Читать книгу The Dowry Bride - Shobhan Bantwal - Страница 9

Galvanized by terror, Megha finally managed to uproot herself and move. She made a mad dash through the backyard—away from the woodshed, away from the house.

They were killers—and they were coming after her.

At first her steps faltered; she wondered if she’d been foolish, perhaps misunderstood Amma and Suresh’s intent. Having woken up slightly disoriented from a deep sleep, had she somehow overreacted to something that had nothing to do with her? Why would anyone want to kill a young and innocent member of the family? It didn’t make sense.

But there was no mistake. She had heard every word clearly—Amma’s remarks to Suresh couldn’t have been any plainer. Their objective was nothing short of execution.

As Megha began to comprehend the grave peril she was in, she gained momentum. She forged ahead blindly in the cloud of fog, with no particular direction in mind, stark fear giving wings to her feet. Every instinct prompted her to keep running, put distance between herself and the Ramnaths and their evil house.

Move! Keep running. Don’t let them find you. Run, woman, her adrenaline-crazed brain repeated furiously. She knew she was trespassing on people’s private properties but she didn’t care. Wet grass, sharp stones, root clumps, fractured cement and thorns grated on her feet. Twice she ran into prickly bushes and trees, tripped and fell, and got her arms and face scratched. But she managed to get up and find her way around them.

Dogs growled at her from the shadows here and there, but fortunately none had pursued her so far. That was all she needed to make this wretched night an absolute curse: a crazed dog taking a bite out of her. Fatigue started to set in after a while but she kept on going.

Time was running out.

Megha stepped on something sharp. It felt like a hot blade slicing into her flesh, sending a stab of pain all the way up her leg and into her groin. She was sure she’d suffered a deep cut, but she didn’t stop to investigate. Shards of broken glass were always a menace on the streets. She couldn’t afford the luxury of stopping to examine her injuries.

Suresh was probably out there, chasing after her. Distance between the Ramnaths and herself—that was all she cared about at the moment. She didn’t dare slow down. She was running for her life. Death was not an option and neither was giving in to weakness.

After negotiating innumerable private yards, she abruptly emerged into a street, gasping for air. Blinking, she skidded to a stop and wiped the sweat out of her eyes.

Streetlights illuminated the houses on either side. In her confusion it barely registered that it was nearly Diwali, the annual festival of lights, and many of the homes had the traditional terra-cotta oil lamps adorning their front steps and their verandas. At least the lights allowed her to see her surroundings instead of running blindly in utter darkness.

Some of the homes on this street had elaborate lighted akash-deeps, the colorful paper lanterns of Diwali, hanging above their stoops. But in Megha’s mind they were objects of no importance.

She didn’t know what street she was on. The homes were larger and more opulent than the ones in her neighborhood, with neatly laid-out gardens and fences and gates. Well-lit streets meant danger—she would be visible, the perfect prey. But, as long as she could feel the pavement under her feet, she would keep moving—until she ran out of steam.

Exhausted and out of breath, she stopped for a brief moment, panting, gulping mouthfuls of air. In the isolation of the dead of night she felt totally disoriented. The nausea hit once again with ferocious intensity. No amount of swallowing the saliva helped to keep the bile down. This time it rose like boiling lava in her throat. Bending over someone’s bushes, she held her head in her hands as her stomach emptied itself out in a single, violent motion. Then she straightened up and stood still for a minute until she felt it settle. Despite the bitter taste in her mouth and the burning in her throat, the sense of relief was enormous.

Her breath became less labored. Wiping her mouth with the edge of her sari, she shifted her throbbing foot and looked down. There was a small cut with blood oozing. But what was a minor wound when her life was at stake?

She picked up the pace again and soon reached an intersection she recognized. She knew the commercial area well. She shopped there often for food and other essentials. It looked different now with the stores dark and shuttered. There was an eerie look about it—a neighborhood she generally associated with dense crowds—the mingling smells, colors and sounds of people moving about in a mad rush, buying, selling, haggling, and arguing. The stray cow that usually ambled up and down the street and survived on fruit and vegetables tossed out by the merchants was missing, too. The lame mongrel that scavenged for food was nowhere in sight either.

She caught her reflection in one of the store windows and stopped short. The sight was so unexpected and alarming, she nearly gasped. It was like discovering a ghost. Her own ghost! Staring back at her was a narrow oval face with huge, dazed eyes, full lips trembling, a bloody scratch on the chin, and a smudge of dirt on the nose. Locks of hair had come loose from her normally neat plait and hung about her sweaty face. Her cheeks looked almost hollow in the murky light, her eye sockets dark and deep. In the tinted glass her faded blue sari appeared gray and rumpled.

What was happening to her? She could hardly recognize herself.

Good grooming had come naturally to her, and despite her meager wardrobe and lack of fancy cosmetics, she had always taken pride in her appearance. She was used to receiving compliments about her looks and dress sense, and yet now she looked like a homeless teenager, combing the streets late at night looking for scraps. A young woman from a dignified family and a decent home had no right to look like she did right now. In less than an hour she had gone from being a bride with a future to a homeless woman. How could that be? It was inconceivable.

Without her wristwatch Megha had no way of telling how long she’d been running, but by now Amma and Suresh had to know she was missing. They would surely set the police after her. Then she’d be arrested and dragged back to her in-laws. That, too, was unimaginable, and yet, it was likely to happen sooner or later. It was the only outcome she could foresee.

She went rigid at the sound of an approaching automobile. The police! Desperately looking for a place to hide, she did the only thing she could: she fell to the ground and crawled behind a discarded cardboard box lying on the footpath. The box smelled of rotting fruit and God knew what else. It was hardly large enough to cover her, but it kept her somewhat concealed from the streetlight. Her dark sari would have to do the rest.

The vehicle, a compact light-colored car, came closer. Her heart thudding like mad, she rolled her body into a tight ball, hoping she remained invisible. God, what if the driver saw her? What if it was a policeman? Or could it be one of Amma’s brothers, combing the town for her?

When the car didn’t slow down and kept going at a steady pace, she let her breath out. Only after the car turned the corner and disappeared did she realize it was merely a passing vehicle and not a direct threat. She rose to her feet. How long could she keep herself hidden?

There was no time to think. She had to run some more. But where exactly could she go? Surely not to her parents—they would send her right back to Suresh. “A married woman belongs in her husband’s home, no matter how he treats her,” her father, Lakshman Shastry, would remind her in that annoyingly righteous way of his, his dark eyes turning to ice. “It is a wife’s duty to remain loyal to her family at any cost.” He’d then escort her to the Ramnath household and abandon her on their doorstep once more like a bag of rubbish. “Now be a good wife to your husband. Behave yourself!” he’d order her, his gnarled arthritic index finger raised like a whip. He wasn’t above using his twisted hand to swat her bottom if necessary.

If she was condemned to die in an inferno, would he even care? With his burden gone he wouldn’t have to worry about producing that wretched dowry. Maybe he’d even welcome the news of his youngest daughter’s demise.

Megha’s mother, Mangala, although a caring woman, was the quintessential Brahmin wife: conventional, obedient, and compliant to a fault. She would support her husband in all matters, even to the extent of letting her child die a gruesome death.

So, what were Megha’s options? She had no living grandparents on either side. Her mother’s two older brothers lived around Chennai—too far for her to travel. And they hardly ever kept in touch with the family. If she showed up at their homes, they wouldn’t even recognize her. The last time they’d seen her was when she was about nine years old. Her father had no living siblings. His two sisters and one brother had died young, and their children were scattered throughout India. Longevity didn’t seem to exist on her father’s side of the family. No wonder Appa talked about dying all the time.

If she went to her best friend, Harini Nayak’s house, the police would easily track her down there. Amma knew Harini was Megha’s closest friend. Besides, she couldn’t show up at Harini’s door at this time of night. Perhaps she could go to her older sister Hema’s house in Hubli? But there would be no bus leaving for Hubli until the morning, and in any case, she had no money for the bus fare. Other than the clothes she was wearing she had nothing. Besides, the bus depot and the train station would be places the police were most likely to monitor.

Without money and support, Amma would have her back in a minute. Amma had made up her mind that her precious son was to become a widower. That way he’d be guaranteed another bride immediately, without the stigma of divorce. And that meant Amma would hunt Megha down and kill her with her own two hands to get what she wanted.

That left Megha with no place to go and no one to turn to. She was alone in the world—completely alone. She had no home and no family to speak of anymore. All at once, desolation struck her. Blind to the dust and debris around her, she sank to the footpath for the second time and buried her face in her hands. What was she going to do?

Hard, painful sobs racked her body as she surrendered to the hopelessness that engulfed her.

Her father would never be able to come up with the dowry. So why had he promised the Ramnaths a dowry he couldn’t afford? How could her parents do this to her? She would have been better off remaining a spinster. Was marriage so important in a woman’s life that cruelty and even death wouldn’t be considered too great a sacrifice? Why did people like her parents insist on having children they could ill afford in the first place? Just so they could give them away in marriage to murderers? Didn’t a precious human life mean anything anymore?

In that instant, she hated her parents with a passion she never knew she was capable of. In fact, she loathed them even more than she loathed Suresh and her in-laws. She could never forgive her father for this. He was a monster for selling her to the lowest bidder.

But she despised herself more than anyone. Why hadn’t she had the guts to stand up to her father and refuse to marry that ass named Suresh? Why hadn’t she lashed out at Amma and her meanness? After hearing about the murder plans why hadn’t she marched over to the neighbors’ house and summoned the police? Because she was afraid.

Once the cathartic weeping fit was over, Megha wiped her eyes and began to think hard and take stock of her situation. Most important, she was still alive. And her chief priority was to stay alive. She had to get out of the immediate vicinity first—find a relatively safe place to hide. Ignoring the small puddle of blood her injured foot had left behind and the throbbing pain, she looked around, trying to figure out which direction to take. And she froze.

A man sitting huddled under a sheet was watching her from several feet away. Where had he come from? Had he been there all along, observing her while she had taken cover behind the box and then cried like a baby? Why had she not noticed him all this time?

When she glanced at him again, he rose to his feet, dropped his sheet and stretched to his full height. He was looking directly at her. Something about the tense stillness of his body told her he was going to make a move on her any second. He had the look of a predator, crouching, silently poised to pounce on its prey. He started to walk toward her. His white teeth flashed at her in the muted light—a sinister smirk that terrified her to the very marrow of her bones.

Dear God, he probably thought she was a prostitute, ripe for the taking! She had never been out on the streets alone at this time of night. She had no idea what kinds of peril stalked the town after midnight. Purely on instinct she shot to her feet. Sprinting across the street, she lost herself in the shadows of a dark alley. The fog seemed thicker there, making it hard to see anything, but she ran on.

She heard the man’s footsteps behind her. He was now running to catch up with her. Since he had probably not expected her to take off so abruptly, he might have been taken by surprise, and that fact alone had allowed her a few precious moments to get a head start. But she was still in serious danger. His feet were pounding the alley’s surface.

Her breathing began to deteriorate into desperate huffing. Nothing could have been more terrible a few minutes ago, she’d thought. She was wrong. Things had just gone from bad to worse, to much, much worse! Just as she was running to save her life from a fiery death, a derelict man had discovered her—was chasing her. I can’t allow him to get me! He will not rape me…I won’t let him, she vowed in silence, staying in motion with difficulty. But how long could she elude him?

Ahead she noticed a large wall looming to her right. A stone wall encompassing someone’s property, she guessed. Sliding to a stop for one breathless moment, she quickly studied the wall. Surrounded by darkness, it was impossible to tell whether there was a gate in it. There was only one thing she could do: climb over the damned wall and take her chances with a vicious guard dog. If she kept running she’d soon be out of strength and eventually collapse. Her hunter would catch up with her. He had looked big and muscular—a man accustomed to the hard, violent life on the streets.

She eyed the wall again. Could she scale it? The man was gaining ground behind her. She could feel his presence closing in. It was now or never. Clenching her teeth hard with the effort, she gripped the top edge of the wall, pulled herself up with one strong thrust and vaulted over it.

With a dull thud she fell into a garden of some kind, wincing as her bottom hit the hard ground and her arms and legs got scratched some more by low-lying plants. Swallowing against the sharp sting, she gave herself a moment to recover then tried to rise to her feet. She couldn’t—her legs were paralyzed rubber. Could she have broken a bone somewhere?

Setting all thoughts of injury aside for a second, she cocked her ears to listen for sounds. The hastening steps were unmistakable. He was coming! She’d made it over the edge not a moment too soon. Her pursuer had reached the spot where she’d been standing mere seconds ago, and come to a stop. She could hear his labored breathing clearly on the other side. Even the combined stench of his stale-liquor breath and body odor was wafting up and over the barrier.

Paralysis worked to her advantage, however, since she seemed to have frozen on the spot, although she hoped her own hard wheezing wasn’t too loud. Even the beat of her heart sounded like drumbeats. With any luck, the miserable bastard was too intoxicated to be able to hear well.

For what seemed like endless minutes, Megha heard the man inhale deeply. Did he know she was on the other side? Is that why he stood there, waiting for her to reappear?

She glanced about in panic, looking for an alternate escape route in case the man decided to scale the wall and come after her. A large house stood in the background, shrouded in dark silence. If there was a way around the house, she couldn’t see it. Thank God there was no sign of guard dogs. Maybe there was a garden tool or a piece of wood or something she could use to defend herself. But it was too damned dark to see anything. The fog was proving to be one hell of a nuisance.

“Kidhar gayi salee?” she heard the drunkard murmur in Hindi. Where did the whore go?

So he didn’t know where she was! Megha exhaled a deep but quiet sigh. Thank you, God! The bum hadn’t seen her leap over the wall after all. Good thing she was wearing a dark sari. And the fog, which she had considered a curse a second ago, was proving to be a blessing in some ways.

She seemed safe for the time being. But she didn’t slump in relief or budge from her spot despite her temporary sense of reprieve. The man was still very much there. She could hear the profanities he kept grinding out and his cough, a deep, guttural, phlegm-packed sound typical of people who smoked beedis: tobacco leaves hand-rolled into tubes that resembled thin cigarettes. A beedi was the poor man’s cigarette.

After a minute, Megha’s brain thawed a little and her numb limbs seemed to come semi-alive. She flexed her hands, wondering if she would be able to climb back over the wall. What if that wretched beast decided to camp out right there for the night?

Another round of panic shot through her when something soft skittered past her feet. Snake? She was terrified of reptiles. Or was it a rat? She hated rats, too. Could it be the blood oozing from her injured foot that was attracting some kind of blood-sucking creatures? She sat still, hoping to play dead. Maybe they’d sniff and go away.

God, what had she plunged into—from the proverbial frying pan into the fire? Only, in her case, it was more like the fire to the frying pan. And how much longer could she hide out in some stranger’s garden? Daylight was only a few hours away.

Time was running out.

She listened, praying the vagrant would give up on her and leave, praying the night creature wouldn’t return with some of its friends to feast on her wounded foot, praying she hadn’t broken any bones and had the strength left to scale the wall once again, praying she could find a place to hide.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, the man started to stir. She waited till his footsteps began to fade away. He kept murmuring expletives under his breath and coughing, which in a way was to her advantage. It told her he was on his way back to the filthy hole he had emerged from. Only then did she crumple in relief for a few moments to think and plan her next move.

Now that the immediate danger had passed, it was hard to concentrate on rational matters. Exhaustion and pain were warring for attention in her body. Her eyelids began to droop from weariness. The thought of running aimlessly through the streets with an injured foot was becoming more and more repugnant. It was tempting to curl up in that bed of dirt, ignore the night creatures and drift into sleep—at least for a brief hour or two. But she fought the urge to rest. She couldn’t give in to weakness now, not after she’d come all this way. She had to concentrate, force herself to focus on what was imperative: saving herself. Think, Megha. Think hard!

Gradually the cobwebs in her mind began to clear. An idea started to take shape as she squatted in the dirt: Kiran. He was Suresh’s cousin—Amma’s brother’s son. Maybe she could go to him for help. Although he was probably one of the most unlikely and unsuitable sources of assistance at a time like this, he was still a decent man, or he seemed to be. He had always been sympathetic and friendly toward her. He would surely not turn her away? Maybe she could borrow a little money from him. A few hundred rupees would be pocket change for a wealthy man like him. She would use the money to get on a bus to Hema’s house and then look for a job there. Afterwards, she’d find a way to return Kiran’s money.

Her mind made up, she carefully pulled herself to her feet, and sighed with relief when she realized her legs and back felt normal, except for a general soreness and the burning pain in her foot. No broken bones. She brushed the mud and rotting garden debris off her sari and with the same motion she had employed earlier, hoisted herself up and jumped over the wall. Once again she was back in the alley.

She stood still and glanced around her to make sure the man wasn’t holding vigil in a corner somewhere. Who knew what kinds of cat-and-mouse games the street bum was capable of? She stood still for a few seconds, her eyes and ears alert. Thankfully nothing happened. He was truly gone.

She started to run once again.