“I was always proud of you, Jaya. But now…” Madhav’s voice thickened. “Be happy, little sister.”
33
Jaya
Jaya sat up with a jerk, her heart thundering like an express train. She looked at her phone. 2:31 a.m. She reached for the glass of water on her nightstand, gulping it down. Some of it spilled down the sides, travelling down her throat and wetting her kurta. She sat up, agitated.
Grabbing her phone, she WhatsApped her brother. “Diwakar. I never told Kovid about him.” How could something so important slip from her mind? What kind of person did that make her?
Madhav responded almost instantly, surprising Jaya because he turned his notifications off at night. “What’s there to tell?” he messaged back.
“He was obviously attracted to me.”
The phone rang, and Jaya took the call.
Madhav said, “You didn’t encourage him.”
“No, but can you imagine how awkward it’ll be for the three of us? I never knew this thing with Kovid would go so far.”
“Damn. We do need to let him know.” He released a breath as he mused. “Too late to call. Let me WhatsApp him. If he doesn’t respond in time, I’ll call him to make sure he’s seen it, and he has enough time to back out of the wedding, if that’s what he wants. Go to bed. Not much we can do now.”
Jaya curled up in bed. So many people caught up in the misery of her making. Especially Diwakar and Kovid. She didn’t know if Kovid would want to go through, now. If he didn’t, how could she blame him? Suddenly she jumped out of bed, ran to the kitchen and opened the door to the courtyard. She vomited on the steps leading to the bathroom.
34
Kovid
Kovid sat in the courtyard, his back to Jaya’s house. The moonless night seemed appropriate, considering how wretched he felt.
How could Jaya have done this to him? Why hadn’t she said something? Why hadn’t Diwakar? And what did it say about him that he was falling in love with a woman his big brother had feelings for?
He leaned forward, dragging his hands over his face. Something like this, and his first instinct was to call his Diwakar for advice. He could hardly do that now.
He leaned back, eyes stinging. He didn’t know what the right thing was anymore. He looked down at the cellphone. Missed calls from Jaya. Missed calls and WhatsApp messages from Madhav. All day, he hadn’t returned Jaya’s calls because he didn’t know what to say.
2:42 a.m.
In five hours, he’d be expected to show up for the wedding. He had no idea what he was going to do.
A soft touch on his shoulder. His eyes flew open.
His mother stood, looking down at him. Wordlessly, she removed four of her six gold bangles, the ones she’d worn since her wedding forty years ago. Placing them in the palm of his hands, she leaned over and kissed the top of his head.
She left as silently as she’d come.
35
Jaya
Jaya wore her grandmother’s sari, a dark blue silk that she hoped would provide the much-needed auspicious start to her marriage. Coincidentally, Kovid wore a dark blue suit. Together, they looked sombre enough for the Christian funerals one saw in movies.
They stood stiffly, the previous level of comfort between them gone. Now they were just awkward, each clutching their child’s hand. Another societal norm violated. In the natural order of things, there could never be a child outside of marriage. This order of progression being cast in stone, there couldn’t be a greater social taboo than having a child attend their parent’s wedding.
Kovid’s parents hadn’t shown up, though she couldn’t say it surprised her. She wanted to hope that Kovid being here meant the Diwakar issue had been put to rest. But Kovid had not responded to any of their messages.
Jaya felt the weight of expectations as she stood beside her husband-to-be, waiting to sign in the register. With a start like this, what kind of marriage could they expect to have? She gripped Ananta’s hand so hard, the girl protested. Contrite, Jaya eased her hold. This burden was hers alone to carry.
“Child,” Paavani aunty whispered, “You’re pale. Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?”
Jaya nodded. The only way out was forward. There would be no going back now.
Aunty quietly handed her a handkerchief.
Jaya dabbed at her eyes.
“He seems like a good man,” Aunty whispered. “Madhav likes him.”
Jaya nodded.
“Can you make a life with him?”
Jaya couldn’t get the words out. Instead, she nodded.
“Good.” Aunty stepped back.
Jaya worried for the elderly couple. She prayed they wouldn’t face backlash for being here. She hadn’t wanted the girls to be part of the wedding, either, but Kovid would not relent. He told Madhav that it would be too unsettling for the girls to be neighbours one day, sisters the next. He said the ritual would give them a starting point toward blending together as a family.
Jaya was also embarrassed. She was approaching forty, the age one should be preparing for detachment from earthly desires, for spirituality. At thirty-seven, where was the need for marriage? She dreaded the sniggers that were sure to follow.
Madhav, Shyamala and Shreya stood next to Uncle and Aunty, Shyamala’s eyes suspiciously shiny.
“Are the parties ready?” The registrar held out a pen.
Jaya signed her name in the register, looked down at her signature for a long moment, then stepped aside.
Kovid stepped forward. He gripped the pen so hard, Jaya feared it would break.
She held her breath.
The pen hovered. Then he bent forward and signed.
They were married.
Was this all it took to be joined together for a lifetime? After all the tensions of the past few days, Jaya felt a sense of letdown. Where was the drama of the marriage broker, the excitement of the bride viewing, the pre-wedding stress of dowry negotiations? Where was the worry that the groom’s side might walkout from the wedding claiming inadequate deference, shoddy preparations, or meagre dowry? Where were the elaborate rituals, the festivities culminating in marriage?
Her wedding to Kovid was so bland, so vapid, compared to the pomp and pageantry of her wedding to Anant. Then again, her first wedding hadn’t exactly been an accurate portent of her married life.
She wanted to feel happy for her upcoming journey with Kovid; she wanted to be optimistic. But she was afraid. Afraid that Kovid had been coerced into a marriage he wasn’t ready for. Afraid of what society would say.
Madhav knelt and held out his arms to Ananta and Nina. “Now that you’re sisters, it means I’m your uncle, Nina.”
“Really?” Nina squealed and launched herself into his arms, almost knocking him over. “I think I kinda like you.”
Madhav laughed as he fought to retain balance. “I think I kinda like you too.”
Kovid laughed. But it wasn’t a laughter he shared with his new wife.
“What do I call you?” Nina asked.
“I’m Madhav mavayya, and this is Shyamala atta.”
“Cool. Uncles often take their nieces out for ice cream, right?”
Kovid said, “Nina!”
Ananta wrapped her fingers around Madhav’s bicep, staking a prior claim.
Madhav turned to Ananta, tapping a finger on his cheek. “Hmm. Do they?”
Leaning her head against him, she nodded.
“Okay, then.” Madhav gave Jaya a hug and shook hands with Kovid.
Shyamala did the same.
Uncle kissed the top of Jaya’s head. “Be happy.” He looked at Kovid. “You both can touch our feet now.”
Giving an embarrassed smile, Kovid and Jaya bent at the waist, and touched the older couple’s feet, seeking their blessings.
Madhav took the hands of the girls, Nina’s and Ananta’s in one, Shreya’s in the other. “I know it is really difficult, but will you ladies please allow me to take you to Ramoji Film City
in Hyderabad? We’ll have to be away for a few days. Very difficult, I know.”
He winced at the high-pitched squeals of acceptance. He tugged at the girls’ hands, nodded at his wife and said, “Off we go.” He turned back, winked at his sister and new brother-in-law.
Uncle and Aunty followed them out, and the room emptied of officials.
“Well,” Kovid said. He released a deep breath. “Shall we?” He indicated the door with his hand.
Jaya nodded, waiting to follow him out.
“It means that you precede me, while I hold the door for you.” His voice was testy.
Jaya flushed. They hadn’t been married thirty minutes, and cultural differences were already rearing their heads. In an Indian wedding, the man led the woman through seven circumambulations around the holy fire, then in life. Face burning, Jaya stepped through the door of the cement building whitewashed a drab government-yellow, into her new life.
Inside Jaya’s car, the driver Madhav had hired for the day had pushed the seat back. From the sound of his snores, he was fast asleep.
Kovid knocked at the window.
The man abruptly sat up. “Saar.”
Kovid dug into his wallet, pulling out a five hundred. “Take the shared auto home.”
The driver grinned widely and jumped out of the car.
Jaya had been counting on the driver’s presence in the car as a buffer.
“Okay if I drive?” Kovid was awkwardly formal.
She nodded.
He walked around to the passenger side and held the door open.
Oddly touched, she got in.
He walked back and slid into the driver’s seat.
She was surprised that he was willing to drive all the way back. Almost an hour. She knew he didn’t care to drive in India. He’d joked that the traffic signals were mostly suggestions, take it or leave it.
The controls and the gears were on the opposite side from what he was used to. He hit the wipers instead of the indicator, then corrected himself. Putting the car in first gear, he merged into traffic.
He drove just under the speed limit, his body stiff from tension. Jaya wasn’t sure if the tension was from the many crazed lorry-drivers playing the game of chicken, coming head-on as they changed lanes on the two-lane highway, or because of the wedding. Probably both.
Farms whizzed past. She stared at the trees that formed a canopy over the road. The trees were in bloom. Bright yellow flowers of the Indian laburnum framed the sky. Every few kilometres, vendors squatting on the side of the road waved, drawing attention to their fresh produce. She closed her eyes and leaned back. God, what a mess!
The kilometres swept past. Why had she let Madhav drag Kovid into her mess? She was an adult. No one had forced her to meet him clandestinely.
“You okay?” Kovid said.
“I’m sorry,” Jaya whispered.
“For what?”
“For involving you in my problems. And for not telling you about Diwakar myself.”
Kovid pulled over abruptly.
The world felt silent, surreal. The thick canopy overhead enclosed them in an alternate universe of muted sounds.
“I wish you had. Thirty minutes before I was to leave for the wedding, with Nina dancing around me in excitement, right after I’d had another fight with my father, wasn’t the time to get that call from your brother.”
Jaya didn’t realise that Madhav had called. “I’m truly sorry.” Tears pooled at the crevices of her nose, then fell, dampening the dark-blue of her silk sari.
“Diwakar’s my big brother. I deserved better. He deserved better. I wish you’d told me yourself. Did you know he was getting ready to offer you marriage?”
Colour drained from Jaya’s face. “You’re joking.”
“You didn’t know?”
Jaya shook her head miserably. “I’m so sorry.” She looked down at her grandmother’s sari, seeking forgiveness from the one lady who had never compromised on her principles.
“I can hardly hold you responsible for something you had no knowledge of.” Kovid sighed. “To be honest, though, I didn’t find this out from Madhav. My father had already given me an earful.”
“Is that why they didn’t come to the wedding?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m surprised you did,” Jaya said.
“I almost didn’t. I was so angry that you hadn’t told me.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, painfully aware of how inadequate the word was.
“Honestly, I was sitting in the courtyard early this morning, not knowing what to do. Then Mom came out and gave me her blessings.” Kovid met Jaya’s eyes.
Tears flooded Jaya’s eyes. The bright day was so at odds with how she felt.
Both were quiet.
“It isn’t too late if you want to annul the marriage.” Jaya’s voice was timid.
“Is that what you want to do?”
“I don’t want you to feel pressured. There is still time. Ananta and I can shift back to Hyderabad.”
“You’d be okay with that?”
Jaya drew a deep breath, trying to convince herself. “My brother will be only a few hours away by car. My parents live there, as do many of my college friends. I had a well-paying job there. I can get one again.”
“Is that what you want?”
It had been a long time since anyone who was not her brother had asked her that question. She looked through the windshield. There were no workers in the fields, no birds, no cattle. Strangely, no traffic, either. Kovid and she might be the only people in the universe. It served to heighten her sense of isolation. Another tear rolled down her cheek. “No. But I’m sorry I put you in this position.”
“Jaya, look at me.” He tipped her chin with a finger. “You know Madhav and I had a long talk, right?”
Jaya nodded.
“So, I’m telling you what I told him. That I’m not the kind of man who can be pressured into doing anything.”
Jaya nodded again, conscious that, once more, words were trapped in her throat, unable to find their way out.
“Besides, you have my mother’s blessings.” He dug out two pairs of gold bangles from his pocket and held them out to her.
Jaya took the bangles, reverently raised them to her eyes, whispering, “She’s an incredible lady.”
“I know.” Kovid took her hand in his and slid two bangles on her wrist. Taking the other hand, he did the same. Leaning forward, he flicked away the tear. Then he kissed her.
36
Jaya
“In the States,” Kovid said, suitcase in hand, as Jaya and he walked toward her house, “it is a tradition for the husband to carry his new bride over the threshold.”
“That’s all we’ll need,” Jaya said with a shudder, “to cement my reputation as the fallen female.” She didn’t dare look at him, not with all the people around, office-goers who should have been on their way to work, instead setting their feet down right in the middle of the road, balancing their two scooters and motorcycles, gawking at the couple.
“Ok. Yeah, I’ll stick to carrying my luggage over your threshold.”
Despite the tension, Jaya laughed. She sobered quickly, conscious of the people alongside the road, the intense speculation. She could hear lewd comments and was glad Kovid’s Telugu wasn’t good enough to pick up on the crude enhancements to a normally elegant language.
The comments were everything she was expecting, and then some:
“Why is he shifting to her house? What happened to his manhood?”
“The poor fool. Conned into marrying a widow. Like there weren’t parents who would happily offer him their unmarried daughters.”
“Him getting married, I understand. Men have needs. What about her, shameless female? Hankering for such things, instead of spending the next stage of her life taking God’s name.”
Jaya didn’t look up, but she knew the lady that had voiced that last comment—her neighbour with the nine grandchildren.
Kovid walked along, seemingly unconcerned. “Don’t let them get to you,” he whispered. “Don’t indicate to them that they are getting to you. Don’t give them that satisfaction.”
Jaya did not acknowledge his comment, ruing the fact that these people were occupying the spaces where Kovid could have parked the car. He’d been forced to park on the next road because of rush hour traffic, giving these people the opportunity to pass judgement. She tried to breathe away the tension. She would not give them the satisfaction they sought. She would not crumble.
In one of the American shows she sometimes watched, Jaya had encountered the term, “walk of shame.” This was hers—this walk through a crowd of friends and neighbours—people she had lived alongside for eleven years.
“Amma.”
Jaya looked up sharply.
Ramu stood next to his vegetable cart.
Jaya closed her eyes and swallowed. Why did this particular man have to be a witness to her humiliation?
“Hey,” Kovid said, softly.
Jaya forced her eyes open. She would not give this judgmental mob the satisfaction.
Ramu stepped forward, holding his hand out to Kovid.
Kovid looked at Jaya in confusion.
Around them, the buzz of chatter halted. Widening her eyes to halt tears—if she wasn’t able to halt the condemnation by pushing forth the words, she was damned if she was going to push forth the tears—Jaya nodded slightly, pointing to the suitcase with her chin.
Kovid handed over the suitcase to Ramu.
They started to walk, with Ramu walking a step behind the couple.
The taunts resumed:
“What kind of man picks a female over his parents?”
“Why would he want to be saddled with another man’s child? A girl-child, at that?”
These were the kinds of people who, if you met individually, were fine people. They would never speak an unkind word. They gave to charity; they helped the needy. But blend them into a mob, and they were emboldened. This was no different from social media, where regular people hid behind the anonymity being online accorded them, and attacked with viciousness.
Daughters Inherit Silence Page 15