by Anju Gattani
“Sit down, please.”
He hesitated but complied.
While she sketched, she recalled the night they had supposedly made love. She’d run her fingers through his hair and down the clean-shaven slant of his jaw. Not a hair follicle had disturbed her stroke. Such a contrast to Arvind’s rough stubble and rounded jaw, where the hair pricked on contact but eventually curled into submission. Arvind’s musk…Arvind’s touch…
Rakesh grumbled.
Sheetal softened the peaks of Rakesh’s cheeks, lips and the sharp slant of his nose.
“Done?” Rakesh asked.
“Almost.” She reworked the hair and the angle at which the light reflected off the strands. Then she lifted a speck of charcoal from the pupils’ centers. “Done.”
Rakesh hopped off the chair and came round the easel.
She braced herself for a barrage of insults.
“It’s me! In fact, it’s better than me. I am impressed. How—what—”
“I…I thought about what you said.”
“And?”
“I looked at you in a different light.”
***
On December first, after spenting Sunday together, Sheetal prepared to return to Mama’s place while Rakesh packed for a ten-day business trip to Amsterdam.
Sheetal left a finished painting of the Dhanraj mansion on her easel. When she didn’t return at the end of two weeks, they’d realize her intentions. She wanted to say goodbye to Rakesh in the privacy of their bedroom, but Rakesh remained locked in his den for over an hour.
Tired of waiting, Sheetal was about to leave when the mirror-door swung open and Rakesh emerged carrying folders and loose papers. She stepped right in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the den’s interior before the door locked—something she’d tried countless times before—but, the heavy door touched the wall and clicked. No luck!
“There’s something I need to know,” she said.
Rakesh tossed five folders into his black leather briefcase, which lay open on the bed. “What?”
“You promise the truth?”
“Have I ever lied?”
Sheetal took a deep breath. After two weeks of rephrasing, restructuring and rehearsing the words, she had to get this right. “What happened that night? On Diwali?”
He aligned the folders in the briefcase, his expression blank.
Did he hear her? “Did…did anything happen between us?”
“Oh, that?” He grinned. “Yeah. We did the Diwali puja together. Remember?”
Mind games again. “I mean, did anything happen between us in the bedroom? Did we…did we make love that night? I’ve been trying to remember.”
Rakesh snapped the briefcase shut, pulled her to him and brushed his lips across hers, melting the unsaid words on her tongue.
The ground seemed to give way beneath her feet, and before she could say anything, he grabbed the briefcase and headed for the door.
“See you in two.” He left the room.
How could this marriage be over when his touch sent desire coursing through her body and she ached for him? Sheetal turned to the mirror-wall. There was a chance, a possibility it might not have locked. She silently crossed the room, pressed the wall, and the door started to slide. Light from the bedroom revealed shadow shapes in the den. She groped on the left and flicked a switch. Soft yellow lights bathed the interior of the room. She gasped.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Turn Back Time
The black Mercedes rolled through the gates of Prasad Bhavan as koyals cooed and sparrows chirped, filling Sheetal’s heart with delight. Home!
“Wait. Stop. I’ll get out and you carry on.” The Mercedes braked, and Sheetal hopped out. She yanked the scrunchy off her ponytail as the vehicle rolled ahead to the main entrance. She kicked off her two-inch platform sandals and ran across the front lawn. Wind rushed through her hair, blades of grass crushed beneath her feet, and relief flooded her veins. Nothing had changed.
Mama halted before the front door, her pink sari pallu fluttering in the breeze. Sheetal came to a stop, caught her breath, and wrapped Mama in a tight embrace. The strength and warmth of Mama’s arms filled Sheetal with relief.
“Aren’t you full of energy?” Mama pulled away from Sheetal and cupped her face in her hands.
“It’s so good to see you. I haven’t felt this free in a long time.”
“You’re the wife of Rakesh Dhanraj now. It will take a while, but you will get used to the lifestyle and responsibilities.”
Sheetal could account for every minute of being a Dhanraj but doubted Mama wanted to hear those problems.
Over the latter half of the morning, Sheetal chatted with the servants, asked the chef about the week’s menu and bathed in puddles of sunlight streaming in through the windows. It felt good to feel sunlight run down her back, arms and face again. She called out for Preeti when Asha Prasad, her grandmother, was rolled out in a wheelchair by one of the servants.
“What are you doing in a wheelchair?” Sheetal touched Dadi’s feet, a gesture of respect, and hugged her. “Where’s your walking stick?”
Dadi put a hand on Sheetal’s head to bless her and embraced Sheetal. “What use do I have for a walking stick when I can’t walk anymore?”
Sheetal pulled away. “What do you mean you can’t walk?”
“I had a fall, shortly after your marriage, and it paralyzed me from the waist-down.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What’s there to say? I’m an old woman. These things happen. And you should know, Preeti doesn’t work here anymore. She left some time ago.”
Preeti—gone? Why hadn’t anyone bothered to tell her?
After lunch, Sheetal went upstairs, running her hand along the corridor walls, content that her paintings still graced the house. She half expected to hear the hum of Shashi Behn’s hair dryer, the chatter of women as they bustled in and out of her room, and the clatter of cosmetic cases clicking open and closed, but silence greeted her. She opened her bedroom door. The familiar bed, dressing table, and cupboards along the back wall caused a wave of relief. It was as if she’d never left. Sheetal crossed to the balcony, swung open the door and surveyed the lush back lawn. No changes there, either.
Mama entered and sat on her bed. “You must find this room so much smaller than what you’re used to.”
The room was half the size of the one she shared with Rakesh, but this was still her room. Her bed. Her cupboard. And the last time she had opened the cupboard was to give Preeti a salwar suit. “Why didn’t you tell me Preeti left?”
“She was asked to leave.” Mama crossed her arms. “You were just married and settling in your new home. I certainly couldn’t bother you over such trivial things. That, too, a servant matter.”
A servant matter? She’d been away for six months and all that time, Mama conveniently failed to mention Dadi’s paralysis or Preeti’s dismissal. What more would she discover?
“I’m sure the Dhanrajs have more important things to worry about than…”
Sheetal’s heart sank. Preeti’s absence wasn’t the only empty spot around here.
***
On Saturday morning, the Prasads sat around a patio table in the shade of a white and green parasol as a servant poured tea from a Royal Albert teapot into Mama and Dadi’s matching teacups. Sheetal and Papa shared a pot of coffee, and when Sheetal took a sip, she realized it was the only thing she and Papa had in common.
Papa peeled open the pages of The Raigun Herald and held the newspaper before him, blocking everyone from view, as Sheetal, at Mama and Dadi’s urging, described the Japanese garden, her studio, the enormity of the estate on Barotta Hill, and the effort Mummyji put into maintaining the mansion.
“Well, I’m not surprised.” Dadi nodded. “To keep a house that size spick and span…”
When would this family realize the Dhanrajs were not gods? Sheetal had thought a
bout confiding her plan to Mama in private, but Mama would guilt-trip her into returning.
“You just don’t know how happy we are to see you married into such a prestigious family and settled into such a beautiful home.” Dadi lazily swirled her tea with a teaspoon. “When Hemu married, we couldn’t dream of giving her a fraction of the luxuries we now have. Bichari Hemu. Poor Hemu. Your life is any girl’s dream. How times have changed.”
Such a fine line between dream and reality.
Dadi turned to Papa and tapped the newspaper with her damp spoon. “I said, how times have changed!”
Papa rustled the pages and folded the newspaper.
“Why is it that you are not here even though you are here?” Dadi looked Papa squarely in the eye.
“I’m sorry, Ma. I was just reading about this catastrophe in—”
“I don’t care what you’re reading. Sheetal returns after six long months and instead of doting on her like every father should, you’re busy reading that…that thing!”
“All right. Only Sheetal from now on.” Papa flattened the sheets on the table, leaned forward, stirred his coffee, took a sip, and then repeated the motions. Nothing about Papa had changed. He still sat up so straight that his white golf T-shirt didn’t wrinkle. He positioned his elbows on the table, leaned forward as if they were in a meeting, and glanced at everyone in turn as if waiting for an opening statement.
“As I was saying”—Dadi slapped the table—“Sheetal’s happy and settled. Our princess will soon reign like a queen.”
“Yes, yes.” Papa nodded, his attention on The Raigun Herald.
Sheetal took a deep breath and fixed her gaze on the teapot. “I’m moving back—”
“You told her?” Dadi turned to Papa.
“Told her what?”
“About Hemu moving back.” Dadi turned to Mama. “Well? Have you?”
“No, Maji,” Mama answered. “I thought—”
“You thought if we don’t tell her than perhaps it won’t happen—eh?” Dadi scowled at Mama.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Sheetal looked at Mama. “I said I’m planning to—”
“Not now, Sheetal,” Dadi cut her short. “Hemu’s obviously not wanted here and—”
“Of course not, I just…”
“Don’t any of you care about what I want to say?”
Sheetal,” Mama frowned. “When elders talk, you must learn to wait your turn.”
Where was the time for formalities and manner? This was about her life.
“Well, if no one else can, then I’ll have to.” Dadi turned to Sheetal. “Your parents didn’t think it important enough to tell you, so I will. Hemu is moving back. Vikram and Anjali are coming to live with us, as well.” She glanced at Mama. “Not that all of us here are happy about it. But I don’t care because bichari Hemu…”
Bichari Hemu? Sheetal’s chest and throat tightened. Aunty Hemu coming to live with them? What was there to pity about Aunty Hemu? She knew almost everything that went on in their lives. Dadi talked to Hemu every day, if not twice a day. And even though the woman lived in Vilaspur, it was as if she lived here. “She’s coming for a holiday, I guess.”
“Longer. Much longer. Maybe…oh my…I’m afraid to say it out loud should I speak too soon and curse her good luck”—she patted her chest and coughed—“but maybe forever.”
Forever? Was Aunty Hemu separating from her husband? No, Sheetal reasoned. Women from Mama’s generation stayed in their marriages until they died.
“Bichari Hemu told me how difficult a time Vikram was having in finding a decent job with a decent pay. Even though he’s an engineer like his father, there are no good jobs in Vilaspur. And bichari Hemu told me how impossible it’s become for Vikram to continue living on such a low salary when he’s so capable. To think they’ve done everything possible with their limited savings and still suffer.”
‘Suffer,’ according to Dadi, meant living paycheck to paycheck.
“And Hemu, my poor darling,” she went on. “How she cried and cried on the phone last month like there was no tomorrow. So, I told her to come and live with us. Vikram can join Rana’s business and…”
The air thickened. She’d been gone only six months and her home had turned upside down.
A servant dipped a fresh teabag into the teapot and pressed it against the side with a spoon.
If crying was all it took for Aunty Hemu and her brood to move in, then all she had to do was squeeze a few tears and Mama and Papa would surely surrender. Easy!
“Plus, there is more than enough room here for everyone. Anyway, how much longer can Rana continue alone? And eventually, your mother will need help to run this place.”
“Uncle Ashwin helps.” Papa’s younger brother lived with his family in New Jersey, USA, with a wife and daughter, Tina. Uncle Ashwin handled the American division of Induslink Corporation.
“Yes, Ashwin is there.” Dadi nodded. “All the way in Amrika. But God knows what will happen here. Your father and mother are getting old, you know. Besides, it’s the least I can do for Hemu and Vikram.” She clanked the cup on her saucer with conviction. “Give them a future, if nothing else.”
“Family should help family,” Rana said.
So, Papa agreed to all this?
“Of course,” Dadi said. “If we couldn’t give Hemu a decent past, at least we should give her and the family a decent future. We did it for you. We can do it for her.”
Sheetal leaned back. She would have to wait and speak privately with Mama.
***
When Sheetal woke from her afternoon nap, Mama sat on the bed’s edge, caressing Sheetal’s hair as if it were her wedding day all over again. “Am I still a Prasad, Mama?”
Crinkles crept around the corner of Mama’s eyes. “You are special. Even the world sees it. Created by Brahma. Always destined to be special. You know what you are.”
“I…I don’t. Not anymore. I’m married but I feel different. Like I’ve aged twenty years in six months. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel anymore or if what I feel is right.”
Beams of sunlight streamed through the window, speckling the floor in golden yellow puddles as Mama rested a hand on Sheetal’s forehead. “You will always be a Prasad. But why all these questions? Aren’t you comfortable in your new home?”
“I’m confused. Marriage has changed everything. I can’t make sense of time, the people around me, or what I’m supposed to be doing at any moment. Everything I say or do is wrong. Everything has to be their way. There’s no beginning or end to all the wrongs I do. Like I’m going in circles, chasing my tail.”
Mama pulled her close and lay Sheetal’s head on her lap. “Sometimes it takes a year or more to adjust.”
“A year?”
“Or until you have your first baby. That gives many women a reason to settle down.”
“A baby?” Sheetal wrinkled her nose. “You’re going too far.”
“Don’t give me the nose, young lady.” Mama teasingly pinched Sheetal’s nose. “Every young woman eventually wants a baby and to start a family of her own. If not now, then later.”
Sheetal could barely handle herself in that house. The thought of a baby… Rakesh’s baby… She tensed. “Not me.”
“You don’t have to decide now. It’s a decision couples eventually make over time.”
They were not a couple. “Mama, there’s something you need to know. I’m not going back. I…can’t live there.”
“What do you mean?”
“I did everything you said. Give this marriage a try. I did. But they’re impossible. All of them.”
“And what’s so impossible?”
“They’re so rude. Domineering. I’m invisible there, like I don’t matter.” Should she share the details of how Rakesh had publicly humiliated her at the Damani’s party? “I feel—I don’t belong.”
“I understand.” Mama ran her palm along Sheetal’s
hair. “Marriage is a huge transition.”
“I’m serious.” Sheetal sat up. “I want to move back here.”
Mama inched away and lowered a hand to rest on the mattress. “What will people say? That you couldn’t make your marriage last.”
“I didn’t marry Rakesh to prove anything. If you hadn’t forced me, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“We did what was right.”
“For you. But clearly it isn’t for me.” Her breathing grew erratic. “If Aunty Hemu can come back forever then I can, too.”
“Your situation is different from hers. Besides, she’s not coming back forever.” Mama turned away.
“She’s a Prasad daughter. So am I.”
“She’s moving in because of her financial situation and family problems. You don’t have any. She’s been married for more than twenty-five years, she’s not a newlywed.”
“So, because I’m a newlywed, I don’t matter? I need a number to prove my worth? I’m still a Prasad. You said so yourself.”
“Why must you be so difficult?” Mama rose, her back turned.
“It’s true. You don’t know what it’s like being stuck with someone you don’t love.”
“I do.” Mama spun to face her. “I was married to another man before I married your father. My first husband—I lost him in a car accident.”
The air stilled. “You were married to someone else before Papa? So, Papa’s not my real father?” That explained why she was nothing like Papa.
“No, no.” Mama shook her head. “The man I married—his name was Vishnu. But you are not his daughter. I was pregnant with a boy when I— He died in that awful accident.”
Sheetal’s heart skipped a beat. A brother? She had a brother? All this time, she thought she was Mama and Papa’s only child. “Where is he? This boy you had?”
“Silly. Wouldn’t I have told you years ago if he was still around?”
What was she supposed to believe, considering Mama had hidden this for so long? The walls and bed distanced, and Sheetal felt suspended, like she was losing time, place and belonging.
“The baby died when he was three months old. We didn’t have the money to cure him. We were nowhere near as comfortable as we are now. I’ve told you this before. Your father and I have lived a hard life. We know what it means to have little.”