Читать книгу The Dowry Bride - Shobhan Bantwal - Страница 10

Kiran Rao drummed his long fingers on his car’s steering wheel while he grimly mulled over the night’s bizarre events. No matter how he examined the pieces of the puzzle before him, they continued to baffle the hell out of him.

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms to get the grittiness out. It was two hours past midnight and he’d had no sleep. He knew he looked unkempt in the slacks and T-shirt he had hurriedly pulled on, and a day’s growth of beard roughening his face.

Kiran had woken up at five o’clock the previous morning to prepare for an early conference call at the office and put in a long day at work after that. Fatigue was beginning to set in, but he was too keyed up to go home to his bed. Besides, he needed to find out the facts surrounding the mystery and his nagging sense of dread. He had to do what he’d come here to do. Until he found out the truth for himself, there would be no rest for him.

Although his car was parked some distance from his aunt, Chandramma Ramnath’s house, he could clearly hear the uproar inside the home. The two police constables who had arrived on bicycles were still in there, questioning the Ramnath family and taking notes, building a case against young Megha Ramnath, his cousin Suresh’s bride of one year, for spousal abandonment.

Megha had allegedly disappeared, deserting her husband and in-laws.

The front door of the house remained ajar, and a few curious neighbors, obviously disturbed and intrigued by the commotion so late at night, sat on their stoops, listening attentively. Before the sun came up in the morning, the gossip mill would be grinding out all the shameful facts of the Ramnaths’ story along with the embellishments: the pretty young bride had run away from her ugly husband and vicious mother-in-law. They’d probably shake their heads and wonder why such a lovely and refined girl had married into such a hideous and unsophisticated family in the first place.

Wasn’t that the question a lot of people asked? Kiran often speculated about it himself. As far as he knew, her father had fallen on bad times and couldn’t afford a dowry; therefore he had settled for the first man belonging to the right caste who’d take his youngest daughter off his hands.

Kiran couldn’t really blame Megha’s father for trying to do the right thing, but did the old man really have to do something that desperate without giving any thought to his daughter’s future? Had he even made an effort to look any further than the Ramnaths when he’d set out to find a suitable boy for Megha? There were surely other, more eligible young men who’d jump at the chance of marrying a girl like Megha. Instead, she’d been thrust into a dull marriage by her parents.

Somehow Kiran was convinced that Megha had been coerced into the marriage. She would never have voluntarily agreed to marry Suresh Ramnath of all people. Though Kiran held a certain amount of family loyalty for his cousin Suresh, he doubted if Suresh would ever qualify as the ideal husband. Suresh and he had practically grown up together and he knew him like a brother. Suresh was always an impassive, introverted man with no interest in anything but looking after himself. He had nothing to offer a wife emotionally, financially, or intellectually, especially not a wife like Megha. What a bloody awful situation for poor Megha!

Voices floated out the door once again, this time a bit louder. His aunt was always loud enough to be heard two streets away. Besides, Kiran had just come out of that house himself. He’d had more than enough of the emotionally charged scene, so he’d made a quick escape.

At the moment though, Kiran’s mind was on Megha. Where was she? It was hard to imagine she was gone. Sweet, beautiful Megha was nowhere to be found. It was so uncharacteristic of the bright, lively young woman he’d come to know in the last few months that he was still in doubt about her deliberately abandoning her family. Even supposing she had, a young and naïve bride with no money couldn’t have gone too far.

Her parents, who lived only a couple of kilometers away, had been contacted by the police, and apparently they were as stunned as everyone else. They hadn’t seen her or heard from her.

Fear gnawed at Kiran as he speculated about Megha. Could she have been abducted? With her youth and movie-star looks she was a prime candidate for being kidnapped and sold into prostitution. What if right now she was being transported to some hellish brothel in town? Or worse yet, out of town? His hands gripped the wheel in frustration. What could he do to find her with no clues of any kind? The police were already doing their part, but they weren’t particularly bright or efficient or even dedicated to their task.

The DSP, district superintendent of police, was a close friend of the family, and Kiran was tempted to request him to start a more comprehensive investigation instead of depending on those two clowns in there. But that would make people wonder why Kiran was so interested in the case. He couldn’t afford to have anyone suspect why he wanted to be so involved in the matter of Megha’s disappearance. So he’d decided to say nothing—at least for the moment.

He shut his eyes and a picture of Megha rose in his mind: big, dark, trusting eyes surrounded by long lashes, a perfect nose, a smooth, fair complexion, a rosebud mouth, thick, wavy hair woven into a braid that fell to her waist, and the most heart-wrenchingly attractive smile.

An intelligent girl with a keen interest in literature, sports, world events and politics, Megha could hold her own in any intellectual conversation. Her eyes lit up with excitement whenever the topic turned to books and politics. She seemed to know so much about literature and the latest political scandals. Her life’s ambition was to become a journalist. With her natural curiosity and flair for words, she probably would make a first-rate journalist. If only she had a chance.

Megha was a tall woman but a bit thin. There were fascinating curves in the right places, though. Even in simple and inexpensive saris she managed to look neat and elegant. For some reason he always pictured her in an urbane setting. She had an aura of refinement and had never seemed to fit in with the Ramnaths. God, she was uncommonly lovely! And so incredibly cheerful.

She always had a kind word for everyone, even Kiran’s snobbish cousin, Kala, who never missed an opportunity to make snide remarks about Megha’s lack of expensive clothes or sophisticated accessories. Amma, who could put terror into people’s hearts and probably made Megha’s life a living hell, was treated with quiet respect by Megha. And that good-for-nothing, gutless Suresh somehow managed to earn affectionate glances from her. But how did she do it? How did she keep her spirit intact in the face of such gloom and tedium?

He was positive Megha was not the type who’d pick up and run from her family. Something terrible had happened to drive her away, or else she’d been taken against her will.

Kiran had been smitten with Megha since the day he’d laid eyes on her. It was on her wedding day. Like a fool he’d fallen in love with the girl who’d just become someone else’s wife—that someone else being his own cousin. At the wedding, Kiran had shaken hands and congratulated her and Suresh—pretended to wish them a long and happy marriage while envy for Suresh and lust for his gorgeous bride had plagued him all evening. Wow, what a girl! What an enchanting bride Suresh had bagged.

After the wedding, Kiran had tried hard to convince himself that what he felt for Suresh’s new wife was only infatuation, but every time he’d seen Megha she’d seemed more appealing. And every time his reaction had been the same: heartbeat rising, a tight feeling in his chest and abdomen. And the obsessive need to see her, spend time with her, perhaps touch her. As weeks turned into months, he was forced to admit that his feelings were beyond temporary fascination. His was no adolescent attraction; it was full-blown love with all its excess baggage.

And then there was anger, because Megha didn’t deserve to be married to a weak, spineless loser like Suresh—didn’t deserve to be treated like a personal slave by Amma. Talk about life being unfair! Thoughts of a rare illness striking and killing off Suresh had crossed his mind a few times, thoughts Kiran had quickly suppressed. How could he think such awful things about his cousin, the man he had played childhood games with, the boy he had looked up to when he himself was no more than a toddler?

It had bordered on hero worship then, because Suresh was four years older. Suresh could read sentences when Kiran could hardly master the alphabet. Suresh could do multiplication when Kiran could barely add and subtract. At some point, Kiran couldn’t say precisely when, he had surpassed Suresh academically and physically, and then continued to grow and run. That was when Kiran had recognized Suresh for what he really was: a weak, selfish and shallow man with little respect for others. He even suspected Suresh had some sort of mild mental affliction that made him so apathetic. Kiran wasn’t sure what he felt for Suresh—respect, brotherly affection, contempt, anger, pity? Lately, the negative sentiments had overshadowed the positive.

A plaintive wail coming from the direction of the house nudged Kiran back to the present. And with it came the worry and serious concern over Megha’s whereabouts once again. Was she gagged and bound? Was she in pain? Was she sobbing her eyes out in a dark hole somewhere? And the most frightening speculation of all: had she been molested and perhaps even killed? The questions and images that filled Kiran’s mind were deeply disturbing.

Amma claimed that her thoughtless daughter-in-law had run away from home for no apparent reason. Putting on her best distraught mother-in-law act for the policemen, Amma was bawling with all her might. “My husband and I love Megha like our own daughter,” she claimed, her wide face crumpling in what appeared to be genuine pain. “How could she run away from us? We want her to come home. Please find her,” she’d pleaded. Amma was currently continuing the farce with remarkable aplomb. She’d even managed to redden those fearsome eyes to make her grief seem authentic.

But Kiran knew better. Amma wasn’t capable of love, at least not the kind she claimed she held for her daughter-in-law. No doubt Amma had a deep capacity for affection and loyalty to her own flesh and blood. She was generous and kind when it came to her brothers and their families.

Kiran was Amma’s only nephew and the object of her fondness and adoration. In her eyes he could do no wrong. He was bright, handsome, wealthy, and just about the most eligible young man in the state, if Amma were to be believed. She often compared her own puny and pasty-faced son to Kiran in the most crude manner. It left Kiran embarrassed and, despite his mild disdain for Suresh, feeling sorry for him. Poor Suresh’s ego was put through the shredder again and again, and no man deserved that, not even Suresh. But despite Amma’s pounding, Suresh had managed to survive in that strange household.

Survive was the key word for anyone who had to live with Amma. Was it survival that had forced Megha to vanish? Had she been abused by the Ramnaths and couldn’t tolerate it anymore? The thought of what she might have suffered at Amma’s hands made Kiran wince. What about how Suresh may have treated her? As the popular proverb went, still waters could run very deep. Megha had always smiled a lot, showing the rest of them a happy and contented bride’s face. Had that been a façade?

Only minutes ago, Kiran had noticed Suresh sitting silently in a corner, dressed in disheveled blue pajamas, eyes downcast, clasping and unclasping his hands while his mother talked to the police. He had spoken haltingly when questioned by the men. Claiming he had woken up to find his wife missing, and searched for her everywhere in vain, he had gone back to staring at the floor.

Amma’s husband, Vinayak, on the other hand, looked genuinely distraught. He hadn’t said much, other than to mention that he’d been asleep until Amma had awakened him with the grim news that Megha’s bed was empty and neither she nor Suresh could find her anywhere. Uncle was a decent man, but he was henpecked, and keeping his mouth shut was his way of dealing with his aggressive and bossy wife. Amma had her husband tucked firmly under her thumb.

Cousin Shanti, Suresh’s younger sister, blinked, as always, through her thick glasses and serenely answered the policemen’s questions. Very little seemed to affect Shanti, the poor, simple soul. She lived in her fantasy world of poets, playwrights and authors—the world of English literature, her first and only love. Only names like Shakespeare or Chaucer or Whitman seemed to stir her to life. Neither Megha’s presence nor her absence would mean much to Shanti. In fact, due to Shanti’s detachment from reality, she seemed to be the only one who didn’t cower under Amma’s intimidating gaze.

Going back in his mind to earlier that evening, Kiran tried to recreate the scene in the Ramnaths’ home. He and his parents and his other uncle, together with his wife and two daughters, had been invited to dinner at the Ramnaths’. It had been for no special reason other than to socialize as the close-knit family often did, or so it had seemed in the beginning. His folks were extremely family-oriented.

Had there been any signs in Megha’s behavior to indicate this mysterious disappearance? He attempted to analyze her actions minute by minute except for the time she’d been alone in the kitchen. Nothing had seemed extraordinary. She’d been her usual cordial self.

The only thing unusual he’d noticed was that Megha had looked thinner and there were faint shadows around her eyes. In fact, he’d wondered what was wrong, whether she’d been ill. He could tell she had been working hard—her hands, with their narrow, tapering fingers, had looked a bit rough and red.

He’d also observed that she had hardly eaten any dinner. She had cooked a delicious meal and fed them well, but since Kiran was always so finely tuned to her actions and reactions, he’d noted that she’d practically skipped the meal herself.

Then his mind wandered to that odd episode after dinner. Amma had dispatched the men, namely, Kiran’s father, his two uncles, Suresh, and himself on a long walk. “You men should go take a nice walk and digest the rich meal, you know. And Suresh needs the exercise to build some muscle.” When the older men had put up some resistance, she’d firmly pointed out, “Walking is good for the prostate also, no? And the three of you are getting old. Go, go walk!”

Kiran had flatly refused to go with the other men because he’d become suspicious. Amma was up to something. He’d sensed an undercurrent of excitement in her all evening. She had been more animated than usual, more talkative, more manipulative.

After she’d disposed of the men, she had shepherded Kiran’s mother, Kamala, and his aunt, Devayani, into the drawing room and shut the door, making it obvious that something of great importance was about to be discussed. Megha and his three female cousins, Kala, Mala and Shanti, had been told to amuse themselves by playing card games in the kitchen.

Pretending to relax in the master bedroom with a newspaper, Kiran had found a spot where he could put his ear to the wall separating the drawing room, so he could eavesdrop. Somewhere deep inside he knew this secret conference among the ladies had to do with Megha.

What he heard over the next few minutes was disturbing. The walls in that home were rather thin, and thank God for that.

“Megha’s father has still not paid you any of the dowry money or what?” Devayani asked in her nasal drone. His Aunt Devayani was a small woman with an overbite and perpetual allergies that left her with a congested nose and a voice that sounded like a broken guitar.

“Not one paisa yet. And I don’t see any chance of it coming soon. That’s why I’m thinking about this,” replied Amma.

Kiran had wondered what this meant. Exactly what was the old bat planning?

Then he heard his mother’s voice say, “Chandramma, it’s only one year since the wedding. Why not wait a bit?” Kamala was generally the voice of reason amongst the three women.

“One year is more than enough if you ask me,” Devayani sniffed. Amma had mentored Devayani since the time she’d married Amma’s youngest brother, Rama Rao, and since then Devayani had become Amma’s staunchest supporter and friend.

“I have been very patient,” Amma confirmed. “They promised us the money. This is clearly a breach of contract, no? Also, there is the matter of infertility to consider.”

Kiran frowned. Breach of contract? Infertility? Where had his aunt learned such terms? She had obviously been educating herself on these matters.

“A healthy young girl can’t get pregnant in one year or what?” Devayani wanted to know. “Then she must be barren also.”

“Wait a minute,” Kamala interrupted. “The girl gets along well with the family. And she is beautiful and bright, Chandramma. That was the main reason you chose her for Suresh, remember? You always wanted someone just like her for a daughter-in-law.”

“I have considered all those things, Kamala; I’m not a fool.” Amma sounded irritated at Kamala’s words of caution.

“And pregnancy takes time,” Kamala argued, somewhat impatient herself. “It took me many years before Kiran was conceived.”

“That may be, but don’t forget you had miscarriages before and after Kiran.”

Miscarriages before and after his birth? Taken by surprise, Kiran contemplated the matter for a minute. Nobody had told him that and he’d never really questioned why he was an only child. It was something to which he’d never given any thought, always assuming his parents had ended up with a single child because fate had determined it. And well…it had.

No wonder his parents doted on him and the rest of the family treated him like a precious commodity. As the son of the oldest Rao brother, Kiran’s was a special position to begin with. On top of that, his father’s brother had two daughters and no son. As the only male in the Rao clan, it was up to Kiran to carry on the family name. It was small wonder that they thought he was handsome and bright although he considered himself ordinary. Their adoring attention bordered on smothering at times.

Kiran had forced his attention back to the drawing room and its occupants.

“That girl is getting too clever for her own good. She has started to question my actions,” Amma fumed.

“What exactly has Megha questioned?” inquired Kamala.

“Do you know what she did last week? She openly defied me by going next door to that Muslim family’s house when I told her not to go.”

“Oh dear!” Devayani seemed to agree with Amma’s cause for indignation.

But Kamala asked, “Why did she go there?”

“She said she went to help that woman because she had an appendicitis attack.”

“What was Megha doing there if the woman had appendicitis? She needed a doctor, not a housewife,” Devayani, in her infinite wisdom, added.

“But Megha claims she stayed with the woman until her husband came home. She said their three-year-old daughter was crying and she had to do this to help out. I suspect she stayed there to laze, to get out of doing her own work here. When I asked why she disobeyed my orders, she called me selfish and thoughtless.”

There was a moment of silence as the two other women apparently absorbed this interesting piece of information, while Kiran silently cheered for Megha.

“Then she comes back home as if nothing happened. She polluted our Brahmin home by stepping into a Muslim house. That is total disregard for our religion, no?” Amma’s tone was one of righteous indignation.

Kiran nearly laughed out loud. So Megha had helped a neighbor in distress and for that she was branded a villain. Amma’s sense of right and wrong was twisted beyond imagination.

Unfortunately, too intent on eavesdropping to pay attention to his surroundings, Kiran’s elbow had accidentally struck a hairbrush on the dressing table and sent it crashing to the floor. Damn! After that, probably realizing that Kiran was able to hear them, the rest of the conversation in the other room had turned to whispers and gone on for several minutes. Kiran hadn’t been able to catch any of it. That was the part he needed to hear the most, and clearly, it was also the most damaging part of the meeting. And he hadn’t a clue as to what it was.

The only portion he’d managed to overhear at the end was his mother saying with an ominous sense of finality, “Chandramma, please, I beg you, don’t do it, at least for the sake of family honor. Imagine the scandal.”

A sense of dread had engulfed Kiran. The men had returned from their walk shortly after that. On the drive home, his mother had been strangely quiet and contemplative. He’d been tempted to ask her about it, but he knew she’d never reveal a family secret, especially when it involved her older sister-in-law. In old-fashioned Hindu households, one did not betray family, and especially not an elder.

After he’d dropped his parents off at their large, affluent home, Kiran had driven back to his flat. He hadn’t been able to relax or sleep. Something had nagged at him for hours, especially his mother’s last remark: Don’t do it, at least for the sake of family honor. Imagine the scandal.

What could be that scandalous? Was Amma planning to force Suresh to divorce Megha? If that was the case, then it would be a good thing—for Kiran. Megha would be free, and perhaps Kiran would have a chance to offer her marriage in the future. Of course, it was all conjecture at that point. And his parents would never condone his marrying a divorcee, especially one who had been previously married to his cousin.

But somehow he’d sensed that divorce was not what Amma had in mind. If not divorce, then what? He had no idea what she was contemplating, but the ominous feeling in his gut only escalated. Then there was that mysterious bit of information he had accidentally found in Amma’s bag recently. That, too, was something that kept bothering him. But would his aunt stoop to something that evil? It was hard to say.

Megha was in some sort of trouble. He was sure of it.

After considerable private debating, he had pulled on some clothes, hopped into his car and driven to the Ramnath home. It was well after one-thirty at night then and the town quite dead. In all the chaos no one had questioned his unexpected arrival at such a late hour and he was grateful for that.

The scene confronting him at the Ramnath’s made his stomach lurch: lights on; the door open; and two policemen in the house. And his aunt weeping! His immediate thought was that something had happened to Megha—either accident or illness. Or worse?

But after listening to what his aunt and uncle had to say, one thing was clear to Kiran. His instincts had been right. He’d sensed all night that something was wrong. And it was.

Megha was gone.