“What’s wrong with him? Could he not score himself a virgin? Such a good-looking fellow too.”
With each taunt, Jaya felt like her head was being squeezed tighter and tighter. Anymore, and it would explode in a bloody red mess.
At the gate to her house, she tried to unlock it. But her hand shook so badly that she wasn’t able to slide the key in. Ramu handed the suitcase back to Kovid and held his hand out for the key. Unlocking it, he stepped back. Joining his palms together, he bowed respectfully. There was a hush.
“You will not find a lady of higher moral character.” Ramu said this to Kovid, but it was obvious it was the crowd he was addressing. Then he turned to the crowd. “You are people from big houses. I’m a small man. I have no education. But even I know that it is not okay to judge someone without proof. What has this Amma ever done to you? I’ll tell you what she has done for me. I lost my wife ten years ago. My sons were running wild till Amma stepped in. She helped my older one get a job. In the Air Force, no less. And, if my younger one is studying engineering today, it is also thanks to this Amma. Think about that—the son of a vegetable seller studying engineering. In a proper college. The son of a man who’s only connection with the school is the vegetables he sells to its teachers.” His voice shook with emotion. “This Amma spent time with a young boy from a poor home, giving him tuition for free. She set another one on the right path. All those of you who are here, with what moral authority do you judge her, hanh?”
Jaya closed her eyes, incredibly touched. She hadn’t known how strongly Ramu had felt about the help she’d been able to give his sons.
She also felt humiliation. She was educated. Why was she unable to stand up for herself?
“If I don’t have a problem with this marriage,” Kovid said, staring people down, “why should you?”
She felt a jolt when her eyes fell on Paavani aunty. With an apologetic look, Aunty and Prakash uncle detached themselves from the throng. Jaya watched as they stepped back into their house and closed the door behind them. Her throat was so tight with emotion, it hurt to swallow. When it had counted—this morning for her wedding—they’d had the courage to step up. Jaya couldn’t possibly expect more from them. She closed her eyes and sent them silent thanks.
Kovid said, “I have not had the privilege to study our great books—the Vedas and the Puranas—the great philosophies that attract even people from abroad. But even I know that nowhere is it written that a widow cannot marry.”
Defiantly, Jaya raised her head, looking at those gathered, hoping the contempt in her gaze was evident. She slowly scanned the crowds, meeting people’s eyes, challenging them. Some people met her eyes right back—those were the self-righteous instigators. But there were others, people who were decent in regular lives—they weren’t able to meet her eyes. Heads down, they shuffled away.
Joining his palms together, Ramu bowed to Jaya. “Not all saints come with visible auras.”
With what this man had done for her today, not only had he wiped the debt he claimed he owed her, in turn, he’d placed her in debt; a debt so deep, she wouldn’t be able to repay it in seven rebirths.
Wrapping her arms around herself to contain her trembling, she stepped over the metal threshold of the gate, right foot first for auspiciousness, even in her state of distress.
Kovid followed and turned to close the gate.
“Don’t!”
Kovid looked at her questioningly.
“They’ve already branded me a wanton female. If we close the gate on them in broad daylight, the raging gossip will burn down the town.” Village actually, but that little detail seemed irrelevant now.
Kovid let the gate be.
She led the way in, conscious of eyes burning into her back as she crossed the courtyard, went up the steps to the veranda, over the wooden threshold, into the front room.
“Who was that man?” Kovid asked.
“One of the finest men I’ve had the honour to know.”
* * *
Because the house was old-style, built like a train, with each room leading into the next, the people outside, if they chose to, could still look all the way into the kitchen and into the backyard because of the way the doorways all lined up. Especially now, when Jaya walked through the house, opening up all doors in defiance. She had nothing to hide.
Fortunately, though, only the passageway was visible, not the rest of each room. Kovid took her hand and tugged her to one side, away from condemning eyes. Then he pulled her into his arms.
Jaya buried her face in his chest.
37
Jaya
Madhav pulled out a brand-new armchair. “Sit,” he invited Kovid. Madhav and Shyamala were just back from Hyderabad and looking harried. Jaya and Kovid were here to rescue them from the girls.
“Anna is following our grandfather’s tradition of buying immediate family their own armchairs,” Jaya said. “Tataiyya didn’t buy people their own armchair for just anyone. They had to earn it.”
“Tell me about it,” Madhav grumbled.
Jaya and Shyamala laughed. Tataiyya had delighted in not buying one for Madhav for the longest time.
Shyamala sat on the steps of the veranda deftly twining fragrant buds of jasmine together. Once she had a string long enough, she’d break it up and distribute to put in their hair.
Nina stood next to her, looking intently. “Who are these for?”
“Not enough for the ladies here, so I guess it’ll have to be just the girls of the family.”
“Will I get one?”
Jaya was aware that Kovid was listening intently.
“Did you, maybe, forget to tell me something?” Shyamala stopped the weaving and frowned up at the girl.
“Forget to tell you what?”
She leaned forward and mock whispered. “Are you a boy?”
“No!” Nina squealed.
“You’re a girl. And you’re part of the family. So, I guess, I’ll have to give you one. Now, scram.”
Jaya laughed.
Shreya had managed to toughen even the sweet, gentle Shyamala.
Kovid smiled as the girls all ran to the back of the house.
Shyamala resumed her weaving.
“How has it been?” Madhav asked, his face serious now. “I heard what happened on the day of your wedding.”
Jaya sighed. “Paavani aunty came to our house and apologised for not standing up for me. I bear them no ill-will. When I needed them, they were there. As for the others, things are fine on the surface. But I know, things will never be the same.”
“The vegetable seller, though,” Madhav said.
“Ramu.” Jaya’s throat thickened with emotion. “The debt I owe him is so deep, I don’t think it is even possible to repay.”
“Do you think we should try to help him out financially?” Kovid asked. “I hate to sound like the stereotypical American who throws his money around, but if it helps.”
Jaya shook her head. “I’ve tried, believe me. He’s not that kind of man.”
“He is an avatar of Vishnu come down from the heavens to help you in your time of need.” Shyamala joined her palms together and raised them over her head, in the direction of their altar at home.
“I don’t know why I expected that my own father would be more accepting,” Kovid said. The day of the wedding, they’d packed up, called a taxi and left, destination unknown.
“New ideas are hard for people of their generation to accept,” Shyamala said. She wouldn’t say it to Kovid, but she’d echoed Jaya’s thoughts that Kovid’s parents, and especially Uncle, seemed to be stuck in a time warp. The cadence of their Telugu, their expectations from life, from ladies: it was all stuck firmly in the seventies, back when they shifted to America. Much of India had moved on, but they remained firmly anchored in their nostalgic past.
* * *
It was four days after the wedding, and Jaya was yet to venture out, other than that trip to her brother’s. Reports from well-meaning
busybodies, relayed by the maid, sought or not, continued to arrive. Speculation in the village was rampant.
The maid had decided, of her own accord, that since Jaya’s former father-in-law was no longer available to walk to the local farmer and buy fresh milk, her own husband would do the job. That morning, before he headed out to ply his auto-rickshaw on the highway, the man arrived with an aluminium can of milk. When he lifted it up, Jaya went into the kitchen, returning with an empty steel utensil. He poured out two litres into it, deciding on his own to add half a litre of milk, to account for the extra child in her household.
The man stared at her.
She stared back, daring him to open his mouth.
He turned his gaze at Kovid, who leaned back in the armchair, a laptop balanced on his knees, his legs stretched out and resting on a discarded upside-down rectangular tin of rice.
Annoyed, she picked the utensil up and walked back into the house.
“Is there a prescribed time?” Kovid looked up from his laptop.
“For what?”
“For penitence?” A smile hovered on Kovid’s lips.
Jaya looked at him questioningly.
“For not being man enough. For having moved into your house, instead of grabbing you by the hair and dragging you off to mine.”
Jaya laughed. “You and your American sense of humour.” She sidestepped the girls as they chased each other around the courtyard.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“You people joke when you’re beating each other up, you joke when you’re jumping off cliffs, you joke when you’re pulling the trigger on a gun.”
Kovid mimed a gun with his hand. “Hasta la vista, Baby.”
Jaya shook her head.
Kovid laughed. “Let it go, Jaya. You can’t continue to live your life for other people.”
“I wish I could be as unconcerned about social norms as you.”
“Oh, there are plenty of norms I’m expected to follow. I guess it is easier for me to ignore them here because they don’t hold the same meaning for me.” Kovid leaned back and folded his arms behind him, the muscles in his arms cording.
Her heart skipped a beat.
“But,” he added, “It, obviously, is important to my parents. You don’t see them next door, do you?”
Immediately, Jaya sobered. “I’m so sorry!”
Kovid waved it off, but it was a thoughtless comment on Jaya’s part. His parents were still not responding to his phone calls, SMSes or emails.
This, she knew, bothered him almost as much as it bothered the girls.
38
Jaya
Madhav sat on Jaya’s veranda, the cup of coffee held up to his forehead. “Your daughters wore me out,” he complained.
“Isn’t the time frame for complaining over?” Jaya said. “It’s been a whole week since your trip.”
Madhav shook his head mournfully. “We reached film city early in the morning. I thought we’d finish by four and get out. But no, they had to ride twenty more rides. Those guys don’t close until the dead of the night, and your girls wouldn’t leave till they kicked us out.”
“Your little angel was a model kid, I’m sure,” Jaya said with a complete lack of sympathy.
Madhav gave an embarrassed grin. “Yeah, well. But I can’t complain about her, can I?” He looked momentarily glum. “Anyway, my back is killing me, and my wallet is empty.”
“I thought this was your duty,” Kovid said.
Madhav glared at him. “I will not be questioned.”
“Why?” Kovid leaned back in his chair and contemplated his new brother-in-law. “Isn’t the wife’s side expected to bend over backward? The son-in-law being the king of the compound and all that? My daughter’s chattering in lieu of Jaya’s dowry: I think you’re getting off cheap.” He smirked.
“Ha, ha,” Madhav said, and Jaya laughed.
“Can we come inside, or will we get in the way of your good time?”
An older lady stood at the threshold, frown lines of unhappiness carved into her forehead, like an overstock of lemons had soured her on life. Next to her, the spherical man sweated through his kurta.
Jaya’s stomach dropped. God! Why now?
“Of course, you can come in,” she forced herself to say. Jaya lowered her voice for Kovid. “My parents.”
Kovid stood up awkwardly, not quite sure what to do.
Jaya didn’t blame him. She didn’t know what to do, either.
Madhav hurried forward, reaching for their shoulder bags.
“Don’t bother,” Amma said in a clipped voice worthy of an army Havaldar. She slid the strap of the bag off her shoulder and let it drop to the ground. “We’re staying in Narasu’s house. If you’d be so kind as to call us a taxi when we’re finished.”
Jaya’s gut tightened. It did not look like her mother had come to make peace. It had been eleven years, and their mother hadn’t forgiven Madhav for not marrying the rich businessman’s daughter, the one who would have brought with her an expensive house, and substantial savings account as dowry. Amma’s argument was that they’d paid out enough for Jaya’s dowry, so why shouldn’t they be able to seek it back and rebuild their own savings? After all, hadn’t they paid for Madhav’s expensive education, and wouldn’t his wife be the beneficiary of his parents’ labour?
Jaya wished she’d had the gumption early on to say “no” to the pressure her in-laws put on her parents. The irony was that it was her mother’s cautions—don’t question your in-laws, always compromise—that had emboldened her in-laws. By the time she’d worked up the courage and stand up to them, Anant was long gone. By then, her parents’ life savings were depleted. Amma hadn’t forgiven Madhav for siding with Jaya in her bid to lead her own life, either.
Jaya tentatively approached her parents. As always, her mother’s face and body were rigid with anger. Her father returned her tentative smile before turning apprehensively to his wife.
Jaya waited a beat, till Kovid was by her side. Then she and Kovid bent down to touch her parents’ feet.
Nanna placed a hand each on their heads, but Amma stepped back. “Oh, now you want our blessings? You didn’t have the decency to even let us know you were getting married.”
Kovid stepped forward. “Amma—”
“I know you’re a foreigner, but even you should know I’m not your ‘Amma.’” If Amma’s voice were any colder, they’d all be dead of hypothermia. “If you knew better, you’d call me ‘Attaya garu.’ This would, of course, be the case if you’d come to us for blessings, asked us to perform the wedding for you.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t.” Jaya put a hand on Kovid’s arm to stop him. “You have nothing to apologise for. This is between me and her.”
She turned to her mother. “You know what, Amma? After thirty-seven years on this earth, I’ve come to realise that you truly have no idea what it means to be part of a family. Your idea of being there for me is to find me at my most vulnerable and beat me down to submission. There have been so many occasions in my life and Anna’s, when we would have welcomed a mother for us, a grandmother for our children. But you were holed up somewhere, stewing in your self-righteous anger.” Sadness flooded her being. Jaya tried to shake it off, but it clung to her like slime from finely-diced ladies finger. “You have two lovely granddaughters. Three, now,” she said, stopping to correct herself, grief coating her throat with tears. “But you’ll never know them. You’re the true loser in all this.”
Tentatively, Kovid put an arm around her. Drained, she leaned her head against him. On her other side, Madhav put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve lived my life wanting validation from you. I know now, that will never happen. But that’s okay.” She slid her arms around the waists of her husband and her brother, comforted by their unquestioning support. “I also know that no matter what happens, these two—she nodded at the men in turn—will be there when I need them.”
Her mother stood, frozen.
Her father looked stricken. Jaya was sorry he was distressed, but the time for support from him was long past.
Jaya continued, “You know how you build up all these grievances in your head? The only way you know is to be unhappy. I feel sorry for you that you’ll never know what it is to be loved. And you have only yourself to blame.” She wiped away angry tears.
“And Nanna,” she said, addressing her father. “You were never there when I needed you. I agree, you’ve tried in your own way. But since you cannot stand up to your wife’s bullying, please don’t bother coming back. It isn’t worth the effort.”
She turned to Madhav. “Can you please escort them to a taxi?”
She turned and carefully walked up the steps to the veranda. At the threshold she found the three girls clutching each other, watching her with wide eyes. She pulled them into her arms. She was shaking.
Kovid came up and wrapped his arms protectively around them all.
* * *
Jaya and Kovid were seated in chairs, their respective daughters snuggled up against them, and Shreya on Jaya’s lap, when Madhav returned from putting his parents in a taxi.
He sank into a chair. “That was quite something.”
“It was years in the coming, Anna,” she said.
Kovid raised an eyebrow.
She smiled wryly. “I never thought the day would come when I’d be able to stand up to our parents.”
“You okay?” Madhav asked.
“I feel surprisingly good. Shaken, but good,” Jaya said. “The more I’ve let her, the more verbally abusive and emotionally manipulative she’s become. I’ve reached a point where I don’t have the energy for this anymore. And it’s not like I’m depriving Ananta or Shreya of anything. Since the time both were born, she hasn’t exchanged a word with them, let alone spend any time.”
Daughters Inherit Silence Page 16