Duty and Desire

by Anju Gattani

  “Why did he die? This boy? How?”

  “Pneumonia.”

  “What was he like?”

  “I haven’t thought of him in such a long time.” Mama turned away.

  “But you had him for three months.” Sheetal fidgeted with the strand of gold around her neck and stopped at the tip of the pendant.

  “He was a little dark in complexion, and he had big, brown eyes.”

  A bitterness crept into Sheetal’s heart. Did Mama love the boy more than she loved her? “Did he look like you?” She prayed he didn’t.

  “Sheetal!” Mama frowned. “This is going too far.”

  “But I want to know. What was Vishnu like?”

  “Attentive. Gentle. Caring. But we don’t need to go into details. It means nothing.”

  Sheetal tightened her fingers into fists. “It does.”

  “Why?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” She stood. “No one tells me anything around here.”

  “You didn’t need to know.”

  “And I need to know now that you once had a different husband and baby?” Mama had lived a secret life before Sheetal existed, one she’d never been privy to.

  “So you understand how to adjust to changes in life. Your father married me when I was a pregnant widow. I was in my second trimester when He died. I learned of your father through Uncle Navnit, because they were business partners.”

  Through Mama’s older brother. Sheetal met him briefly during the wedding.

  Why did Mama still refer to her ex-husband as ‘He’? Out of respect, women from previous generations didn’t use their husbands’ names. They referred to them as ‘He.’ But if this Vishnu was dead, why did Mama treat him as if he were alive?

  “Your father heard what happened, felt sorry, and married me despite the pregnancy. Maji never approved of our marriage because she didn’t get to choose a bride for her son, which is every mother’s right, and she was forced to accept the child of another in her home. But she accepted me despite everything. I guess she had to because she didn’t have a choice. And for that, I’m grateful.”

  Is that why Dadi was unusually hard on Mama?

  “I want you to know your father didn’t have to marry me. He chose to do the honorable thing, for my sake.”

  Sheetal’s knees weakened and she sank onto the bed. The proud, selfish and pompous impression she had of Papa was wrong. He had always done what was best for the family in times when they had little as he did now in times of plenty. Regret welled. She hated herself for misjudging him. The thought of buying vendors’ fruits and vegetables that swarmed with flies and then crossing a road in broken sandals, arms loaded with grocery bags, caused Sheetal to turn away. Was that the life Mama and Papa had endured and the reason why they didn’t want her to marry Arvind?

  “All we had at the time was a one-bedroom flat in Nariyal Ka Rasta. But the past is over. Look how hard your father worked and where we are now.”

  It made sense, why Mama and Papa held on to their wealth with an iron grip. To think, she easily could have been poor.

  She curled the fingers of her right hand, holding tight to the bond she had forged with Mama in the last twenty minutes, a bond that outweighed the last twenty-two years. Still, she wanted answers. “Did you love Vishnu?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “It does to me.”

  Mama sighed. “At the time, yes.”

  “More,” Sheetal hestitated to ask, “than Papa?”

  “I said, at the time. It’s over now.” Mama walked across to the window, clearly annoyed. “This is getting way out of line. Nothing in life comes easy. Everything comes at a price.”

  “All I’m asking is if you loved him more than Papa.”

  “No two people are the same.”

  “You did. I can tell. And you can’t let him go,” Sheetal whispered. “So, you understand why I can’t let go of Arvind.”

  “Forget Arvind,” Mama’s voice firmed. “I tried so many times to tell you, but you didn’t listen. And I tried to tell him the same—”

  “Who?”

  “Arvind.”

  “He was here again, and you didn’t tell me?”

  “He came to say he was leaving Raigun. He came in August. About two months after you married.”

  “Here? He came here?” Sheetal held her breath. “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “Tell you what? Trivial things to upset your new life? It’s finished. Over. Didn’t you say so yourself?”

  It was over because that’s what Mama and Papa had wanted to hear. Fear gripped her. How would she leave the Dhanrajs now? Arvind was gone, and Aunty Hemu and her brood were moving in. “Did he say where he was going?”

  “What difference does it make?” Mama threw her hands in the air. “He dared to come here. Can you believe it? Here.”

  Which meant he still loved her. She had to find him.

  “Thank God your father wasn’t here, or God only knows what He would have done. It’s best you forget that Arvind and that he marry some girl of his class and settle down.”

  Sheetal went rigid. “You’re heartless.”

  Mama’s expression hardened to stone. “There is no life without money. Even love can’t survive. My first child died because we didn’t have enough. But we do now, and it’s best you learn how to hold on to every rupee. And understand one thing: your father is the only man in my life now. There is no other.”

  “You’re pretending you didn’t love Vishnu. But you still do. I know, Mama. I can see it.”

  “This stays between us. Understand? Not a word to anyone. Ever. It’ll just create gossip and complications.”

  “And what happens to me? I can’t live in that nut house with those people.”

  “For God’s sake, grow up. You’re not a child anymore. It’s your decision whether you choose to be happy or not. Find happiness in what you have.”

  “You’re not making me go back, are you?”

  Mama sat beside her. “I saw your and Rakeshji’s photograph in the paper the other day. The article said you two were the evening’s highlight. Don’t tell me you’re not happy.”

  “It’s not what it looks like.”

  You have what every woman aspires to. Don’t throw it away. You will learn its value and strength in time.”

  ***

  Two days later, Sheetal picked up her ringing cell phone and pressed it to her ear.

  “Hi. Remember me?” Rakesh’s deep, husky voice startled her.

  “Of course, I—” Her heart skipped a beat. “When did you get back?”

  “You never called once to check if I was back.”

  Sheetal counted the days and bit her lower lip. Rakesh must have landed four days ago, and she was scheduled to return tomorrow. “I lost track of time.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Oh.”

  “How have you been?”

  She could almost smell the thick, sweet-sour mixture of scotch and nicotine, as if he stood in the room. “Fine.”

  “And everyone else?”

  “Fine.”

  “Care to ask me?”

  “Ask you what?”

  “My trip. How I’ve been. How much I missed you.”

  “How was it?”

  “Fine.”

  “How have you been?”

  “Lonely.”

  She bit her lip. She hadn’t expected that response. “H-h—” She held her breath, daring to ask, “How much did you miss me?”

  “More than you’ll ever know.”

  Sheetal pressed the phone against her ear, wanting the saffron sweetness of his words to continue.

  “I’ve been thinking of nothing but you,” he went on. “The smell of your skin, your hair, your lips, it’s everywhere in our room. Did you miss me?”

  Her attention wandered to the lawn outside her balcony. “I… I…”

 
“You don’t have to answer. I understand.” He sighed. “There’s no reason for you to miss me. But say it anyway. Did you miss me?”

  “I did think of you once or twice.” She had replayed the Diwali night and the sight of Rakesh’s den like a looped tape for the last two weeks. There was no denying the night had happened.

  “You’re coming back tomorrow, right?”

  She took a deep breath and exhaled. Was there any reason to stay?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Champagne Dreams

  The next morning, fifteen sterling silver trays, brimming with sweet mithais, golden apples, pears, juicy tangerines, ripe pomegranates, imported boxes of biscotti and shortbread biscuits were carried into the Dhanraj mansion by servants. Sheetal, Mama and Papa followed.

  Dressed in an aqua tusser silk sari and diamond jewelry chosen by Mummyji, well in advance, Sheetal made her way up the mansion’s entrance stairs, the weight of high society dragging her every step.

  The servants neatly arranged the trays on the glass coffee table before the Fulton Whites. Mama and Papa greeted Mummyji by pressing their hands together in namaste and bowing their heads. Mummyji thanked Mama and Papa for the gifts then called servants to whisk away the trays and bring out snacks.

  A selection of savory and sweet mithais wrapped in paper-thin, edible silver barakh and gold-rimmed glasses of honey colored juice glittered under the bright rays of the chandelier. Mama and Papa each chose one piece from the selection offered.

  Culture and tradition cautioned the bride’s parents against eating or drinking anything offered at the daughter’s house. The practice, one of many, helped both families keep a healthy distance to prevent the bride’s family from accidentally stepping on anyone’s toes, which could lead to family arguments and, in turn, disadvantage the bride.

  When Mummyji gestured for Mama and Papa to have a seat, Sheetal bent to touch Mummyji’s feet and seek her blessing.

  Mummyji smiled broadly and sat near Mama. “Oh, you won’t believe the excitement, I tell you! My Naina’s wedding is less than six months away and…” she elaborated on the details of the family Naina was to marry into, their improving finances and rising status in Calkot, and how this wedding would elevate the Malhotras to the crème de la crème of society. She raved on about Naina’s exquisite taste in shopping for saris and salwar suits, her ability to predict modern fashion trends, and the hope that someday she would become a role model for every modern, young Indian woman.

  “Well then,” Papa said, “we must meet her.”

  “Oh, but you can’t,” Mummyji said. “She’s on bed rest. You see, she’s been having these recurring nightmares, I tell you. Crying for days and days. It’s not her fault if she was the only one affected by Ashok’s death,” her voice cracked. “I mean, so what if that happened three years ago, I tell you. Naina was the favorite child, and obviously she was affected the most by his… his…”

  Sheetal was convinced Mummyji was going to turn on the waterworks. Then Mama patted Mummyji’s arm, and Sheetal gritted her teeth. She had taken all this trouble to return looking like a Dhanraj, in accordance with Mummyji’s wishes, and Mummyji hardly cared. Even the trays of mithais were better off! At least, she had bothered to look at those.

  At that moment, Rakesh sauntered downstairs, touched Mama and Papa’s feet, and sat before Sheetal. He nodded and smiled as Mummyji went on and on about Naina this and Naina that, his features softening under the chandelier’s glow. Warmth spread within and Sheetal began to calm and relax. She tried to tune in to what Mummyji was saying but couldn’t peel her attention away from Rakesh. He appeared so much more relaxed, carefree, and handsome than before. And from the way he scanned everyone and then fixed his attention on her, Sheetal’s heart skipped a beat. He really did miss her.

  Then Mama and Papa rose to leave, and she followed them to the blue Maruti parked outside, with Rakesh close on her heels.

  “We’ll call you over as soon as we can,” Mama whispered and slid into the vehicle’s passenger seat. “And next time, we’ll spend more time together. I promise.”

  The driver started the car and drove to the gate. The taillights blinked once, twice, and then the car turned onto Barotta Hill and the iron gates closed.

  “You look stunning, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Rakesh enveloped her hand in his and led her back into the mansion. He stopped at the staircase landing, removed a scarf from the pocket of his chinos and blindfolded her. “I have a little surprise for you.”

  At first, Sheetal resisted, but the coolness of his hand on her wrist calmed her. He rested her right hand on the rail of the balustrade and let go. “You’ll have to make your way up, but I’ll stay close.”

  Sheetal raised her foot, but her toe banged the riser and she lunged forward. Rakesh caught her before she fell and helped her stand.

  “Is this surprise something to be scared of?” She raised her foot again and located the first step. Rakesh’s steady breathing on her left and the gentle tap of his shoes against the marble stairs meant he hadn’t left her side. Not yet.

  “It’s in two pieces.”

  Another mini skirt and smocked tank top? She tightened her jaw. “What if I don’t like it?”

  “It’s not meant to fit.”

  She made her way up, unsure how many steps she’d climbed, and when she couldn’t find another riser, she stopped. She ran her hand along the banister. It curved right, which meant she’d reached the top.

  Rakesh led her forward and spun her around three times, causing the darkness to swirl. Sheetal stretched out her arms to locate the bannister and regain her bearings but encountered a muscle-filled wall of fabric.

  “This way.” Rakesh raised her right hand and placed it on a hump-shaped object taller than shoulder height.

  She squeezed the rounded hump. Rakesh’s shoulder. She began walking when he did, then bumped into his back and molded against his contours when he stopped walking.

  “Easy does it now.”

  She drew in long, slow breaths to quell her excitement. What could it be? A creaking filled the silence, then he started walking again. A cold breeze whooshed past, causing the hairs on her arms to stand on end.

  Rakesh suddenly ducked away, and Sheetal reached out to grab something for support. A door. A wall. Anything. She found nothing within reach. “Rakesh?” No answer. “Rakesh? Where are you?” She yanked the blindfold, squinted against harsh light, and waited for her vision to adjust.

  She stood in a room with beige walls. Polished brown floorboards covered the right half of the floor and the left was padded with beige carpet. An easel dominated the center of the hardwood floor. A leather sofa with a matching recliner and coffee table graced the carpeted area and the windows were draped with tan curtains. “It’s beautiful. This room and the whole décor. Whose is it?”

  “Yours. I renovated your studio while you were away.”

  “My studio. You did this?”

  “At your service.” Rakesh saluted playfully.

  “Why?”

  “Because I missed you.”

  “But weren’t you in Amsterdam while I was at Mama’s?” She headed for the easel.

  “Yeah, I said that to throw you off. But I was really supervising this while you were gone. It took a whole week.”

  Rakesh never took time off for anyone. He had canceled their European honeymoon because of work. “You mean you redid my studio and didn’t go to Amsterdam?”

  “Whoa! Cool it.” He raised both hands. “It was just a week. You sound as if I took a year off.”

  Just a week was seven precious days of Rakesh’s time, which meant he cared. “Where are all my paintings?”

  “I…I, uh, got rid of them.”

  “You what?”

  “I…I thought we should start fresh, from scratch. So, I had your room redecorated for a new beginning—to your career and our relationship.”

  “You can
’t just— Those paintings were six months of hard work. My parents still decorate their house with my work and cherish what I’ve done. And you throw them out the moment I leave?”

  He frowned. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I… I didn’t know it meant that much to you. It looked like beginner’s stuff. I thought—”

  “Who cares what you thought? How dare you take my work and…and—” Anger burned through her skin and she stormed from the room.

  “Wait, Sheetal!” he called after her.

  Sheetal lengthened her stride, just able to see her bedroom door on the opposite wing through a mist of tears. She reached the door, took a right, careened into her room, slammed the door, and locked it. Darkness engulfed her. She felt blindfolded again. Blind to trust.

  “Listen, Sheetal!” He knocked on the door.

  Rage tore at her heart. Sheetal pressed her back to the door and slid to the floor.

  “Open the door, please.”

  She crossed her arms and drew in her knees, praying the floor would crack open and swallow her.

  “Listen, just listen to me.”

  She tucked her face into the cradle of her sari, draped between her knees. Bile rushed to her throat and burned. She didn’t want to listen. She just wanted to be left alone.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Hurt? Is that all he thought he’d done?

  “Just switch on the light and I’ll go,” he begged.

  He was stone. He was ice. He was—

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Sheetal rose, brushed away tears, and switched on the light. The walls had been freshly painted in a sun-burnt shade of orange, and a border of golden-brown leaves ran horizontally across the middle. Gold railings and fixtures bordered the king size bed. The sofas were no longer blue but a shade of softest peach, and the carpet had been replaced with plush new pile the color of ripe papaya. A glass cabinet housed a TV.

  Sheetal unlocked the door and let Rakesh in.

  “I know the room was long overdue for renovations. I didn’t mean to—”

  She went into the bathroom and shut the door.