Chapter 9
It was a Saturday and we were invited to Sumit’s house for dinner. A celebration dinner given in honor of Aman’s success. So there was no question of refusal from my Side. There were no other guests. Aman and I reached at 8 o’clock sharp. A middle aged man probably his care taker was there at the door to attend to the call bell. He greeted us warmly, and informed Sumit, who entered, dressed in informal attire. He cordially greeted us and made us comfortable in his lavishly kept living room. Silence prevailed everywhere, as Sumit and the servant were the only inmates in the huge mansion.
A glance around the room showed exquisite furnishings, grandeur reflected from every piece of furniture. The huge chandelier that hung in the center flooded the entire room with dim light. An oval table at the right hand corner of the sofa where I sat, had a beautiful crystal glass frame encircling a beautiful picture of Sumit and his diseased wife. The picture spoke of her beauty to me. Everything was spotlessly clean depicting the maintenance of the house
We sat there for some time, chatting about the future plans Of Aman, who appeared to be very comfortable with Sumit. I could see Sumit was trying to be cheerful but his weary eyes defied him and he obviously got a sudden pang of anxiety and then snapped back to normalcy.
Aman went into the lawn to appreciate the beautiful plants and we sat there, Sumit broke the silence, “so Asha, have you come anywhere closer to your decision?”
I was startled by the sudden direct query, but felt my fear fade away into his caring face. I heard myself say, “One day you are married to the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. The next day you are in the storm alone. I know it sounds as if my life can only be validated by a man. But there is no person who doesn’t eventually want the comfort and delight of bickering through life with a loved one.”
Suddenly I felt an indescribable oppression which seemed to generate in some unfamiliar part of my conscience which filled my whole being with a vague anguish. It was like a shadow, like a mist, passing across my soul. I sat there inwardly upbraiding my husband, lamenting at fate which had diverted my footsteps to the path I had chosen. But I had reconciled with a lofty chastity which was my inborn quality.
I had worries, extreme panic attacks. He was so calm and understanding, so logical. There had been no abuse of any kind in my life through him. He had always motivated me, encouraged me, and supported me at times. He allowed me to be upset and crazy, because I liked it. He protected me, admired me, and tried to make me laugh at times. He never annoyed me and even loved me.
I was lost in my imaginations when he interrupted me saying, “Asha, the more you linger over your past the more confused you’ll become. So just forget the past and start a new chapter. This is my advice to you not as your boss but as a friend, as a well-wisher.”
I opened my mind to him once again, “Rohit knew I adored him and he let me adore him for full four years, even when he was having relations with the other woman. No one could fathom the deceit and cruelty beneath that simple face. To tell you very frankly, I don’t want to be the object of sympathy and start a new life with a feeling of mercy.” I wondered who can tell what metals God uses in forging the subtle bond which we call sympathy or might as well call it love.
Then after a pause I continued, “I have never told any of my friends about the brutal beating. None of them know the reason, I have been avoiding them and have ensconced in the middle of nowhere with no view of returning to society anytime within the next decade. I am just wandering aimlessly around in a daze just trying to figure out my life and my future.”
I was astonished myself; at the liberal discussions we had, and my opening up my heart without restraint. After a very tasty and sumptuous dinner Aman and I bid him goodbye and went home. On our way back Aman just passed a subtle remark, “Sumit uncle is a very nice guy. I like him a lot.”
Marriage Of Deceit Page 10