The Dowry Bride (34 page)

L
ooking outside the window, Megha noticed the familiar car coming around the sharp bend in the road. Before it could come to a stop outside the building, Megha locked the door to her room, flew down the stairs and out the front door. She stood at the top of the concrete steps and watched as Kiran parked the car and stepped out from behind the wheel. He was wearing jeans, a dark blue T-shirt with some kind of logo on it, and sneakers. His short hair was a little windblown. His designer sunglasses gave him a bold, racy look. She noticed how the group of girls standing outside the hostel gawked at him.

It brought on a feeling of intense satisfaction to know that other women admired the man who was here to see
her.

She went down the half dozen steps and approached the car with a smile. “Hi, Kiran. Did you have a nice drive?” she asked him, feeling shy all of sudden. It always hit her like this. She rushed out to meet him and then wondered if she was being too forward in making her pleasure at seeing him so obvious.

He peeled off his sunglasses and hooked them on his shirt pocket. “The traffic was manageable.” He let his eyes roam over her for a long, lazy minute before flashing an approving grin.

She blushed. “It’s the sari you gave me for my birthday.”

“And I knew it would suit you well.” He pushed his hands in his jeans pockets, as if to keep them from straying to touch her. The two of them never touched each other in public. Even in private it rarely went beyond a light touch on the hand or the arm.

The girls standing on the steps were staring at them curiously. They had been busy chatting until they’d noticed Kiran stepping out of his car and Megha sailing out to meet him. Then the twittering had come to an abrupt halt and everything had gone quiet. It happened every time Kiran came by to visit.

“I believe the girls are admiring you, Kiran,” she said and inclined her head towards the group of women.

He laughed—the easy laugh of a man accustomed to attention from females. “It’s just curiosity about who I am. I bet they think I’m your boyfriend,” he said, with a wink. Opening the car door, he ushered her in. “Come on, get in before they can speculate any more about us.”

She settled herself in the passenger seat. “We’ll let them speculate then, won’t we?”

Kiran got behind the wheel and grinned at her. “That’s the spirit.”

They went into town for a leisurely lunch at a restaurant popular with students. It was crowded, but they managed to find a table after a short wait. They ordered the restaurant’s famous veggie-cheese sandwiches—fat slices of toasted bread slathered with butter and topped with sliced cheese, tomato, cucumber, and hot-and-sweet chili chutney.

As they ate their thick, rich sandwiches, he produced an ancient pen from his pocket. “Your surprise.”

Her eyebrows flew up. “My surprise…a pen?” She had become used to insanely extravagant presents. She was more than a little surprised to see a weary-looking pen.

“Not just any pen. It’s my lucky pen. I’ve had it all through my high school and college days. I even had it with me in graduate school in New York. As long as I used it for my exams, I got outstanding marks.”

She stared at the pen for a few moments. Then her mouth curved. “Are you saying I should use it during my exams?”

He made a big production of rolling his eyes in long-suffering exasperation. “Why else would I give it to you? You have final exams coming up, remember?”

“How could I forget? It’s just that this lucky thing is so unexpected. You believe in
abshakhun
and all that? I didn’t think you were the superstitious type.” She twirled the pen and looked at him with a mildly challenging look. “Are you…really?”

“I’m the most superstitious man you’d ever want to meet. I make wishes upon shooting stars; and as a good Brahmin boy I refuse to cut my nails and hair after the sun goes down. And, this last one is significant—I never look at a woman if she doesn’t at least measure up to an eight point five on my scale of one to ten.” He stared at her with a deadpan face, his arms folded and resting on the table as he leaned forward to meet her mock challenge.

“I see.” She suppressed the desire to giggle.

“And in case you’re wondering, Miss Shastry, your score on the scale is a perfect ten,” he added with a disarming smile.

The giggle erupted. “Thank you, Mr. Rao. I’m flattered. What about the girl at the cosmetics counter in Dharwar? How did she measure up?”

“Who?” He looked genuinely perplexed.

“How soon we forget! The girl you flirted with for a good ten minutes—the one who sold you the lipsticks and nail polish.”

“Oh…oh, that one. She was barely a four on the scale. I don’t even remember her.”

“Typical male. That poor woman was ready to fall at your feet, too,” Megha said with a shake of her head. She slipped the pen into her purse. “Thanks, Kiran. I’ll return it after my exams are over.” Then she sent him a sly smile. “I have a surprise for you, too.”

“I love surprises.” He put an eager hand on the table.

“It’s not a gift. I can’t afford gifts yet. It’s another kind of surprise.”

“What is it?” When she continued to smile, he said. “Come on, the suspense is killing me.”

She pulled out a letter from her purse and handed it to him. “Tell me what you think.”

He read the letter and let out an excited whoop. “You’ll be writing for
The Daily Herald!
This is better than any gift. A whole series of articles, no less!”

“I couldn’t believe it either. I still have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. The series is titled
Greed and Misdeed—Abuse and Death Stalking India’s Dowry Brides.”

“Catchy title.”

“I called it
Greed and Misdeed,
but the editor wanted the more dramatic add-on.”

“It certainly grabs the reader’s attention. If they put it in bold headlines, they could sell a whole lot of newspapers.” Kiran narrowed his eyes at her, a troubled look replacing the euphoric one. “You sure you want to get into that sensitive subject? You’re just beginning to put that behind you.”

“It’s something I want to do—have to do, Kiran. Literally thousands of helpless females suffer horrific deaths and unimaginable abuse because of dowry. The media calls them Dowry Brides and Dowry Victims. People talk about them and recoil in horror, but nobody does a thing to try and stop them. The legal system is equally hopeless in bringing the hideous practice to a halt.”

Kiran folded the letter and set it on the table. “You’re sure it won’t be too disturbing for you?”

“I’m positive. In fact, it might be good for me, therapeutic in some ways.”

“I wish you all the luck then. I’m sure you’ll do very well. I always knew you could do it. You’re so damned bright.” He laid a hand on hers across the table. “I’m proud of you, Megha.”

His hand felt warm and reassuring. “Your approval means a lot to me.” She was proud of herself, too, come to think of it.
The Daily Herald
was a small but reputable newspaper with a loyal readership, and the editor had offered her a contract after seeing several samples of her writing. Of course, he’d made it clear that editing on their part to suit the layout and audience was inevitable, and they’d pay her the minimum rate based on her complete lack of experience. But it was a start, an exciting first step towards the career in journalism she’d dreamed about for years.

“When does the first article come out?” Kiran asked, sipping his iced coffee.

“In three weeks. It wasn’t supposed to come out for at least two months, but the latest news headlines gave me an unexpected advantage.”

“What news headlines?”

“Kiran, don’t tell me you haven’t heard the biggest and most sensational story of the decade!”

“Am I missing something here?” Kiran pushed aside his glass, looking mystified.

“The bride who had the groom and his family arrested and jailed for demanding a dowry, and then sued them for the pain and emotional trauma caused to her own parents, made international headlines. The media’s giddy about it. The young bride is going to be on American and European television soon. There might be a movie in the works.”

“Oh, that story—I know about that. I must say she and you are two very brave women—crusaders in a way.”

“She deserves the praise, not me. She had enough courage to call the police while I merely ran and hid like a frightened mouse.” Megha made a face. “I’m still in hiding.”

“But I’m prejudiced about you,” said Kiran, making Megha feel incredibly pleased. “I hope your articles will be given a good spot in the paper.”

“I doubt that, since this is my debut attempt. I’ll get page ten or twelve if I’m lucky. By the way, I’ve decided to write under the name M. Shastry. I’ve chosen to remain semi-anonymous for obvious reasons.”

“Wise decision. You’re taking on a daring project here.”

“It’s time the world was told about the horrors of bride and wife abuse.” She looked out the window and sighed. “I’ll be happy if my insignificant articles could just initiate a debate on the topic. If I can just touch a few dozen minds, I’ll feel like I’ve done something.”

“I’m sure you’ll make it happen—stir up public opinion,” Kiran said. He spoke as if he had infinite faith in her.

After lunch Kiran talked Megha into going to a movie. Then they took a long walk in one of the public gardens and discussed Megha’s upcoming articles some more before going to a quiet dinner. When it got dark outside and the street lights came on, Megha looked at her watch. “Kiran, it’s time I got back to the hostel.”

“Already?” He settled the bill and got up from the table. “You’re right. I have a long drive back to Mumbai, too.” They climbed in his car and headed back to the campus.

As always, Megha turned quiet and introspective when their special Sunday came to an end. Although she was the one who had put this forced distance between them, she felt bereft when he left for Mumbai after a day of being together. She fought the urge to beg him to take her with him.

He glanced at her after turning onto the street where her hostel was located. “Something bothering you?”

“It was such a relaxing day. I hate it when you have to leave,” she admitted.

“I know the feeling.”

“You, too?”

“Yes. I miss you, Megha. I love you.” After a moment he added, “I didn’t want to tell you this yet, but maybe I should. A friend’s father is a high court judge and has promised to pull some strings to speed up your divorce from Suresh.”

She turned to him, her eyes wide. “He has?”

“He thinks it will happen in six to eight weeks if things go smoothly.”

If things go smoothly.
Things rarely went smoothly for her, but something in Kiran’s tone made her want to believe him. He never lied to her.

A delicious feeling of warmth and optimism began to spread through her. At last, she could be free of her shackles. She could be a young, single woman again. She could dream, laugh and do whatever she wanted, including flirting with Kiran. On an impulse she did something she’d never done before. Leaning over, she kissed him on the cheek. It was a light and brief kiss, just a brush of lips on his skin. “Thank you. I don’t know what else to say.”

Obviously pleased and surprised at her unexpected gesture, he in turn grasped her hand and placed a kiss in her palm. He couldn’t do any more than that while driving in traffic. “No need to thank me. Just say you’ll marry me as soon as you’re free.” Probably wondering if he’d said the wrong thing, he cast a quick, hesitant glance at her.

She smiled at him. “Let’s get the divorce out of the way first, shall we?”

They drove in silence until the hostel came into view.

She touched his arm. “Kiran.”

“Hmm?”

“I…I love you, too.”

Kiran’s foot seemed to trip over the brake and the car skidded to a stop before her building, scattering the gravel underneath. He turned to her slowly. “You mean that?”

“You know I do.”

“You’ve never admitted it before.”

“That’s because I didn’t have a right to.” She looked away. “I still don’t.”

“You have every right to express your feelings, Megha, and I needed to hear that.” He cupped her face in one hand and turned it around, forcing her to look at him. “You know I’ve loved you for a long, long time. I always will.”

“I’ve loved you, too,” she said quietly, “a long time.” It felt strange to say it at last. Women weren’t supposed to express their feelings so openly, and neither were men for that matter. But then her life had been anything but the norm. And the world had changed. Kiran was a modern man with a westernized outlook on life. He even believed in something called Valentine’s Day and he’d bought her red roses to celebrate the event. Besides, if Kiran could be so candid in expressing his feelings, why couldn’t she? It was well worth it, too, just to see the look of joy spring into his eyes.

“Glad to finally hear that after all these years of waiting, Miss M. Shastry,” he teased. “So come here—show me you mean it.” He put his hands around her face and brought his mouth down over hers. He kissed her thoroughly, making her slip her arms around his neck and cling to him.

She never wanted the kiss to end. They hadn’t kissed in well over two years. There was so much hunger there, such intense need. She felt like a starving woman who hadn’t eaten in months and was suddenly offered a morsel. And from the way Kiran’s mouth moved over hers, she knew he was just as starved as she. She pressed as close to him as she could get over the gearshift separating them.

“Umm, I do believe you mean it,” he said finally and let her go with great reluctance. The look in his eyes was one of raw desire. “God, it’s hard staying away from you. You know how frustrating that is?”

Her heartbeat sounding like war drums, she nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“All the more reason why we should get married as soon as possible.”

She didn’t want to address that topic at the moment. “There’s plenty of time for that.”

“Uh-uh. Life is short, Megha. And I want to give you everything you deserve and want: a comfortable home, a garden, children, books, a cat…whatever. I want us to be together for the rest of our lives.”