by Anju Gattani
When, at last, he stopped the furious pounding, he panted for a moment, then withdrew, tossed aside the duvet, and rolled off the mattress.
Cold air blanketed Sheetal’s body. She lay unmoving, numb.
Rakesh walked to the other side of the bed, slid beneath the blue quilt, turned off the bedside lamp, and immersed Sheetal in darkness.
***
The next morning, Pushpa Dhanraj, Sheetal’s mother-in-law, who she was to address as Mummyji, threw open the bedroom door and marched in.
Sheetal yanked the bedsheet to her chest and jerked upright. Rakesh—
He was gone.
She ran a hand over her crushed gown. A crust had formed along her inner thigh. She ran a hand across the mattress and encountered a soft tissue-like fabric. She pulled out the dupatta. A safety pin had gashed the fabric. She looked toward Mummyji, opened her mouth and stopped. Who would believe her? They’d say Rakesh only did what he was expected to do.
Mummyji crossed the room, stopped between the bed’s footboard and the entertainment unit and thumped the right wall with a palm. A portion of the wall glided right. Yellow light bathed her brown complexion dotted with black freckles. She entered the previously hidden space, her white sari billowing around her bulbous frame.
The tail of Mummyji’s sari pallu disappeared behind the closet door and soon after, metal clanged against metal.
“Mummyji?” Sheetal said. When the woman didn’t answer, Sheetal called louder, “Mummyji?”
No response.
Sheetal leaned forward for a better view of the hidden room but couldn’t make out much with Mummyji’s bottom obstructing the doorway. She pulled together the edges of her blouse but the bent hooks wouldn’t latch. She dragged the sheet as she slid out of bed and wrapped it around her body. She approached the enormous walk-in closet. Double rows of horizontal rods on each side of the room formed upper and lower berths for hanging clothes. Empty, golden hangers swung gently between rows of mostly empty shelves.
Mummyji bent to reach something she had apparently dropped. As she wriggled left and right, her movements caused the hangers on the lower rods to tinkle. A ten-inch-thick fold of flab spilled through the gap between the hem of her blouse, which ended just above the waist, and the sari fastened about her hips. She straightened, turned toward Sheetal, raised her thick, perfectly shaped eyebrows and sighed. Then she handed Sheetal a red and gold silk sari adorned with a latticework of diamonds and sequins. She added a matching petticoat and blouse from a shelf, grabbed a blue velvet box, and flipped it open to reveal a gold and ruby jewelry set. Then she marched to the bed, shoved the strings of tulips aside and placed the jewelry box on the duvet. “The clothes and jewelry you are to wear today. Be dressed, I tell you, in the hour. Vikram will come to pick you up.”
Tradition dictated that the bride’s brother escort the bride to her mother’s home the day after the wedding, but because Sheetal didn’t have a brother, Vikram, Aunty Hemu’s son, would fulfill the duty.
“Mummyji, last night Rakesh—”
“Yes, he left late last night, very late, I tell you, to attend to business matters. No need to feel alone. I am here. I am always here, and now I have the extra duty to manage you, Hai Ishwar!”
Three female servants entered, each carrying a Louis Vuitton suitcase. Sheetal clutched the sheet tighter and cringed. Didn’t anyone have manners? She was dressed in a bedsheet, for God’s sake. Couldn’t Mummyji have told the servants to wait outside?
Mummyji ordered them to leave the luggage near the closet door beside Sheetal.
The first servant bent, placed a suitcase against the wall, glanced sideways at Sheetal, and raised her eyebrows. Sheetal’s cheeks flamed. She slipped a hand behind her back, searching for dampness, and prayed the sheet wasn’t stained with blood. Then the servant straightened and left. The other two placed their suitcases then followed the first from the room.
Mummyji unclipped a ring of keys from her sari and jingled the bunch in her hand. “All these, I tell you, are keys to the boxes of dowry your mother sent.” She removed three keys from the ring and handed them to Sheetal. “But those are all you will need.” Then she fiddled with the white pleats of her sari before staring at Sheetal’s neck. “Anything else?”
“May I have the other keys to my dowry?”
“Hai Ishwar!” Mummyji gasped. “Your dowry? Haven’t your parents taught you anything? Now that you are a Dhanraj, what’s yours is ours and what’s ours is yours. All one and the same, I tell you. Obviously, you’ve not been brought up well. Clearly not only are you selfish, self-centered, full of yourself and demanding, but you have no respect for elders. This won’t do.”
Warmth crept up Sheetal’s shoulders. “The bathroom? I…I…”
“Why there, of course.” Mummyji pointed to a wall on the far right. “Just tap the wall and another door will slide open. Didn’t Rakesh tell you?”
Sheetal shook her head.
Mummyji patted her black chignon. “Plenty of towels inside, I tell you, and lots of other things you might need. Make sure you go to the Prasads’ looking like a Dhanraj.”
A Dhanraj. What was that supposed to mean?
“Last night, Rakesh hurt me,” Sheetal blurted.
“Well now, I tell you.” Mummyji straightened her shoulders. “If you behaved like this with him last night, I’m not surprised. What were you expecting? Maybe it will be less painful the second time. And don’t tell anyone you didn’t sleep well last night.” Mummyji pointed to Sheetal’s neck. “Make sure to hide it.”
Chapter Eleven
Homesick
The Prasads’ blue Maruti turned into Prasad Bhavan’s driveway, rolled past the topiary hedge and braked fifty feet behind a luxury coach parked in the porte-cochere.
As guests exited the house and crossed to the waiting vehicle, Vikram, seated in the Maruti’s front passenger seat, gestured to an available parking spot to the left of the bus. “Well, Dinesh. Go on farther.”
“Cannot, Sir.” The chauffeur switched off the ignition and unclipped his seat belt. “Sahib say no park, and to leave empty so people can board bus.”
Sheetal glimpsed Vikram’s glare when he turned his head toward the driver. “Well, I’m ordering you to pull up there.”
Mama and Papa emerged from the glass entrance and hurried toward the Maruti. Aunty Hemu followed close on their heels. Mama’s orange sari glowed like the rising sun. Their expressions lit with smiles.
“Sahib say park here,” Dinesh said. “You can check with him if you want, Sir.”
“It wouldn’t kill you to drive up a few more feet. They wouldn’t have to walk all the way down,” Vikram said.
“Sorry, Sir.” Dinesh fidgeted with the collar of his starched white shirt, left the vehicle, and walked around the car to Sheetal’s door.
“Sorry, Sir, my foot.” Vikram unclipped the seat belt and swung open the door. He turned toward Sheetal. “You know your problem? Just because you guys are loaded, you think you can trample over everyone.”
Bitterness crept up Sheetal’s heart. “Dinesh works for Papa. Of course, he’ll take his orders from him.”
“Well, every dog has his day. Enjoy your visit, because before you know it, your time will be over.” He extended one long leg out the vehicle, rose, and slammed the door shut.
Dinesh opened Sheetal’s door and she stepped out. “Don’t mind him,” she whispered. “Vikram—he just takes offense at the smallest things.”
Dressed in the same color as the wedding gown she’d worn yesterday, the sari that belonged to the Dhanrajs weighed on her like a burden stitched to the fabric of her skin. Or did the safety pin on her pallu, digging into her shoulder, cause the discomfort? The driveway she’d walked countless times before felt smaller, perhaps due to the enormous bus and the crowd of people that took up so much space. She trudged partway up the driveway before Mama and Papa joined her.
“Ah, Sheetal B
eti!” Mama and Papa reached and hugged Sheetal, and the familiar scent of sandalwood aftershave and lily joss sticks soothed her nerves.
“Splendid. Looking absolutely splendid.” Papa’s eyes sparkled. “I can’t believe my little girl’s all grown up, married and with her new family. And how is our new son-in-law?”
“Now what kind of a question is that?” Mama ran a hand soothingly down Sheetal’s arm. “Both must be so exhausted after the wedding.”
“Hambe.” Aunty Hemu squeezed through the ten-inch gap between Mama and Papa and ran her fingers over the embroidery on Sheetal’s pallu. “Such heavy work! So pretty. Must be so expensive and—”
“There you are, Bhabhiji!” Aunty Veena called Mama as she hastily approached. Her silver blouse reflected the sun’s rays. “The chef is going mad, just mad, looking for you. He’s got one hour before lunch preparations and— Sheetal!” She reached them and embraced Sheetal as if they were meeting after a years-long separation.
“Look how delighted everyone is to see you!” Papa patted Sheetal’s shoulder. “Now come on, everyone. Back inside before the heat picks up. Got to get our tourists on their way.”
They made their way up the porch and entered the house just as Uncle Ashwin, Papa’s younger brother, entered the foyer. Except for narrower shoulders, a thinner frame and a softer voice, Uncle Ashwin was almost a spitting image of Papa.
“Ah, Sheetal Beti! How is our new bride?” His bushy eyebrows lifted and his thin lips parted in a smile.
“Fine, Uncle.”
“Good, good. I’ll join you a little later. Have to make sure we get the tourists off on time." He turned his back to Sheetal, cupped both hands around his mouth, and hollered, “Leaving in ten minutes. Jaldi, jaldi! Hurry up, everyone!”
A cluster of second, third and fourth cousins who wore capris, jeans, T-shirts and visors rushed past Mama and Papa toward the waiting bus. The rev of an engine caused Sheetal to turn. Another coach pulled into the drive.
“Oh, look!” One of Papa’s business acquaintances from Canada exclaimed, “Sheetal’s here.” The woman approached and several men and women surged forward. Papa’s business acquaintance reached her first, flipped up her sunglasses and perched them on her head. “Why, you look gorgeous. So gorgeous.”
“Thank you, Aunty,” Sheetal addressed her respectfully.
“So, how is the new Mrs. Dhanraj feeling?” asked an Uncle with a wart on his left cheek.
“Arrey,” another uncle joined in. “Like a million dollars?”
The growing crowd erupted into laughter.
The groan of an engine followed by a honk cut short the jovial atmosphere and Wart-Uncle raised a hand. “Challo, challo. Bus choot jayegi.” He gestured for others to follow him and pushed through the door.
“Got to go, honey.” Canada-Aunty cupped Sheetal’s cheek, leaned forward and kissed the air over Sheetal’s left cheek. “Good luck to your future and keep us posted. I’ll make sure to read up on you in the news.” Then she left and choruses of “Good luck,” “Wish you well,” and “Many many years of togetherness” followed.
“Jaldi karo!” Wart-Uncle joined Uncle Ashwin in the driveway and waved for people to hurry.
Something tugged Sheetal’s right earring. She swept her hand to free what felt like a loose thread snagging the jewelry and, from the corner of her eye, caught Aunty Veena quickly withdraw her hand.
“Just brushing away a fly on your earlobe.” She chuckled as Mama turned back.
“I could go too, you know,” Aunty Hemu said as a line of children passed them and rushed toward the coach, “but I think to myself, ’How will Bhabhiji and Rana Bhaiya manage without my help?’ So, I sacrifice a day of enjoyment to help them.”
Mama turned to Aunty Hemu. “And we will never forget all that you have done for us. You did so much more than a real mother could have done, which is why I’m going to ask you to escort Sheetal to the Great Hall and stay with her until I’m free. We can’t leave her alone, and you’re the one I trust most to sit with her.”
Aunty Hemu? Trustworthy? Sheetal tapped Mama on the arm, leaned close and whispered, “I can wait in my room. Surely, Tina can spend time with me until you’re free.”
“She’s out shopping,” Mama said. “I don’t expect her to return until this evening, and Preeti hasn’t cleaned your room yet. You’d best wait here. Besides, everyone will want to see you and should know you’re here.”
Sheetal said, “They can see me upstairs, if they want.”
“No arguments. I’ll see you later.” Mama headed toward the backyard.
Sheetal sighed and followed Aunty Hemu. The floor-to-ceiling wall of glass, which offered a view of the topiary hedge and driveway, felt like the wall of a glass tank. The clippety-clip of the gardeners’ clippers snipping away at bushes or sculpted animals and the hiss of water spraying the grass had been among the first sounds of every morning. Today, cries of “Jaldi karo” and the commotion of people rushing from the backyard and across the main hall to the waiting buses replaced those familiar sounds.
“You sit here.” Aunty Hemu gestured to the U-shaped sofa that faced the window.
Aunties Veena and Meenu followed on Sheetal’s heels. Sheetal pursed her lips. A few hours of being a Dhanraj and not only had she been escorted from the car and up the driveway by family, she was now being herded by a troop of aunties and seated center-stage for visitors who wanted to meet or greet her. What had she turned into? An exhibit?
Sheetal lifted aside a pillow and sat down beside the arm rest. She didn’t want to talk to anyone but Mama. In the privacy of her room, she wanted to slip into her old clothes and clear her head to think. How would she tell Mama about last night? Should she tell her everything? Once Mama heard the truth, she’d admit the marriage was a mistake and take her back. There’d be no returning to the Dhanrajs’s, for sure. Perhaps Mama would agree to Arvind and apologize for what she’d said about him.
The luxury coach reversed out the entrance gate, made a wide turn, and left.
Sheetal’s attention drifted to the topiary hedge. No one deserved to be with a man like Rakesh.
“You worried about something?” Aunty Meenu took a seat beside Aunty Hemu.
Sheetal suddenly realized that her right thumb rapidly tapped her left wrist. “Umm no.” She stopped.
Aunty Meenu crossed her legs. “I’ve heard there are twenty-five bedrooms in the Dhanraj mansion. Does that include attached or shared bathrooms?”
“Hai, I’m hearing the taps are made of gold. Pure gold.” Aunty Veena gripped her elbows and leaned forward. “Are you seeing the swimming pool? I’m hearing it’s endless. Or appears endless.”
“Infite pool,” Aunty Meenu said. “They call infite pool in English.”
Sheetal had heard about the grandeur of the mansion but didn’t know the premises accommodated a swimming pool, let alone an infinity pool.
Shortly after her engagement, the Prasads had been invited to tour the Dhanraj mansion, but half an hour prior to leaving, Sheetal had feigned a headache.
“Well, take a Saridon or something,” Mama had said.“We can’t go without you. What will they say?”
“Nothing, if you tell them my head’s going to split.”
Now feeling like her head would truly split, Sheetal pressed her forehead.
“Maybe Sheetal is not seeing much.” Aunty Meenu cupped her chin and leaned forward. “You know, first night—how say in English? All nighter?” She covered her burgundy lips and chortled.
“What could I see in seven hours after all the wedding rituals?”
“Well, of course, you’d see the bedroom,” Aunty Veena said. “Where else would you be on the first night?”
Another round of giggles.
What was taking Mama so long? Sheetal craned her neck to look toward the door. Her heart sank. A cluster of aunties wearing too much makeup headed toward her from the east wing.
“H
ambe.” Aunty Hemu leaned toward her. “Did they treat you well?”
Sheetal swallowed. Why would she tell Aunty Hemu, of all people, the truth? The woman already knew so much about her personal life.
Aunty Hemu pulled back as if realizing she’d said something she shouldn’t have. “I mean—he—Rakeshji—he behaving nice? Decent?”
“Yes, very decent.” Sheetal could just imagine their reactions if she told the truth. “We still have to get to know each other.”
“All the more reason to tread softly.” Aunty Meenu nudged Aunty Hemu with an elbow.
Sheetal felt a tug on her earring and from the corner of her eye, saw Aunty Veena trace her chandelier earring. The woman’s face drew close, so close that her lips hovered inches from Sheetal’s nose. The smell of grease, onions and spices peppered the air. Sweat dotted Aunty Veena’s upper lip. She cradled the earring in her palm. “Hai, so dark. So red! This alone must be worth twenty-five lakhs.” She meant twenty-five hundred thousand rupees.
“Bloody pigeon, the name.” Aunty Meenu clicked her tongue and raised her eyebrows. “So? Twenty-five or more, you think?”
Where on earth was Mama?
“Pigeon-blood ruby,” Aunty Hemu said.
“Well, look who’s back.” An aunty from the new pack took a seat beside Aunty Meenu. Other members of the group filled the remaining empty seats and three ottomans.
“Ouch, Aunty. Please let go.” Sheetal brushed Aunty Veena’s hand aside and straightened her posture. “This thing is heavy enough without—”
“Hai! Dekho, dekho! Look, look!” Aunty Veena released her grip and the earring swung like a pendulum. “Now she’s showing off like a Dhanraj.”
Sheetal pressed her earlobe gently to curb the swinging motion of the earring and soothe the pain searing her lobe.
“What a little snob you are.” Aunty Veena inched away. “Married a few hours and already acting snooty.”
“Of course, it’s heavy. We can all see that, can’t we?”
Silence engulfed the room. Sweat beaded the sides of Sheetal’s neck and armpits and she fidgeted with the pleats of the sari pinned at her left shoulder, hoping the bruise remained hidden.