offered him a smile to prove it. Even smiling seemed to hurt. Carefully she pulled herself up into a sitting position. The room seemed to spin for a second before it righted itself. Oh God! She took a quivering breath. She wasn’t altogether okay yet. “Sorry for all the trouble I’ve been causing you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“When you took me in I bet you never dreamt of all the problems you were taking on, did you?”

Approaching the bed, he sat on its edge. “Your problems are my problems, Megha. We’re a team now, remember?”

“Being a team shouldn’t include having to play nursemaid to me.” The blood rushed to her face. “Or playing psychiatrist, either.”

He smiled. “I don’t mind.”

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you and myself by telling you the nasty private details of my life, Kiran. It wasn’t right. I don’t know what came over me.”

“I needed to know that. I’d been wondering what went on in that dark Ramnath house and how you were treated while you were married to Suresh.” He patted her hand. “I’m glad you told me. Now I have a better understanding of who you are.”

“You’re not disgusted then?”

“No. In fact, I’m proud of how you managed to stand tall despite the humiliation you were subjected to.” He gingerly touched her shoulder. “Painful?”

“Somewhat.”

Tracing a gently probing finger along the bruise on her temple, he frowned. “Still very swollen and discolored. Does it hurt a lot?”

When she nodded, he said, “I promised to ring Santosh and give him a progress report. He said he’d prescribe something else for the pain if it didn’t subside.” He lifted her chin to face him. “Can you see me clearly?”

“Yes.”

“You see only one long nose and one set of beady eyes?” he teased.

She nodded. “And only two fierce eyebrows,” she said, working up a grin. She could also see the way his gray T-shirt hugged his muscles and how the light from the window put a gleam in his hair. He looked wonderful—extraordinarily dear.

His smile widened. “That means you’re feeling much better. You don’t know how relieved I am. I’m not a praying man, Megha, but you had me saying my prayers. I’d forgotten every Sanskrit verse I had learned in my childhood, but one came to mind. I prayed to Lord Ganesh to remove every obstruction from your path. I recalled
Vakratunda Mahakaya Suryakoti Samaprabha…”

“Very impressive! At this rate, you’ll turn into a
pukka,
genuine Brahmin, besides being a search-and-rescue expert,” she told him, trying to keep her voice cheerful. Inside, she was anything but cheerful, but didn’t want to trouble Kiran any more than she already had. He worried about her enough.

“I didn’t rescue you, Megha, the police did. And there won’t be any more danger from Amma. She’s learned her lesson.”

“But she’s relentless. She’ll try again. For some absurd reason she hates me. She won’t rest till she’s cremated me. You heard what Ajji said.”

Kiran took Megha’s hand and examined the bruises on the wrist. “Amma spent a couple of days in a filthy Palgaum jail. My father and uncle threatened to leave her there forever if she did anything more to hurt you or anyone else.”

“Oh, she must have loved that, getting chastised by both her brothers. Her
younger
brothers.”

“She should be grateful. If it weren’t for Papa’s connections, she’d be brought up on charges of attempted murder. The police commissioner has personally warned her about any more criminal activities. Plus, in spite of Papa’s efforts to keep this quiet, her story made headlines in the local papers, embarrassing her in front of her friends and neighbors. Her picture was in the papers, too. She’s afraid to show her face in public now. She won’t come anywhere near you, near us.”

“I’m not so sure, Kiran.”

He continued to examine her wrists. “I had a serious talk with her, too.”

Wide-eyed she looked to him. “You?” She’d never thought he’d go to such lengths.

“I threatened to have her and Suresh put in prison for life if they as much as looked at you again. I even let them think I have the police watching them around the clock.”

“How did Amma react to that?”

“Her eyes bulged even more. I’ve never seen my aunt that petrified in my entire life. Between my father and me, I think we’ve got the monster caged.” With an amused chuckle, he added, “And Suresh—he looked like he was ready to wet his pants.”

Megha started to laugh, although it sent intense pain shooting up her temple and into her brain. “I would have liked to see that.” She patted his hand. “Thank you, Kiran!”

“My pleasure. I rather enjoyed that.”

“What exactly happened that night? How did Amma find me? I’ve been sleeping so much I don’t really know anything other than what directly involved me.”

“You know that little beggar boy on the street near Harini’s house? Amma paid him to keep his eyes open in case you showed up.”

“How do you know that?”

“Amma confessed to the police when asked how she knew where and when to find you.”

“I see.” Megha recalled something. “No wonder that boy wasn’t harassing me or anyone else on the street for money lately. Amma was taking good care of him. But I didn’t think he recognized me.”

“He must have, especially after he saw you there the second time, entering and exiting Harini’s house. He reported it to Amma and she hired some wrestler-cum-ex-convict to kidnap you.”

“And then kill me.”

“I told my father that he should force Amma to see a psychiatrist. Even if psychiatrists were rare in her youth, we have plenty of them now.”

“You know something? I think this latest episode was more a matter of revenge than anything else. The fact that I thwarted her carefully laid-out plans by running away at the last moment was what enraged her. Just like Ajji said, I had made a fool out of Amma, so she had to teach me a lesson and kill me off.”

“Good Lord, I think you’re right! The woman is clearly sick. It must have something to do with the genes she inherited from that bloody bastard who molested my grandmother. I can’t think of any other explanation for why Amma is a psychopath when my father and uncle are gentlemen.”

“But why do I get stuck with the psychopaths of the world?” Megha groaned. “Am I some kind of magnet for such people?”

“What do you mean?” Kiran was frowning at her. “Who else?”

“The drunkard in the street the other night.”

“Oh, that one. You never really told me much about him.”

“I wasn’t in any shape to talk about him that night, Kiran. I was sitting on the footpath, crying and feeling sorry for myself when I noticed him observing me. He had this predatory look on his face. I ran as fast as I could and then jumped over somebody’s compound wall and hid there. He came looking for me. I heard him…and then…”

She remembered it well—the ice-cold terror of being pursued by a man in the dead of night.

Kiran, clearly disturbed by her experience, tightened his hold on her hand. “Did he hurt you?” When silence followed, his jaw tightened, a reflex indicative of rising internal distress, as Megha had begun to discover. Nevertheless, his voice was gentle when he said, “Tell me, Megha. I won’t hold it against you. Remember what Ajji said? If an innocent woman is attacked, it’s not her fault.”

The memories of that night still seemed fresh to Megha, perhaps because her recent trauma had stirred up those images. Or was it because she’d been sleeping and dreaming so much and so vividly in recent days? “He probably would have attacked me, but I managed to escape.”

“He didn’t touch you then?” She shook her head. Kiran let out a deep breath. “Good. Let’s hope you’ll never have to go through anything like that, ever. Three terrifying experiences within a few weeks! You must have set some kind of record.”

“This third time I thought I was definitely going to die. God, it was dreadful…” She began to cry softly.

Kiran slipped his arms around her. “Shhh. It’s over, Megha. You fought back. You did something to make the taxi driver feel guilty and call the police. He was promised a thousand rupees. I guess he didn’t think the money was worth having murder on his conscience.” Kiran tucked her head under his chin and held her close. “You and I will be leaving Palgaum soon. We can put all these nightmares behind us.”

Megha buried her face in his chest. “Maybe. If the nightmares don’t follow me forever, that is.”