Duty and Desire

by Anju Gattani

  Sheetal wiped the corners of her lips with a white napkin and covered the half-finished plate of food. “Is something wrong?”

  “We need to begin right away. There’s no time to lose. Just look at your ghagra! I’ve never— Why, the world has never seen anything like it. It’s…it’s an Anita Dongre creation! I can tell by the look. Your make-up, your hair…they have to live up to this masterpiece. Everything must be perfect. Absolutely perfect.” She glanced at the watch on her wrist and frowned. “Two and a half hours. Hair, make-up, clothes—” She clapped her hands and turned to face the team of three beauticians and Preeti. “Right girls. Air condition on full. A bowl of ice-cold water. Take out the number five brush, compacts fifteen, four and nine…” she reeled off a list of items and then stopped, slapping herself on the thigh. “How silly of me.” She turned to Sheetal. “I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Shashi Behn.”

  Sheetal knew who she was.

  “Now, let’s mo-o-o-o-ve it!”

  Within minutes, Sheetal’s room was cluttered with sponges, brushes, lipsticks, powders and hair clips. The room buzzed with excitement, and Shashi Behn orchestrated her staff with the precision of a symphony conductor.

  An hour later, Tina left Sheetal alone with the women and returned shortly with a thick, white towel pressed to her chest. “I don’t know what’s going on,” she panted, closing the door behind, “but I heard something about a commotion in the dowry room.”

  Sheetal tried to catch a glimpse of Tina from the corner of her eye, but Shashi Behn, who ran a comb through her hair, tightened her hold on the strands and nudged her head back into position. “What commotion?”

  “Something missing.” Tina lay the towel on the bed, opened its overlapping folds and was about to lift the lid of a jewelry box when the creaking of the bedroom door and the thick odor of fish caused her to snap it shut. She rewrapped the jewelry box, placed the towel and its burden on a chair and sat on top of it, fanning the folds of her A-line kurti around the chair’s edge.

  Aunty Hemu entered and made her way across to the golden ghagra. “Very lavish.” She reached for the gown with long brown fingers, a look of regret in her expression as her chipped nails caressed the pool of molten gold fabric encrusted with diamonds.

  “It’s designed by Anita Dongre. Designerwear.” Tina apparently added the explanation for Aunty Hemu’s benefit. “It’s the latest in bridal outfits.”

  “Hambe.” Aunty Hemu waved a hand in the air. “That’s the trend I hear, nowadays,” she sneered, oblivious to six women frowning at her obtrusive manner. “In our days, we wore our wedding sari several times. Got our parents’ money’s worth. It’s precisely why our mothers had things so sensibly made for us. Nothing too heavy, too expensive, or overly done. So we could wear them again and again.”

  “That’s odd,” Tina said. “Didn’t you just say this morning at breakfast that weddings are a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and that every bride should have the best?”

  “The best doesn’t have to mean the most expensive,” Aunty Hemu retorted and approached Sheetal. “Some parents can’t afford what they want for their children. And we never forced our mothers to buy us the best. We understood. We compromised. We—”

  Sheetal tightened her jaw at Aunty Hemu’s audacity.

  “Didn’t you say you didn’t have much in your time?” Tina interrupted. “So even if you wanted, you couldn’t really do much about it.”

  “Relax now.” Shashi Behn tapped Sheetal gently on the chin and Sheetal relaxed her jaw. “Loosen up or the style and setting will go wrong.” Shashi Behn then ran her fingers through Sheetal’s hair, sprayed it with water and chemicals from several bottles, and then started blow-drying the strands.

  “Hambe. I see you still have a long way to go.” Aunty Hemu raised her left eyebrow. “Strange—no? Beauty. Supposed to be natural, but you girls nowadays go to such extremes to achieve perfection. Adequately blessed, but still want to be better. Tch…tch…tch… Will there ever be an end to all this madness?”

  Shashi Behn took a deep breath and twirled a fistful of Sheetal’s hair into a knot. “What you call madness will end on the day love dies, or when women stop caring for their men—and what their men think of them. Love works both ways. Anyway”—she whirred the hairdryer back and forth, blowing strands of hair into Sheetal’s face—“I heard your son was married only recently. Two years ago—yes?”

  “Oh yes. A beautiful wedding in Vilaspur. The talk of the town!” Aunty Hemu smiled. “For weeks and weeks that’s all everyone went on about.”

  Aunty Hemu had been going on and on about it until the announcement of Sheetal’s engagement to Rakesh Dhanraj.

  Shashi Behn turned off the hairdryer and silence filled the room. “In that case, I’m sure you know all the wedding preparations are happening outside. Not here. Now, if you don’t mind.”

  Aunty Hemu raised a hand to her chest, took a deep breath, then turned and stormed out the door.

  “Negative energy,” Shashi Behn murmured. “Doesn’t do any good. Ever.”

  “Thank you.” Sheetal took a deep breath and exhaled, grateful for Shashi Behn's intervention. Any trouble today would give Aunty Hemu reason to glorify the Prasads’ faults, to gossip, and to mar the family’s reputation.

  “Don’t thank me,” Shashi Behn replied. “I’m used to dealing with obstacles in life. And you will learn, too. It all comes with experience.”

  An hour later, one of the servants asked Preeti and the team to come downstairs in order to give Sheetal some privacy. Tina and Shashi Behn stayed back, helped Sheetal into her wedding gown and added the final touches to her make-up.

  Shashi Behn contoured the edge of Sheetal’s lips, dusted her bun in glitter and darkened her eyebrows. She took the golden chiffon dupatta between her fingers, fanned it behind Sheetal and pinned it to Sheetal’s chignon. The paper-thin leaf of fabric, embroidered and dusted with diamonds, fell to rest along Sheetal’s voluptuous curves. Gold tassels, edging the dupatta, tinkled and chimed on brushing the lower half of the fishtail paneled skirt.

  “Come now, quickly.” Shashi Behn flipped open the jewelry box and pointed to the earrings. “Hand me those first.”

  Tina did as she was told, and Shashi Behn clipped the earrings on Sheetal. Then she fastened the choker, adjusting it to the left and right until the pendant hung just above Sheetal’s cleavage. She hooked a thin strand of gold to Sheetal’s chignon and ran the six-inch-long maang tikka down the middle of her head like a river. A diamond teardrop at the end rested on Sheetal’s forehead. Then she slid thin, gold-colored glass and diamond bangles along her wrists. “Perfect.”

  Sheetal wriggled. Nothing was perfect. The gold-colored blouse with diamond strands woven between swirls of leaves and flowers that exploded at the cups of the bodice in a firework, stuck to her like a second skin. She preferred loose, airy clothing, not body-hugging outfits that padlocked her behind its stitches. Sheetal tugged the choker away from her throat and took a deep breath, but the air wouldn’t come.

  “Uh-uh-uh.” Shashi Behn shook her head. “No fidgeting. Just stay away from the sun. These impossible summers, you know! And if those camera lights at the reception get too much, I’ll be there to freshen you up. Well, I must be off. Two other brides to dress, but I’ll see you later this evening—and, oh yes!” She leaned toward Sheetal and whispered in a hurry, “If you need…you know…to do your business, have at least two people hold up your ghagra. Or better, slide out of the skirt, do your thing, and then slip it back on.” Then she kissed Sheetal’s head and turned to leave as Tina giggled.

  “What’s so funny?” Sheetal whispered, catching the loose ends of the dupatta. She crossed to her bed, her feet snug in open-toe, golden Manolo Blahnik sandals, and fanned the paper-thin sheet apart before lowering herself onto the mattress’s edge, careful not to sit on embroidery that would crush under her bottom. Then she let go and the golden leaf of chiffon drifted from
her French-manicured nails to the crimson duvet.

  Shashi Behn reached for the doorknob just as the main door swung open and Mama entered. She surveyed Sheetal and turned to Shashi Behn. “You have truly outdone yourself.”

  “Nothing more than was already created by God,” Shashi Behn replied modestly.

  “This is a work of art. You…you absolutely must have lunch with us before you leave,” Mama said.

  Shashi Behn glanced at her watch. “I’m running late. Two brides are waiting for me and—”

  “I will not take no for an answer,” Mama insisted. “Please join us.”

  “All right, then.” Shashi Behn smiled and left, closing the door behind her.

  Mama approached Sheetal. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

  Beautiful. Isn’t that what Arvind used to say?

  “Gorgeous,” Tina agreed. “Isn’t Shashi Behn amazing? Taiji,” she addressed Mama with the respect due her father’s older brother’s wife, “what was all that commotion downstairs a while back?”

  “Oh…nothing.” Mama frowned.

  “I heard something about a theft.”

  “It’s…it’s…really nothing.”

  “What happened?” Sheetal asked. “Tina said something was missing from the dowry room.”

  “One of the necklaces. No one understands how…what… I don’t know exactly when it happened, but Hemuji came running to us outside. She was the first to see the cellophane on one of the boxes slit through and the necklace gone.”

  How did this happen under such tight security? What would this do to Papa? The wedding? “Which one?” Sheetal asked.

  “The diamond-drop from Belgium.”

  Ten million rupees!

  Papa was probably tearing up and down the dowry hall this very minute, sealing off the premises, hyping up security and shooting a hundred orders at once.

  Maybe he’ll call off the wedding, order an immediate search.

  That would be bad.

  No, not bad. Awful for the family’s reputation. An omen.

  No. A secret intervention from God to stop the wedding.

  Sheetal turned to look past Mama at the clock. Five o’clock. Three hours to inform Rakesh’s family that the wedding wouldn’t take place. “Did the guards see—?”

  Mama shook her head. “Four hundred guests in the house. Three hundred of them, family. Your father and I can’t even imagine the humiliation that would cause. Even if we ordered a search, even if one of the servants took it, it’s probably gone by now.”

  “So, what happens?” Her heart raced with hope.

  “I…I don’t know,” Mama said. “I’m going downstairs with Tina. She needs to get dressed. Keep the door locked. You’re wearing five million rupees worth of jewelry, and I simply can’t risk anything more going wrong. As soon as one of us is dressed, we’ll escort you downstairs.”

  “So, everything is going as planned?”

  “Of course. What did you think?”

  Sheetal’s heart sank.

  “I don’t want you outside until I call for you,” Mama cautioned. “And Tina,” she turned to look at her, “I want you to change and be back before the hour. You will stay with Sheetal until we leave. If I’m back first, I’ll wait for you to return.”

  “Yes, Taiji.” Tina left and closed the door behind.

  Sheetal straightened her posture. “What if we don’t find it?”

  “I don’t know.” Mama sighed.

  “I need your help, Mama. Listen to—”

  “I can’t deal with any more right now, Sheetal. I know how distressed you are with the awful news. But I’ll deal with the theft after the wedding is over.” Then she made for the door, punched the lock in place and closed it behind her.

  Sheetal’s heart grated the pit of her stomach. She rose, walked over to the dressing room mirror and stared at her reflection, searching for the woman she knew. But a mermaid with hips cast in golden scales and thousands of beads and diamonds stared back. Who was this golden Venus?

  Sheetal opened the balcony doors in search of fresh air. She needed light. She needed to breathe. Sunlight streamed in and spilled across the carpet. She remembered Shashi Behn’s warning, turned and headed back in, away from the balcony, so that her makeup wouldn’t melt. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself.

  A hand clamped over her nose and mouth.

  Chapter Six

  Runaway

  Sheetal struggled against the stranger’s grip but couldn’t draw enough breath to scream.

  Suddenly his grip loosened, two fingers pressed her lips and a familiar scent of musk filled her lungs.

  “Stop, Sheetal. It’s me.” Arvind released her.

  Sheetal spun to face him, her heart racing. “What are you doing here? What if someone sees you?”

  Drops of sweat beaded his stubble and dampened the collar of his black-and-white server’s uniform. His gaze travelled down her body. Sheetal’s heart grated in guilt at the risk and effort he had taken to be with her.

  He placed the knuckle of his index finger under her chin and tilted her head until she looked him in the eye. “You are beautiful.” He knelt on one knee and gently coaxed her fingers open, his thumb pressing the ring. “For the last time, marry me. Please.”

  The white panel of curtains billowed in the breeze, and her heart fisted in her throat. He had risked his life for her, but that would mean nothing to Mama and Papa. There was no telling what they’d do if they found him here.

  Arvind gestured to the balcony. “We can run away. No one will see us.”

  Sheetal tried to pull away, but he held tight. “I can’t.”

  “Sheetal.”

  The image of open gutters lined with gray filth, dirt-infested streets, and flies swarming clumps of turd whirled in her memory. She took a step back and wobbled on the three-inch high sandals as the tips of his fingers began slipping from her hand.

  He tightened his grip, rose and gently pulled her by the hand toward the balcony. “I know you love me.”

  She tried to swallow, but her throat was choked. She couldn’t leave. What would happen to the dowry? To the ambassadors, politicians and Bollywood magnates who had flown in from all over the country for the occasion? What would they say upon learning that a necklace had gone missing and the bride had run away? What would an elopement do to Mama and Papa? “My family. I—”

  “For God’s sake, Sheetal. It’s about you. Your life. Not theirs.”

  She dug her heels into the carpet. “They sacrificed so much so I could marry the right person.”

  “The right person,” Arvind scoffed, “is ten years older than you.”

  “Eight.”

  “Eight. Ten. Same thing.”

  “I can’t just walk away.”

  “It’s not about you. Don’t you see? It’s never been about you. It’s a business transaction. And you’re the deal.”

  Anger revved through her veins. Papa would never barter her for anything! They wanted her well taken care of.

  “And your mother,” he went on. “Of course, she’ll agree with everything your father says. Not as if she or anyone can stand before the great Rana Prasad—”

  Sheetal pushed him, sending him staggering back.

  “Coward!” he shot at her.

  “I’m not a coward.”

  “Too damn scared to stand up for yourself.”

  “I owe Papa—”

  “You don’t owe your father or anyone, anything. It’s just a load of bull stuffed in your head so—”

  “How dare you!”

  “You love me. But you’re too damn scared to admit it.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I told you—”

  He grabbed her wrist and dragged her toward the balcony. “Just leave this madness behind.”

  He was the madness. What if Mama was right? What if he used her to get at their wealth? And if he abandoned her at their d
oorstep with child, where would she go? What would she do? Papa would never allow her back. And she’d be a fool—a bigger fool—to run away with him for nothing. She yanked free.

  A knock sounded at the door. “Sheetal?”

  Mama! “Arvind, you have to go.”

  He narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

  “Sheetal!” The knocking continued.

  “Listen to me. A friend and I. We’re talking about starting our own business.”

  Her heart pounded. “This isn’t the time.” He had to leave. Now.

  “It’s a guaranteed plan. I can give you a good life. Trust me.”

  Mama was right. He was desperate. Afraid to lose a chance at her fortune. She shoved him past the panel of curtains as more people called out. The balcony railing stood two feet away. A fifty feet drop to the ground. If he had climbed up, he could easily get down.

  “Marry me. I love you. I promise—”

  “Arvind, I already told you, I—”

  “Forget them. Think of what you want. What you—”

  “Sheetal Beti!” Mama called again.

  The door. They were going to break it down.

  “Sheetal!” Mama yelled.

  The expanse of grass separating the house from the stone fence was an easy five-minute sprint. “Get out while you can,” she snapped.

  “Just look at you. I never expected you, of all people, to be two-faced. I thought you were different. But you’re the same. All of you.”

  The pounding on the door stopped and the corridor grew silent.

  “I have to let them in.” She turned her back to him and headed for the door.

  “Sheetal!”

  Papa never used that tone of voice. A shiver ran up her spine. Sheetal reached for the doorknob and looked back. The balcony door shifted in the breeze as the curtains billowed in the emptiness.