Duty and Desire

by Anju Gattani

  Did he know about Arvind?

  “The whole thing has obviously been embarrassing for all of you. And the embarrassment will continue if you don’t listen. Stick to the rules and you’ll be safe.” Rakesh swung the cigarette until it hovered above the carpet and tapped the end. “Number one. You go nowhere without my permission. Rule number two. As my wife, I expect appropriate behavior at all times. My public image is top priority. Understand?”

  Sheetal stiffened.

  “Do I make myself clear?” he bellowed.

  Sheetal nodded.

  “Ditto.” He curled his lips into a smile. “Oh yes. Rule number three. Try filing for divorce and I’ll spread rumors that you failed to please me as a wife. I’ll make life so miserable, your family will never show their faces anywhere again.” He took another drag and the end of the cigarette burned neon red before Rakesh extinguished it in the crystal ashtray. “Do we understand each other?” his voice tightened. “Well? Do we?”

  Sheetal nodded.

  “Good.” He swung his legs across the bed, rose to his full stature, and the mattress sighed in relief. He lengthened his stride, causing the cream-colored kurta to unfurl to his knees and swish against silk pajamas as he headed for the mirrored wall.

  He’s going to crash into the glass!

  Rakesh raised a hand to the mirror and a portion of the wall swung open, swallowing him in darkness before it closed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sisters ‘n Spice

  Two days later, Rakesh’s sisters, Megha, seventeen, and Naina, twenty, knocked on Sheetal’s bedroom door and asked if they could help arrange Sheetal’s closet. In addition to her dowry wardrobe, ten of Sheetal’s paintings had been brought up to her room and stacked in two groups of five, placed at an angle against a wall. Thrilled with the offer, Sheetal welcomed the opportunity to get to know her sisters-in-law.

  Shortly after Sheetal’s engagement to Rakesh, the Dhanrajs announced Naina’s engagement to Ajay Malhotra of Calkot. The marriage was scheduled for a year after Sheetal’s, thereby giving Mummyji time to prepare for a second wedding. Acres of land on the shore of Lake Pyasi, which lay to the east of Raigun, was being cleared for a mammoth construction.

  Naina, wearing a green salwar suit, approached the paintings, paused, and began flipping through them, resting them against her knee. She stopped and stared at one. “What’s this?”

  Sheetal walked over and looked down at the canvas. “Oak trees.”

  Naina flipped to the next canvas. “And this?”

  “Conifers.”

  “They look the same.”

  “Oaks have branches that spread out like a cauliflower, whereas conifers—”

  “A tree is a tree, no matter what.” Naina gave the paintings a hard thwack. The canvases knocked each other and fell like dominos.

  Sheetal rushed to stop the fall, but they clattered and banged against the floor. How dare she? Sheetal watched Naina walk away.

  “Now, what’s all this noise here, I tell you?” Mummyji rushed in.

  “N-Naina was b-being rude,” Megha answered. Dressed in a T-shirt two sizes too large and wearing a pair of round eyeglasses that wobbled on her nose, Megha dropped a pile of Sheetal’s blouses on the bed and rushed over to help Sheetal restack the paintings. “B-Bhabhi is right,” Megha used the term of respect reserved for an older brother’s wife. “This is a p-painting of c-c-conifers and those are oaks. But N-Naina was arguing that they’re the s-same. Anyway, you c-can’t expect N-Naina to know an-n-n-y of this.”

  “Now, now.” Mummyji turned to look at Naina. “Here I was thinking you three would work together so Sheetal could have her things quickly arranged, I tell you. But instead of—”

  “I just think—” Naina interrupted.

  “Never mind what you or anyone else around here thinks, I tell you. Sheetal is new and needs time. The quicker she plants her roots, the sooner she’ll fit in. And I will teach her all there is to know, now that I have the extra duty to manage her. Hai Ishwar!” She spun on her heel and left.

  Rumor claimed that Rakesh’s father, the late Ashok Dhanraj, had married Mummyji shortly after the death of his first wife, Rashmi. Mummyji, only eight years older than Rakesh, had been almost half Ashok’s age. Ashok’s death three years ago meant the death of her normal life. A widow wore only white and was expected to avoid festivals and celebrations so that her inauspicious shadow didn’t fall on another. Her somber life was to be devoted to raising her children—which now, apparently, included Sheetal.

  Megha and Naina had moved to the mirror-wall. “N-Naina, you’re n-not l-listening,” Megha said. “C-conifers have s-spiky n-needle-like l-leaves. They’re—”

  A scream suddenly pierced the air. Naina tossed her hair away from her face, stamped her foot, pivoted, stomped off, and slammed the bedroom door behind her.

  “What was that?” Sheetal asked.

  “That m-m-my d-d-dear B-B-Bhabhi, is N-Naina D-Dhanraj.” Megha pushed the silver frames up the bridge of her nose. “Welcome to the f-f-family.”

  ***

  On the fourth morning, as Sheetal read the June issue of New Woman magazine in the privacy of her room, Mummyji barged in and handed her a sheet of paper.

  “What’s this?”

  “Read. Rote. Revise.” Mummyji smiled. “I drew it all up on my own. Your routine beginning tomorrow, I tell you.” She turned around and left Sheetal with a timetable dictating what time she was to wake, dress, and attend morning prayers. Breakfast, according to the schedule, took place at eight-thirty, followed immediately by Sheetal’s educational time, which meant reading the newspaper, learning the family history, and the family business. Lunch was served at twelve-thirty, after which she was to help Rakesh with his work in the office until six in the evening. Only after this was Sheetal officially free.

  Free? Sheetal took a deep breath. She had always done things at the time and in the manner she wanted. How dare Mummyji dictate her schedule? She was about to scrunch up the paper when a footnote scrawled at the bottom caught her attention. Sheetal was to rote-learn the family’s achievements and web of relatives for a pop quiz at the end of the month.

  With eleven days to go before the end of the month, Sheetal was determined not to learn anything at all.

  # # #

  That afternoon, Janvi, one of the fifteen servants, knocked on Sheetal’s bedroom door. “Choti Sahiba?”

  “Yes?” Sheetal set aside her Danielle Steele novel.

  “Memsahib is calling you downstairs for lunch.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute.” It took longer than a minute to reach the Marquette Dining Room. Getting from one floor to another meant a walk along one of the mansion’s wings, going down the main stairs, across the hall and through a short corridor. The Dhanraj mansion sprawled on acres of land and accommodated seventy-thousand square feet of living space: forty thousand on the ground floor and thirty thousand on the second floor.

  A private Japanese garden, the only one of its kind in Raigun, occupied the space behind the mansion. Four garages and servants’ quarters situated outside the west wing were equally matched on the east by an infinity pool that overlooked the Dhanraj’s private lake and a view of the mountains.

  The U-shaped driveway passed through a lush green lawn and was bordered with flowers, colored pebbles, and a sculpted hedge. A pair of black, wrought iron gates closed the driveway’s entrance on the left and exit on the right, each monitored by a manned security post. A porte-cochere, supported by six Venetian pillars, shaded fifteen marble steps covered in red carpet that ascended to a pair of huge mahogany doors.

  Sheetal emerged from her bedroom on the north wing and silently passed Megha’s room, situated directly above the Marquette Dining Room. She peered over the marble railing of the balcony that ran the length of the mansion’s inner perimeter. No one stirred downstairs.

  A flight of stairs bisected the north wing’s corridor and
flared in an A at the ground floor. A tessellation of alternating black and white tiles covered the ground floor, and a pair of crystal chandeliers, hanging from the sixty feet high ceiling, framed the stairs.

  The left chandelier illuminated an informal sitting area that contained a nine-seater Bradford Brown settee pampered with soft, brown cushions, and a Russet Legacy coffee table. The right chandelier hung above a mammoth, sixteen-seater, U-shaped Fulton White seating arrangement complete with five ottomans, each piece padded with sturdy, appliqued white cushions. This seating arrangement was fronted by two gray marble elephants that faced each other, each elephant adorned with gold collars and silver-and-pewter anklets. Their heads and S-shaped trunks supported a six-feet long sheet of beveled glass. The table was rumored to be worth a fortune.

  However, this good fortune meant little to Sheetal, who preferred to watch streaks of yellow sunlight angle across the squares of black and white marble, and soak in a little sun that streamed through the French windows behind the Bradford Browns at dawn and across the Fulton Whites at dusk. She craved warmth in this mansion of hard, cold marble, where all the bedrooms, except for Mummyji’s on the east wing, ran along the north wing.

  Sheetal made her way down the stairs and paused behind the Bradford Brown sofas in a spot of sunlight, hoping to warm herself. Janvi called out again.

  Sheetal hurried to the dining room. Mummyji was likely to fuss about how improper and unacceptable it was for a daughter-in-law to loiter around the house when so much work needed to be done.

  Mummyji sat tapping her French manicured nails against a plate, diamond bangles glittering on her wrists. Sheetal understood why as she entered the dining room. Three serving bowls, full of curries, graced the center of the dining table set for two.

  Sheetal had heard that Mummyji had wasted no time after Ashok died in exchanging her ruby, sapphire and emerald bangles for diamonds and pearls. Sheetal took her place opposite Mummyji, pulled in her chair and spread a serviette across her lap.

  “Well, what do you think?” Mummyji asked.

  “Think of what?”

  “Your schedule?”

  Sheetal took a deep breath. “It’s like being back in school.”

  “Exactly what the first few years are all about for any bride, I tell you!” Mummyji clapped in delight. “Marriage means school. An education. Learning to do everything in a new way. Our way.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, I tell you. Forget what you were. Look at who you are. A Dhanraj.” Her cheeks swelled with pride. Then she leaned forward and helped herself to servings of spicy mutter korma, chana masala and yoghurt raita. The freckles on her face darkened as she accidentally dribbled gravy from the spoon onto the cream-colored tablecloth. “Now, if you need me during the afternoons, I’ll be at the club. I’m the best card player, I tell you. I always win.”

  Sheetal didn’t care if Mummyji lost. She had to do something about that ridiculous timetable. “Where’s Nainaji?” she added the ‘ji’ as a form of respect when addressing any in-law.

  “Naina won’t eat.” Mummyji tore a piece of chapati, rolled it into a cone, filled it with curry from her plate and popped it into her mouth. She said while chewing, “I understand Naina hasn’t been on her best behavior lately. This just cannot continue, I tell you. The two of you arguing over trees and now one on a hunger strike. Aren’t you going to eat?” She gestured to Sheetal’s empty plate.

  “I tried to reason with her,” Sheetal said, “but she wouldn’t listen.” The argument over conifer and oak trees had cropped up again last night when all four women were watching TV in the lounge and Naina continued to pass sarcastic remarks about Sheetal’s paintings. Furious that no one stood up in her defense, Sheetal had excused herself and gone upstairs to her room.

  “There’s only one way to sort this.” Mummyji raised a greasy index finger. “An apology.”

  Finally! They agreed on something.

  “You should go to Naina’s room right now.”

  “Why?”

  “To apologize, of course.” Mummyji glared at her. “Not everyone cares about trees or trivial things the way you do.”

  “Me?” The blood rushed to Sheetal’s head. “Apologize?”

  “Of course, what did you think?”

  Was she even supposed to think, or was Mummyji supposed to do all the thinking around here? She reiterated how the argument had begun, but Mummyji would have none of it. According to Mummyji, it was Sheetal’s fault and an apology to Naina was pure common sense.

  Nothing made sense. Her first week as a Dhanraj—bridal mehndi still laced her palms–and she was supposed to apologize for something she hadn’t done?

  Sheetal finished her lunch in silence. Then she marched upstairs and apologized through Naina’s locked bedroom door.

  ***

  Over the next two weeks, Sheetal saw Rakesh a total of four times, and ate fourteen dinners without him. She had never seen him eat, drink, sleep, or interact with any family member or staff. Sometimes, he worked out late at the gym, or he saw clients all evening, and she learned of his whereabouts from eavesdropping on Mummyji’s conversations with the servants. But to ask any of the Dhanrajs directly about him was unthinkable. What would they think of her and her supposed intimate relationship with Rakesh? The blame for any fault in the marriage would fall on her.

  If she returned to Mama and Papa and said things weren’t working out between her and Rakesh, she’d be forced right back with instructions to give this marriage time and patience. To ‘get to know’ Rakesh before making hasty decisions. Which is why it was crucial to spend time with her husband, to get to know him, and find reasons why it was impossible to live with him and his family. She needed proof that this marriage was over and there was no chance of a return.

  Each night, Sheetal tried hard to stay awake, but fell asleep before Rakesh arrived home. By the time she woke in the morning, he was gone. The only clues of Rakesh having slept with her were the distinct odor of nicotine seeping from his side of the bed and a slight indentation in the mattress. Clues like this left her feeling bad. But nights when the other half of the mattress lay cold, empty and flat, without a wrinkle or impression, left her feeling worse.

  Finally, Sheetal entered the dining room one evening and turned left into the kitchen. There were no voices, only the rattling and clanking of pots and pans. Which meant Laal Bahadur, the chef, worked alone. She paused at the open doorway as Laal Bahadur tossed some cumin seeds into a wok of hot oil. A crackle and splutter filled the air as wisps of smoke rose from the pan. “Smells good.”

  “Oh! Choti Sahiba!” Dressed in a chef’s white hat and starched, white uniform, Laal Bahadur mopped his cherry-round face with a tea towel before turning to face her. “Welcome, welcome!” He clanked a flat griddle on one of the four burners and then tossed some diced green chilies and ginger atop the cumin seeds.

  Sheetal rarely had an opportunity to speak to a member of the staff. The first time was the day after her wedding. Fifteen Dhanraj servants had lined up, and Mummyji had introduced her as the Choti Sahiba, after which the servants introduced themselves to her one at a time.

  “What’s cooking, Laal Bahadur?” she asked.

  “Oh! Paneer korma, dal palak, and”—he indicated the wok—“a phool gobi mix.” He tossed in florets of cauliflower and began to stir-fry the contents. “Just ten more minutes and I’ll be done. You are hungry, no?”

  No. She wasn’t hungry, and she didn’t have ten minutes. Mummyji would be down any second. “I was just wondering…do you warm dinner for Rakesh when he returns at night?”

  “Oh! He not eating here.” Laal Bahadur paused to look at her. “I don’t know much. I am given instructions never to ask anything. But, oh, I know he is usually returning by one or two at night. I am leaving his dinner on the table, as I am told to. And that’s exactly how I am finding it every morning.”

  “He must eat out then. With fr
iends? Business clients?”

  “Maybe.” Laal Bahadur shrugged. “How else can a man like him manage Dhanraj & Son alone and work nonstop? Fifteen hours a day, sometimes.”

  Sheetal didn’t know how. But she was determined to find out.

  ***

  The next morning, Mummyji barged into Sheetal’s bedroom and thrust another sheet of paper in her face. “This is the menu for the rest of the week, I tell you.” She panted; no doubt, from the speed at which she must have raced to give this to Sheetal. “And from now on, I will give you one every Monday so you don’t go around asking the cook what’s for lunch! Before I know it, you’ll be asking the servants where they live and what they do.”

  Sheetal opened her mouth to reply, but Mummyji didn’t give her a chance to speak.

  “Rule number one, I tell you. You do not make casual conversation with the staff in this house.” She locked her Kit Kat thick fingers behind her back and started pacing the room. “Rule number two, I tell you. You do not frolic about the house. Ever. Or just loiter around. A Dhanraj walks with poise, pride and elegance.” She straightened her posture, raised her head high, looked at the ceiling, and almost banged into the entertainment unit. “You should command sophistication, respect and dignity so everyone will respect you.”

  Was this a mental institution or a military school?

  “You carry on the way you did yesterday and you’ll find little difference between yourself and the servants. I don’t know how you went about doing things in your mother’s house, and I don’t want to know. But from now on, I tell you, you do everything our way. You have married into the Dhanraj household and you will behave like one of us, I tell you, or you will never become one of us. Furthermore…” Mummyji spat out another twelve don’ts, and when she finished, paused to stare at Sheetal. “We’re in the first week of July. You have learned the list of family members and relatives—no? For a surprise quiz?”