by Anju Gattani
“But Rakesh left instructions for—”
She was firm, “I just need enough help to get set up. Nothing more.”
“Oh yes, of course,” Mummyji’s voice hinted at panic, “but what will Rakesh say?”
“I’ll deal with Rakesh.”
Her heart swelled with pride over her new room. It was warm, beautiful, comfy, and the first time she had accomplished something on her own at the Dhanraj’s. When everything was in order, she left the bills on Rakesh’s desk in the den, precisely where she’d found the others. However, when she tried to sleep that night, she tossed and turned on the queen mattress. A knock on the door startled her.
“Sheetal?” Rakesh called.
Was he here to force her into a room of his choosing?
“Hey, it’s me. Are you okay in there?”
She stayed put. The old Sheetal would have gone running to the door in the hope he came to make peace and beg her to return. But she knew better. Rakesh was not the type to ask forgiveness. Arvind was. Arvind would never have left her alone at a time like this or let her out of his sight. Arvind…
The name reverberated with loneliness in her heart. It had been so long since she’d thought of him. She closed her eyes to remember his face, but his image blurred.
Five more knocks followed.
Maybe he came to apologize.
Desperation filled her heart. Maybe he waited for her to open the unlocked door. All he had to do was turn the knob.
Retreating footsteps click-clacked on the marble floor.
He was gone.
Twenty-two bedrooms and not one close to home.
***
The Dhanraj mansion buzzed with activity over the next month as wedding planners, caterers, florists, professional sari packers, architects, beauticians and musicians arrived to meet Mummyji and finalize details for Naina’s wedding.
According to Raigun rumor, Rakesh was putting together a wedding the world had never seen. Sheetal worried how much more stress this would put on her marriage, and the effect that strain would have on her and the baby.
Naina’s wedding card, the first clue of what lay in store, took Sheetal’s breath away. Tiny Swarovski crystals dotted the forehead of Lord Ganesh on each of the two thousand, four hundred silver-embossed, silk wedding invitations. The cards were mailed by post, except for two hundred that, in accordance with custom, had to be hand delivered to family, relatives and close friends.
Away on a two-week vacation with college friends, Megha was to return a week before the wedding. With less than a month to go and two hundred invitations to deliver by hand, Rakesh, Mummyji and Sheetal were hard-pressed for time. Sheetal agreed to accompany Rakesh to several relatives’ homes, including Vipul Swampat’s the following Saturday.
***
The Swampats’ front door swung open and the odor of burnt oil, overcooked masalas and garlic caused Sheetal to wrinkle her nose, turn away, and cough. According to Rakesh, the Swampats maintained a decent standard of living compared with most upper middle-class families, and Rakesh had warned Sheetal to hide any signs of discomfort so as not to offend their host.
“What an honor to have you both here. Please, do come in,” a gentleman in his late forties greeted Sheetal and Rakesh. The thick hairs of his gray moustache sparkled under the harsh florescent light.
“Vipul Sahib,” Rakesh introduced Sheetal to the gentleman. “And, my wife, Sheetal.”
The walls of Vipul Sahib’s flat stood fifty feet apart, crowded with two double-seater sofas, a wooden coffee table, and two rattan chairs. A dining table for four fit snugly against the far-right wall. Sheetal looked around and sighed, unsure how to make her way through the tiny channels between the furniture.
“Please have a seat.” Vipul Sahib gestured to a sofa. “It is a tiny but humble abode,” he added. “Nothing compared to what you must be used to.”
Rakesh stared at Sheetal, and Sheetal lowered her gaze to the floor. She hadn’t meant to be rude. But how was she to move around or sit in the cramped space without knocking into something?
“Your home is as big as your heart,” Rakesh filled in the awkward silence. “Whether we sit together at Dhanraj Towers or here, you are always family.”
Really? Sheetal hated herself for the thought, but their differences were striking. She took a seat, and the sofa cushion sank under her weight. She grabbed the right armrest for support, to prevent further sinking. Vipul sat opposite, and she peered past his shoulder to a corridor behind that ran for maybe ten or fifteen feet and ended at a wall. A door on each side of the hall had been left ajar. A window on the living room’s left wall opened to a view of concrete pavement and several trees. The flat was like being boxed in a Rubik’s Cube with a few squares knocked out for breathing space. It was all so cozy. Too cozy. Like, no matter where you sat, you’d still be cramped.
Was this the carefree life she would have shared with Arvind? A cozy nest with no frills? No trimmings? No conflict? With only two feet of space between her and Rakesh and five feet between her and Vipul Sahib, and a table squeezed between all three. Wouldn’t she and Arvind have fallen short of breathing space in a home this size? She sank deeper into the cushion and squirmed to right herself, worried the sofa would swallow her. Her extra weight was probably because of the baby, she reasoned as the stench of burning spices made her insides curdle. She wanted to stand by the open window and take a breath of fresh air.
Rakesh watched her from the corner of his eye while making small talk. He leaned across the table and handed Vipul Sahib the wedding card. “I hope you and your family will come to bless the couple and grace the occasion.”
“Why, of course!” Vipul Sahib nodded. “I wouldn’t miss Nainaji’s wedding for the world. In fact, I hear it’s to be the biggest bash.”
“All media hype. Nothing else.” Rakesh waved a hand and crossed one leg over the other. “You know those reporters. Always need something to talk about.”
Vipul Sahib thumbed open the envelope and removed the card. “It’s beautiful.”
A woman in an indigo sari with a red bindi the size of a marble emerged from the kitchen. The aroma of cloves and cinnamon arrived with her. “Oh my! Such distinguished guests at our home. Namaste. What a privilege!” She pressed her hands together, bowed slightly and sat beside her husband. She fanned the pleats of her sari across her toes, her fingers tainted with turmeric, and turned to Sheetal. “Are you all right? You don’t look well.”
“My wife, Bina,” Vipul Sahib introduced her.
“I’m fine,” Sheetal said. “I… I just get bouts of morning sickness. That’s all,” she lied.
“Oh yes, yes. Congratulations! Vipul told me and I read about the good news in the papers.”
Apparently, everything they did appeared in the papers.
“When’s the baby due?”
“Mid-October.”
“Pregnancy is such a difficult time. Both our sons are all grown up now. In their twenties. But how I still remember that awful morning sickness.” She snatched the wedding invitation from Vipul Sahib, smudging the silk with yellow fingerprints of turmeric. “What a pretty card. So delicate and…and… Oh, my manners. I forgot to ask. Would you like some chai? Coffee or juice, perhaps?”
Her throat parched, Sheetal desperately wanted something to drink and was about to agree to a glass of juice when Rakesh rose to his feet.
“We’re running late. We still have several families to visit. But thank you for the offer.”
“Surely, you can spare five more minutes,” Vipul Sahib said. “Sheetal must be tired from being on her feet all morning with so much of the wedding responsibilities on her shoulders at such a delicate time.”
Her legs ached and her feet hurt. Rakesh had his supply of cigarettes to keep him going. If she didn’t speak up for herself, no one else would. “I am a little tired.”
“Well then, that’s settled.” Vipul Sahib smiled. “Light
snacks and refreshments for everyone.”
“Is there a bathroom I can use?” Rakesh asked.
“Yes, of course. Here, let me show you.” Bina jumped to her feet and led Rakesh through the corridor to a door on the right. Then she returned to the kitchen.
Sheetal turned to Vipul Sahib, unsure what small talk to initiate since she hardly knew him. But she had to say something; otherwise, he was bound to consider her rude and snobbish. “How was your trip to Amsterdam?”
Vipul Sahib raised his eyebrows. “Amsterdam? I’ve never been.”
“You went in early December last year. Rakesh mentioned you had gone on a business trip together.”
He frowned and shook his head. “I think you’re mistaken. I was in Goa with my family, on holiday.”
“I’m talking about this last December,” she repeated, belatedly aware of the intensity of her tone.
“Yes, I’m sure. Absolutely sure. You look unwell, is it that morning sickness, perhaps, you were talking about?”
Sheetal bit her lip. “I must have confused you with someone else. I’m so sorry.”
“Not to worry. No problem.”
He was right. There wasn’t a problem. There were many. Rakesh Dhanraj.
***
With Megha due to return home any moment, Sheetal darted to the studio window every five minutes in anticipation of the Lamborghini’s arrival. Disappointed by the vacant drive, she’d return to her easel, pick up the brush, and resume work on a painting of a squirrel holding a nut—one in the line-up of fifty for the December exhibition. However, she found herself listening for the vehicle’s honk or the rev of its engine, and realized her brush remained poised in mid-air.
While Pushpa and Naina had spent April and May raking in Naina’s dowry, Sheetal had helped Megha shop for a new wardrobe, enroll in a grooming course, and decide upon a new hair style. Megha discarded her eyeglasses in favor of contact lenses and switched to smaller size clothes that flattered her petit frame. Sheetal loved how Megha looked to her for guidance and asked for her opinions.
The crunch of tires against gravel made Sheetal drop the brush, rush out the door, and make her way carefully downstairs. Megha ran into her arms and the overwhelming fragrance of lilies made Sheetal’s head spin. How much perfume did she spray?
Megha hugged her from the side, avoiding the bulge of Sheetal’s tummy. “It’s so good to come home to you, Bhabhi.”
Megha’s aqua, knitted T-shirt neatly hugged her curves, her jeans contoured the slim length of her long legs and the stilettoes added two inches to her height, making her taller than Sheetal.
Sheetal pulled back and cupped Megha’s cheek. Her sister-in-law’s face glowed with more than make-up. A spark of joy glittered within her eyes.
“You won’t believe how much fun we had! It was the most amazing…” she went on in coherent sentences with appropriate pauses and cadences.
Megha is a whole new person.
Sheetal kissed her lightly on the forehead and caught her shoulders. “You look absolutely gorgeous.”
“All thanks to you,” Megha whispered. “You should have seen Bhaiya at the airport. He didn’t recognize me.”
Mummyji emerged from the TV room minutes later followed by Naina, who carried an imported copy of Elle Bride, just as Rakesh entered through the front door.
“Oh, you’re back.” Naina smirked. “So soon and so”—she wrinkled her lips—“changed.”
“Any later and I’d miss getting rid of you,” Megha replied tartly.
“Now everyone come sit down for a family meeting, I tell you.” Mummyji waved a hand toward the Fulton Whites and handed each person a sheet of paper as they sat down. “You all have your to-do list for the wedding, and I want to make sure we go through it together so nothing’s left out.”
The last two months had been all about Naina’s wedding. What could possibly be left out?
“Rakesh has agreed to take a week off work to supervise the layout of the wedding ground and décor. Yes?” She turned to Rakesh, who sat relaxed in a single seater, his elbow perched on the arm rest and a cigarette in hand.
“Hmmm.” He took a drag off the Marlboro, arched his hand away, and tapped the cigarette ashes onto the floor. “I’ve been supervising the project since the day after our wedding. How much more do you want me to supervise the fucking ground?”
“You, Megha,” Mummyji ignored the question, “are to try on your ghagra, check the fitting, and go through the guest list to make sure no one is left out.”
Megha raised her eyebrows and let out a sigh. “Okay.”
“That attitude, I tell you, is not okay. The little vacation you had is over and it’s time to get to work,” Mummyji snapped. “And you, Sheetal, are to supervise the packing of Naina’s dowry. One hundred and fifty-one saris. Fifty-one salwar kameezes and thirty jewelry sets. Nothing should go missing.”
Did the thirty include the Cartier set? Sheetal wanted to ask but decided it wasn’t worth the trouble of another family argument. The sooner Naina was gone, the better.
A team of professional sari packers was expected to fly in from Mumbai the following week, and Sheetal was to supervise every garment’s arrangement for the display in the dowry room. She hardly dared imagine what would happen if a jewelry set went missing. Pandemonium was an understatement. Mummyji would probably suffer a breakdown.
“And I’ve hired another landscaping company to turn the front lawn into a paradise. With so many guests dropping in to visit Naina, why, we must create the whole feel of a wedding, I tell you. And Sheetal, of course, you will host and manage them all.”
As a way to display their affection, custom required friends and family to pamper the bride and groom-to-be with gifts of their favorite food and drink.
Sheetal pressed a hand against her tummy. How on earth was she going to entertain a flood of guests in this condition?
“Well?” Mummyji crossed her arms. “Won’t you?”
Sheetal seethed. “Yes.”
“Good.” Then Mummyjii went on and on about how Naina’s wedding was going to be an event people would remember for the rest of their lives and no expense should be spared.
Sheetal thought back to how excited Mama and Papa had been before her wedding. How many lists had they drawn up and distributed? How they must have planned and anguished over every tiny detail. For Mama, it was the day she’d been waiting for all her life. Papa’s anxieties had focused on a determination that everything should run like clockwork. Even Preeti had been obsessed with the color and flair and a chance to be on TV. And what had she obsessed about? Arvind. Guilt grated her heart. Had she selfishly stolen the anticipation of the moment from her deserving parents?
Rakesh took a drag and blew a gray mist into the air.
Despite all the work required to put together a marriage of this magnitude, had their first year together simply gone up in smoke?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Black Pagoda
Pushpa privately confronted Rakesh that evening in the dining room, “I don’t like this idea, I tell you.”
Rakesh thumped his briefcase on the dining table. “What now?”
“That Black Pagoda, I tell you. It’s unlucky, I am hearing. Proven to bring bad luck and—”
“It’s superstition, for God’s sake! Think logically. How can a monument cause bad luck? Plus, ours is only an imitation.”
A blend of legend and history led people to believe that the Konark Sun Temple, also known as the Black Pagoda, built in the thirteenth century and situated on the Bengal coastline, was the cause of every shipwreck that occurred in the region. The magnificent original, two-hundred-and-twenty-nine-feet tall structure, a golden chariot with twelve pairs of wheels pulled by seven pairs of horses, was crowned with a golden dome. This cursed magnetic dome, believed to be the cause of the tragedies, gave the structure the nickname The Black Pagoda. Even after the dome was replaced many years later
, the Sun Temple still retained its inauspicious reputation.
Because it was impossible to recreate the Konark Sun Temple, Rakesh had rented a large building at Lake Pyasi prior to his wedding and had the façade constructed and painted to replicate the majestic structure. Sheets of tarpaulin and scaffolding still skirted the temple’s façade, concealing it from public view.
“I don’t know. I’ve been hearing things and—”
“From who?”
“The servants. Everyone. They’re all talking about it.”
“Let them talk.” Rakesh loosened the tie around his neck. Women! Five days to go and now she gets the jitters. “Look, people want something to talk about. It’s human nature. You should be happy with all the media attention. You’re getting everything you wanted.”
“Choose something else, I tell you.” She paced the length of the dining table. “Something safe, with no bad luck. Or harm, or chance, I tell you, of—”
“You’re overreacting. If I had any doubts, do you think I would have gone ahead? Just wait and see it unveiled and then you’ll agree.”
***
Alone in the bedroom with a burning cigarette in hand, Rakesh flopped his head back against the sofa’s headrest and propped his feet on the coffee table. He had been on his feet all day, monitoring the wedding preparations. His head throbbed. He massaged his temples. Five more days till all this shit is over. He added pressure and his jaw relaxed with the soothing effect. The bank loan of three hundred and fifty million had been approved without a hitch. Everything progressed as planned.
The door swung open and Sheetal walked in, her gait uneven due to the weight of the baby. If she was here to talk, he didn’t want to listen and end up in another argument. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her or the baby.
He faintly remembered how Mumma had ballooned in size when she carried Megha, and she had struggled to do simple things that he took for granted. He remembered ever so gently resting his head on Mumma’s tummy and waiting for a tap, a kick, or a sliding movement from the growing baby.