Duty and Desire

by Anju Gattani

  Kavita hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

  Maybe she was worried about being found by her parents? “Surely you can make time to meet for coffee?” Sheetal was anxious to discover how Kavita and Gaurav had accomplished their marriage feat without telling anyone—not even her and Arvind, their closest friends. Sheetal had found out when Kavita’s mom called to ask if she knew of Kavita’s whereabouts because she’d been missing for two days. Sheetal later heard through the college grapevine that the two had eloped.

  Kavita paused. “I’ll have to see.”

  “You must be so happy you’re finally— You got what you wanted.” She cupped her hand around the receiver. “You’re with Gaurav.”

  “It’s hard to believe we’re married. We had to fight to stick together.”

  “Sheetal?”

  Sheetal whipped round to see Mama at the door. “I’ll talk to you later.” She returned the receiver to its cradle.

  “Who were you talking to?” Mama asked.

  “Nupur,” she lied. If she mentioned Kavita, Mama would start again about how Kavita had disobeyed her parents and brought shame to the family.

  Marriage was not just a phase in life, but a holy sacrament binding a man and woman for life. Children were expected to marry the person chosen by their parents.

  However, after hearing the happiness in Kavita’s voice, Sheetal knew she stood a chance at happiness if she could muster the courage to defy her parents.

  “There’s a few things we need to talk about.” Mama entered the room, sat on the bed, and patted the mattress. “Come sit, Beti,” she used the term of affection parents lavished on their daughters. “We need to finalize the saris and salwar suits and…”

  Mama referred to Sheetal’s dowry. With the wedding four months away and numerous functions and rituals to coordinate, Mama wanted to check off as many tasks as she possibly could to stay ahead of deadlines.

  “I can’t believe how quickly your wedding day is approaching.”

  Anger rose. Sheetal couldn’t believe it either.

  “Your father’s been in his den, working around the clock, coordinating the wedding plans,” Mama went on. Her milky pale complexion was a stark contrast to the evening sky.

  Sheetal’s room, located above Rana’s ground-floor den, both located in the Prasad Bhavan’s main tower, offered the best view of the ten-acre estate. Windows of both rooms faced the front lawn, driveway and topiary hedge, and their balconies faced the backyard. Two double-story, rectangular wings branched left and right off the tower in a V that reached toward Rosewood Street like a pair of open arms. The stone wall that encircled the estate separated the Prasads’ home from Raigun City.

  Six servants, two gardeners, a chef, and a personal maid, Preeti, were the comforts Sheetal had grown up with. Sheetal merely asked for something and it was hers; except, six months ago, when she asked to marry Arvind.

  “I’ll have to call the tailor for the blouse fittings and go with your father first thing tomorrow to meet with the decorators and—”

  “This marriage isn’t right,” Sheetal broke in.

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t feel right. Don’t make me do this. I hate Rakesh.”

  “You will learn to love him over time.”

  “’Meet Rakesh,’ you said. I did. ‘Go out with him a second time.’ I did.”

  Papa had introduced Rakesh to her at a friend’s party. The second time, she and Rakesh met at a restaurant for lunch. Despite being chaperoned by two of Sheetal’s cousins, they dined in private, talked over lunch, and got to know a little about each other. According to Mama, Rakesh was blessed with charm, wit, gracious manners, and an athletic body, but sixty-six minutes with him had been more than enough.

  “He’s so mean. Rude. Self-centered. So…so…”—her breathing grew erratic—“full of himself!”

  “You’re forgetting all the virtues a woman can only dream of in a husband.” Mama rose, spun on her heels and headed for the door, her green sari pallu whipping the air like a snake.

  Sheetal followed.

  “An M.B.A. from Harvard,” Mama went on. “The most eligible and wealthy bachelor in Raigun. So well known, respected, and acknowledged by society. Memberships in every prestigious club…”

  Sheetal hurried to keep pace, fed up with the countless blessings she was reminded she perpetually took for granted. “I could study further,” she pleaded. “Work. Get a job like other girls do and—”

  “They need the money to support their families. You have everything you need. It’s how lucky you have been.” Mama stormed down the corridor as she shook her head. “Your father spent his whole life working hard…”

  There it was again, the how-hard-Papa-worked line.

  “Now you want to bring the family shame like Kavita? After everything we have done for you? And prove what?” Mama took the stairs, the heels of her slippers kicking the hem of her sari.

  Nothing! Sheetal grit her teeth and followed. She had never had to prove anything to anyone. Not even to herself. She had a Master’s degree in Arts and she wanted to continue her education, but Mama and Papa insisted she marry young and mold quickly to the ways of her prospective in-laws.

  Sheetal wasn’t sure what Mama and Papa wanted her to mold toward—their way of thinking or the Dhanrajs’s. And whose after?

  “Women from our type—our class—don’t go out to work.” Mama took a left at the landing and marched down the carpeted hallway. “Most people would die to have a fraction of what you do and you’re ready to throw it all away?” She stopped, turned and took a deep breath. “I just don’t understand you.”

  “But Mama, listen—”

  Mama’s glare made Sheetal cringe. “It’s Arvind, isn’t it?”

  Sheetal’s heart sank at the spiteful tone and glare.

  “Ours is a centuries-old tradition. You will follow the ancestors and marry the man we have chosen. Is it so wrong if we expect that from you?”

  Sheetal didn’t want their outdated tradition. India had stepped into the global world. Women had torn down walls of class and culture to marry for love, to pursue their careers and live their dreams. How did it matter that she’d been loyal and chaste, qualities Mama and Papa demanded she uphold because she was a good Indian woman from a good Indian family? Being good only forced her to do even more good for the family.

  Mama led her into the dining room, where floor-to-ceiling windows and a glass door flooded the room with sunlight and provided a view of the patio and the backyard beyond. Then she closed the wooden doors behind them with a thud and turned the deadbolt. “You are not like other girls. We’re doing what’s right. What’s best for you.”

  Sheetal’s chest tightened and she looked into Mama’s eyes. “How do you know what’s best for me?”

  “Because I can’t forget the days in Nariyal Ka Rasta. Can you?”

  Disgust lodged in Sheetal’s throat at the mention of Coconut Lane in Raigun’s poor northern district. How could she forget the view from her second story window of murky gray water filling open, choked gutters? Roving street dogs zigzagging through the streets. Cows plopping turds on pavements while swatting swarms of flies with their tails. Human waste dripping from pipe outlets into the main drain below. Odors rose with the day’s humidity and caused bile to rise in her throat. Sheetal turned away. That was thirteen years ago. In the past. Over.

  The Prasads hadn’t begun life wealthy, but a lifetime of labor, perseverance, good luck and good business timing had elevated them from the lower middle class in northern Raigun to this southern posh locale. Not only did Mama and Papa want to maintain their hard-earned prestige, they wanted to secure it for life by marrying Sheetal into the elite class. But she had heard how the practice of upper-middle-class families marrying their daughters into the class of the elite, followed by many of India’s iconic families, enslaved new brides.

  “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” Ma
ma grabbed her shoulders and dug her fingers into Sheetal’s flesh. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life cooking? Cleaning? Scrubbing? Washing up after everyone else? Queuing up for water at some communal tap? Because that’s what will happen if you marry that Arvind.”

  “Stop calling him ‘that Arvind.’ He’s Arvind. Just because you had to queue up doesn’t mean I’ll have to.”

  “How can you guarantee Arvind won’t abandon you at this doorstep”—she pointed to the glass doors—“when he’s done with you?”

  “Mama!”

  “What if he’s using you to get at our wealth?”

  “Mama.” Fury flooded her veins.

  “We’ve been through this before. There is no logic, no security in marrying someone off the street.”

  “He’s not off the street.” He just didn’t have the money or the means, but he would find a way, like Mama and Papa had. And now that Mama and Papa were well off, it was obvious they had no intention of supporting her marriage to Arvind, with or without a dowry. “Today, my life is in Papa’s hands. Tomorrow, Rakesh’s,” her tone crossed acceptable boundaries. “How can I do what I want when I want to marry Arvind?”

  Mama marched past the ten-seater dining table to the other side of the room and pushed open the glass door. “Then go marry him.”

  Sheetal froze.

  “You want to marry Arvind, then you leave right now with only the clothes on your back and nothing more. Like Kavita,” her voice brimmed with disgust. “She eloped with Gaurav and look what shame and embarrassment they caused. Her parents can’t show their faces to anyone.”

  Sheetal gulped.

  “And if he leaves you bloated with child at our doorstep, don’t think for a second you can just walk back in. We will have nothing more to do with you.”

  Chapter Three

  Coffee Talk

  Café Coffee Day, a franchise coffee shop in the heart of southern Raigun, blared rock music and hummed with the conversations of the college students who occupied its tables. The combined aromas of coffee, butter and syrup stirred Sheetal’s appetite. She looked at her watch. 4 p.m. In the past, Kavita had always been the first to arrive. That she was forty-five minutes late worried Sheetal. Maybe she was stuck in traffic or her car had broken down or— Sheetal stopped. Kavita didn’t have a car anymore.

  After their elopement, Gaurav and Kavita’s families had severed all familial ties and financial support. Sheetal figured Kavita used public transport and that’s what took her longer than usual. Kavita had moved from the posh locale of Green Park, several blocks from Rosewood Street, to a one-bedroom apartment in the northern districts around Nariyal Ka Rasta.

  During their college days, Sheetal and Kavita used to tie up the landline for hours, and Mama yelled for Sheetal to cut short conversations. Now, Kavita didn’t take calls at her new residence. She and Kavita had spoken twice in the month since Kavita’s first returned call, and Kavita’s conversations had been filled with pauses and long eclipses of silence, and Sheetal had struggled to come up with words to fill the one-way conversation.

  At least today, they’d be able to enjoy each other’s company over a cup of iced coffee—Kavita’s favorite—like old times, and Sheetal could discover ways to still marry Arvind. Maybe she and Arvind could talk to her parents together and reason with them. If that didn’t go well, they could elope like Gaurav and Kavita.

  A barista in a bright orange apron smiled at Sheetal from behind the glass display of muffins, croissants, sandwiches and pastries. She’d caught him glancing her way while serving customers, and now he turned in her direction on the pretext of arranging food items on display that were already neatly arranged. To avoid eye contact, Sheetal sipped her iced latte, then reached into her handbag, withdrew a Sidney Sheldon paperback, opened it at her bookmark, and began reading.

  “Hey, Sheetal?”

  Sheetal looked up, jumped to her feet, dropped her book, and hugged Kavita. “You made it!”

  Kavita returned her hug and then pulled away, her sunglasses, two black ovals shielding her eyes. She pulled out a chair opposite Sheetal at the round table for two.

  Sheetal noticed how quickly Kavita had ended their embrace. “Are you okay?”

  Kavita removed a handkerchief from her handbag and wiped sweat from her face and neck. Her blue polyester blouse clung to her with perspiration, and dark patches marred the fabric under her arms. She removed her sunglasses. Dark circles shadowed her eyes and her cheeks were sunken.

  “What happened to you?” Sheetal took her seat. “You look half dead.”

  “Wouldn’t you, if you had to wake up at five every morning because the water supply cuts off at nine?”

  “You don’t have running water?”

  “Rationed water, where we live.”

  Some poorer districts in northern Raigun suffered water rationing. Residents collected water in buckets and large vessels during specified hours of operation.

  “Plus, I have to get to work by 9:30, so there’s a mad rush every morning.”

  That explained why Kavita had returned so few calls. She kept busy with a job, a home to run, and her husband.

  Kavita withdrew a reusable plastic water bottle from her handbag and took a long drink. In the ten years they’d known each other, Kavita had never carried a water bottle. Sheetal didn’t know how far Kavita had travelled to meet her, but from the day’s heat and the dampness of her clothes, she must crave an iced coffee.

  “Do you want to order something?” Sheetal asked.

  “I’m fine. Water’s good enough.”

  “But you love the café Americano here.”

  “Not when it’s two hundred rupees. That’s equal to my bus fare home and a portion of the grocery bill.”

  Sheetal leaned back. Where was the fun-loving Kavita who couldn’t get through a day without her fix of cold coffee? The carefree Kavita, full of life and laughter, the main entertainment at any party? “So, you weren’t ignoring me when you didn’t call back.”

  “How can I ignore you when I don’t have the time?”

  “I called for months and you didn’t—”

  “Gaurav and I didn’t want anyone to know where we were. Then—life took over. Not a minute to breathe.”

  “But aren’t you happy that you’re finally a career woman and living the dream life with Gaurav?”

  Kavita raised her eyebrows and shook her head slowly.

  “I admire what you did, Kavita. It takes guts, and I’ve been thinking hard since we first spoke.”

  “What’s there to think about?”

  Sheetal fished in her handbag and withdrew a white envelope about the size of her palm. “Please give this to Arvind for me.”

  Kavita grabbed Sheetal’s hand and stared at the ten-carat diamond ring on Sheetal’s third finger. “Your engagement ring?”

  Sheetal took a deep breath and nodded.

  “Arvind got you this—”

  “No. I’m not seeing him anymore.”

  “But you love him. I thought you two planned on—”

  “It’s not going to happen. I’m engaged to someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “Some rich foreign-return guy who runs his father’s business.” Sheetal didn’t name Rakesh Dhanraj because everyone knew his name and would say she was a fool to choose Arvind over him.

  “Arvind knows?” Kavita leaned forward. “You told him, right?”

  Sheetal nodded, her heart heavy as lead. “I had to.”

  Kavita took the envelope, slipped it into her handbag, folded her sunglasses and shoved them in. “So that’s why you wanted to meet me.”

  Sheetal nodded. “And I wanted to know how you’re doing. How you’re really doing.”

  “Never mind me, at least you’re doing the right thing. Look at the diamond on that sucker!” She let out a whistle.

  Sheetal looked up, shocked. How could she say such a thing? Kavita knew how
much she loved Arvind. It’s not like she’d walked away by choice or chose the money.

  “Look, yaar”—Kavita used the slang reserved for friends—“being in love is one thing, but real-life sucks. Ask me. I’m living it.”

  “I thought you were happy with Gaurav.”

  “We can barely afford rent. Our apartment is half the size of Mom’s living room. We have to scramble for water first thing every morning and we argue every evening after work. We’re both exhausted and just want to sleep. But someone has to cook, right? And guess who that someone is?”

  “Doesn’t he help around the house?”

  “Of course, he helps.” Kavita crossed her arms. “He helps create a mess, a fuss. Complains from the moment he wakes up to the moment he sleeps. The apartment is too small. The mattress is too rough. The sofa is ripped. What do you expect from second-hand stuff? Where’s all the money coming from when we’ve both been kicked out of our homes and have to start on our own? Our life is shit.”

  Sheetal bit her lower lip. Should she ask for the envelope back? Her attention flew to the hollow at Kavita’s collar bone. Was she getting enough to eat?

  “Look, I’ve got to get home before six so I can get water. Three hours of water, yeah!” She raised her hands and waved them in mockery. “But good seeing you again, and glad you’re smarter than I am.” She stood.

  “About what?”

  “Leaving Arvind. It wouldn’t have worked out. Look at me.”

  The air thickened with the overwhelming scent of coffee. The surrounding student chatter deafened her. “I can drop you home.” Sheetal stood, skirted the table and started toward the door. Kavita pushed in her chair and followed.

  “I’ll make my own way. Don’t want your chauffeur to see me. Besides, no point sitting in your car and remembering what I gave up. It’ll just hurt. Oh look, my bus!” She brushed past Sheetal and hurried toward the door as a double-decker pulled up to the curb and heaved to a stop. On the way, Kavita fished her sunglasses out, slid them on her face, waved to Sheetal and left, oblivious to a thick, rectangular paper that fell to the floor. Sheetal was about to call to Kavita that she’d dropped something, but a crowd of students gathered on the spot, and when they filed out the door, the paper was gone.