Duty and Desire

by Anju Gattani

  “I didn’t ask how it tasted.” He cast aside the white duvet and sat atop the sheet. “Finish it.”

  She raised the glass to her lips and drained the liquid. It burned. She threw the glass against the wall so he’d see her rage. This was wrong. This was not what Mama had raised her to be.

  Rakesh forced her onto her back, locked her fingers in his grip, and parted her lips with his tongue.

  He forced her legs apart, thrust into her, and pain seared like a knife. She struggled to break free, but he crushed her with his weight.

  The first night had returned all over again.

  Sheetal cried out, but his organ tore into her.

  Then he finished, rolled off, and left the room.

  She caught her reflection and a cry tore from her gut. A thin stream of blood, like sindoor, trickled down from the corner of her mouth. She attempted to reach the robe on the floor, but it was too far. She stretched, fell, and landed like a wasted heap on the carpet.

  Fallen.

  Tears coursed down her cheeks.

  She’d fallen in her own eyes.

  ChapterTwenty-Five

  Cat Fight

  When Sheetal and Rakesh pulled into the driveway on Sunday evening, Mummyji paced back and forth before the main entrance. As they climbed the stairs, Mummyji spread her arms and barricaded the doorway with her body.

  “Where have you been? Do you know Sheetal’s parents and her uncle from the U.S. called to wish her a happy birthday? How embarrassing, I tell you. I didn’t know where you were or what time you’d be back. What to say? And you don’t even pick up your phones. How irresponsible. You, Sheetal, could have at least called to let me know where you were.”

  Sheetal looked from Mummyji to Rakesh and back. “I told Rakesh—”

  “Stay out of this,” Rakesh cut her off.

  “I thought about calling the police,” Mummyji said. “Twice.”

  “So, did you?”

  “No. Because both of you would have made tomorrow’s headlines and embarrassed the family.”

  Rakesh grabbed Sheetal’s hand and started to drag her past Mummyji. “Come with me.”

  Sheetal shook free and Rakesh left without her. What choice did she have? If she ignored Mummyji, she would be labeled rude and disrespectful. If she ignored her husband, she’d be going against his will. There was no pleasing both. Sheetal brushed past Mummyji and entered the mansion.

  ***

  The following Saturday, Sheetal was at work in her studio when she noticed the odor of stale chutney. Naina, out of hibernation, had spent most afternoons on the Bradford Browns, combing through fashion magazines. So, Sheetal was a little surprised to see Naina storm in, considering Sheetal had carefully avoided her sister-in-law.

  “You bitch! How dare you act as if you own the place? First you brainwash Rakesh and then trap Megha into liking you. You trample all over my mother as if you’re in charge. But who gave you the right to control the servants?”

  “I don’t control anyone.” Sheetal calmly put down the brush. She could barely get past what Rakesh had done on her birthday. The last thing she needed was Naina creating more chaos.

  “You do, and you know it. Or why would Laal Bahadur cook your favorite meals every day, na?”

  All she had done was appreciate Laal Bahadur’s cooking instead of complaining. “Where’s the question of planning anything when Mummyji gives me the week’s menu every Monday?”

  “You know that’s not true. Mummy thinks she decides everything, but you’re secretly taking over, na. Maybe no one else can see it, but I do. I grew up here. This is my home and you can’t take it away from me.” Her loose hair fell in cobwebs around her face, and her eyes sparked with vengeance. She grabbed Sheetal’s wrist and squeezed the glass bangles, causing them to crack and scrape Sheetal’s skin.

  “Let me go.” Sheetal struggled to break free.

  “Admit it.” Naina tightened her grip. “Tell everyone you’re trying to take over.”

  “I don’t—”

  “What on— Oh my G-God!” Megha rushed in and tried to free Sheetal from Naina, but the harder Megha pulled, the tighter Naina gripped.

  “L-Let B-Bhabhi g-go!” Megha screamed as blood trickled from the cuts on Sheetal’s wrist.

  Sheetal relaxed for a second, saw confusion etch lines on Naina’s face, and then lunged forward, hurling Naina across the floor.

  Naina landed on her bottom and howled. At that moment, Mummyji rushed in, cast her arms like a net around Naina, slipped and fell on her back.

  She scowled at them. “How dare you gang up on Naina?”

  “We d-didn’t d-do anything. N-Naina g-got what she d-deserved.” Megha pulled shrapnels of glass from Sheetal’s wrist.

  “What’s all the noise?” Rakesh rushed in. “Fucking hell. Janvi!” he hollered. “First aid box now.”

  “She…she hates me.” Naina sobbed.

  “Who wouldn’t after what you d-did?” Megha used the end of her T-shirt to staunch the bleeding.

  “She doesn’t belong here and shouldn’t have come in the first place,” Naina yelled. “She should be grateful she’s a Dhanraj. But that’s not enough, is it? You can’t just marry into a family and expect to worm your way into people’s hearts.”

  “The only worm around here is you,” Megha shouted.

  “Watch your tongue,” Mummyji yelled.

  “You watch yours,” Megha fired back. “I’ve b-been holding b-back all m-my l-life. B-but n-no more.”

  Silence filled the room. All eyes were fixed on Megha. Mummyji’s chest heaved and her eyebrows almost touched her hairline. Clearly, Megha had never talked back to anyone until now.

  “Come on, ladies, let’s get out of here.” Rakesh led Sheetal and Megha out.

  ***

  Rakesh cleaned and bandaged Sheetal’s wrist and forced her to lie down and rest even though Sheetal insisted the cuts were minor injuries. He had meals wheeled up to their bedroom and five servants on stand-by to do Sheetal’s bidding.

  However, after three days of being pampered and fussed over, Sheetal couldn’t take it anymore. How could Rakesh be so cold and calculating one minute and so caring the next? How did he expect to heal wounds inflicted by Naina when he hadn’t apologized for those he’d inflicted on her? “Rakesh.”

  He looked up from a pile of paperwork spread across the sofa in their bedroom.

  “Look, you defended me when I needed you, and I’m grateful. But I don’t need all this sick-patient treatment.”

  He stood and made his way toward her. “No one treats you that way. You’re my wife.”

  Her jaw tightened. What about last week on her birthday? Wasn’t she his wife then? “So?”

  Rakesh tucked the upper edge of the quilt below her chin and along the sides. “Naina crossed all lines of decency this time. Damn her.”

  What about his language and behavior? Was his birthday gift to her in any way decent?

  “No one messes with my wife. My…”

  Her chest tightened, and Sheetal felt ready to explode. This wasn’t about her wounds. It was about the damage done to one of Rakesh’s properties. Apparently, he was the only one who had a right to hurt her.

  ***

  The following week, Sheetal worked late in her studio, adding the final touches to a painting, when she realized it was eleven. Time to go to bed. She cleaned her tools, turned off the light, and heard footsteps headed along the south wing. She opened the door ever so slowly. Who could be about at this hour? A faint beam of yellow hall light spilled into the room, casting a weak slash across the wall. Harsh whispers made her draw closer.

  “I told you not to call me at home or on my mobile. No. Impossible! You have to understand—”

  The click-clack of footsteps stopped, and from the clarity of Rakesh’s voice, Sheetal guessed he must be three feet away.

  “That’s a lie and you know it. Fuck you.” A shadow cu
t the sliver of light, and Sheetal hid behind the door.

  “Don’t do anything. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes… Yes, yes,” his voice softened. “Promise. Come on, don’t make me say it. All right. Just once. I…I love you.” Footfalls headed away down the hall.

  The room spun, and Sheetal’s knees buckled. She grabbed the doorknob for support. Silence lapped the corridor. She poked her head around the door. The ghostly balcony railings and closed doors were discernable in the light of a dimly lit chandelier and a moonbeam, spilling through the windows on the right. Sheetal edged toward the balcony, soaking in the eerie chill of the cold mansion. The silhouette of someone in a hurry cut down the stairs ahead. When the figure sliced the silver moonbeam, Sheetal could just make out a pair of jeans and white T-shirt. She ducked behind a pillar. Where was Rakesh going at this hour? She peered around the pillar’s edge once more for a clearer view. A tink-tink came from the kitchen, tucked on the far left. Laal Bahadur was probably still cleaning up after dinner. A chunk of white light cut across the hallway like a knife’s blade, its tip resting on the kitchen door.

  Rakesh paused mid-way, looked up, and Sheetal ducked behind the pillar, her heart pounding. Her breaths came in quick, short spurts and her head throbbed. Who was he going to meet? And why?

  The rev of the Lamborghini thrummed the air. She headed back into the studio to see Rakesh’s car pull out of the driveway.

  Blackness shrouded her vision, and the floor beneath gave way.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jigsaw

  Dr. Joshi slipped Sheetal’s papers into a folder, and Mummyji repeatedly flicked her thumb on her purse’s lock, breaking the silence of the doctor’s office. Mummyji slid a pair of rimless eyeglasses up the bridge of her nose, then looked at a chart on the wall behind Dr. Joshi as Sheetal fidgeted with the ring on her finger.

  “There’s absolutely no need to worry, Mrs. Dhanraj,” Dr. Joshi said. “The dizzy spells, nausea, general discomfort, and your test results—all signs of a normal pregnancy. Congratulations.”

  Sheetal’s stomach clenched.

  “A baby?” Mummyji clapped her hands. “Why, this is just wonderful, I tell you. Simply wonderful.”

  “According to my calculations, you are due on…” Dr. Joshi consulted a calendar. “Let’s see… October the fourteenth.”

  “No.”

  Dr. Joshi stared at her.

  Sheetal didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud.

  “Is something wrong?” the doctor asked.

  “A baby?” In seven months’ time?

  “Oh my, my, my!” Mummyji beamed. “How wonderful! A baby in the house. I can’t believe it.”

  All the way home, Mummyji pampered and fussed over Sheetal. She insisted Sheetal make lifestyle changes, like going to bed early, not working too hard, making healthier food choices and on and on. At home, she forced Sheetal into bed, propped her feet on two pillows, dragged the bedcovers up to her chin and debated when to share the good news with everyone. “I’ll wait until after your first trimester, I tell you. It’s safer. Better—no?”

  The first trimester was considered the most crucial for an expectant mother, the delicate phase when things could go wrong.

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

  What was she supposed to think? She was going to be a mother. Rakesh was going to be a father. They were going to be a family. A broken family.

  ***

  Later that evening, in the comfort of the TV lounge, Sheetal watched a Bollywood masala movie in a failed attempt to take her mind off the day’s revelation. Rakesh entered and sat on the coffee table, blocking her view of the TV. Sheetal looked past his shoulder to the upper edge of the screen, where a kaleidoscope of colors and muffled voices fused with the pandemonium in her heart. It was easier to keep quiet and hope the moment passed than deal with him.

  He placed a hand on hers and looked into her eyes. “Is it true? We’re having a baby?”

  She blinked and took a deep breath. “That’s what Dr. Joshi said.”

  “Is…is something wrong? I know we didn’t plan on it. It… Things just happened. But it’s okay.”

  Okay? Is that what this is? Okay? First the marriage. Then the brief romance. And now a baby. All in the right order. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s what I’ve been waiting for. I…I mean, it’s what we’ve—any man— I mean, any couple wants, right?”

  If he was so sure about this baby, why was he fumbling for words? Like he wasn’t sure if he’d say the right thing or say it right? Sheetal rose, walked to the patio, slid open the glass door, and stepped outside. She took a right on the cobblestone pathway, lit by garden lights, and sat on her favorite bench before the pond of koi. The fish darted in and out of rocks and plants, mimicking the thoughts racing through her mind. How on earth was she going to raise a baby here?

  “You’re still pickled about the birthday, aren’t you? Still angry.” Rakesh sat beside her.

  Angry? Sheetal cringed. Anger was just the leftovers. A month had passed since the episode, but it hurt like a raw and infected wound.

  “I never…meant it to go that way,” he whispered. “It was…just…a test.”

  “A test?” Blood rushed to her head. “Did I pass with flying colors?”

  “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

  “You never did. Why should I?”

  “I admit what I did was wrong. And I promise things will be different from now on.”

  “You said that before. Nothing changed.”

  “I’ve changed, haven’t I?”

  “I’m paying for it. Aren’t I?”

  “Look, you’re tired.”

  “I am, as a matter of fact. Tired of you. Wouldn’t you feel the same way if you were me?”

  “Look.” He put an arm around her shoulders.

  Sheetal shrugged off the embrace.

  “It just happened in the heat of the moment. I didn’t mean it to—”

  “What else didn’t you mean? This marriage? Mummyji made that clear. This baby? I heard you on the phone last night. I heard everything, Rakesh.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The lines on his forehead deepened.

  “Stop lying. It was around eleven. You left the house after talking to her on the phone. I saw you run down the stairs in jeans and a white T-shirt.”

  He crossed his arms. “I wasn’t on any call with anyone outside your studio. I never changed into a T-shirt and jeans, and I…I was looking for you. You weren’t in the room, so I went downstairs thinking you might be in the kitchen. But later, when I saw the studio door open, I figured you might still be there. So, I ran back up and found you unconscious.”

  “I heard you tell her you would meet her in fifteen minutes. You said you loved her. I heard you. Who is she?”

  “I don’t know what the fucking hell you heard or saw,” he snapped. “I wasn’t on the phone last night with anyone. I was home the entire evening, dammit!” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Why is everything so difficult with you? I think you’re tired with all of it. The pregnancy. Naina’s wedding…”

  Naina’s wedding was three months away and Mummyji had been handling the preparations. The only thing she was tired of was him.

  “I think your imagination is overworked.”

  “My imagination?” Her chest tightened. “So, now you’re telling me I’m imagining things?”

  “What you saw last night was me looking for you.” He loosened his tie. “You should rest.”

  “I don’t need rest.” She took a deep breath, holding back tears. Was this a ‘believe what I’m telling you, not what you think you heard’? Why did everyone keep shoving her aside? Like forcing her to lie down. Insisting she didn’t know what was good for her. And now claiming she imagined things. “How do I know you were looking for me?”

  “You want proof?” Rakesh pulled his wallet from
a back trouser pocket, flipped it open and handed her a white envelope the size of her palm. “I’ve been carrying this for weeks. I wanted to give it to you earlier, to apologize for what happened on your birthday. But there’s just never a right time with you.”

  Sheetal peeled open the envelope’s flap and removed a card. A picture of a single red rose graced the cover with a handwritten message inside. I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused between us. Look forward to your art exhibition from December fifth to tenth.

  “What exhibition?”

  “I booked the Crowning Galleria for five days in December.”

  Sheetal’s heart skipped a beat. Crowning Galleria was the best art gallery in Raigun, where local and internationally renowned artists displayed their work. “The Crowning Galleria?” she repeated, to make sure she’d heard right.

  “That’s right. Your exhibition. Precisely why I was looking for you. Now you have all the proof.”

  Her heart grated the pit of her stomach in guilt. “But you never told me. We never even discussed—”

  “It was a surprise! What more can a man do to make up? I take the trouble to arrange an exhibition for you. And what do you do? Blow it off with some silly story about a phone conversation I never had with some…some other woman?” His attention shifted to the pond.

  Here, she’d been thinking negatively about him while he’d been working to advance her career. She read the card again to make sure, and each word weighed like lead. The proof was here in black and white, like the sonogram of the fetus she’d seen that afternoon, evidence of supposedly good things to come. And what about the phone call? And the rev of the car engine? She had heard them.

  “Well, what do you say?”

  “I’ve never done anything like this before, putting my work on display. I’m— I don’t think I’m ready.”

  “You’ve never had a baby, either. How do we know we’re ready? There’s always a first time.”

  “But—”

  “You’ll need fifty paintings ready by then. I signed the contract papers. You are up to it, aren’t you?”

  Three months until Naina’s wedding. Seven months until the baby’s arrival. Nine months until her exhibition. Sheetal bit her lip.