Duty and Desire

by Anju Gattani

  He ground his cigarette in the ashtray on the end table as Sheetal took a seat on the other end of the sofa and faced him. He closed his eyes. Maybe she’d get the hint and leave.

  “I… We need to talk, and I want you to be honest.”

  “What now?”

  “Is there another woman?”

  “I really don’t have time for this shit.”

  “I’m not leaving until I have an answer.”

  He slid his feet off the table, opened his eyes and sat up. “What do you think?”

  “I honestly don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

  “Look, I don’t want you getting all upset over nothing. It’s for your own good.”

  “I know what to do for my own good. I need answers so I can stop guessing…thinking…winding myself up with the same question every night. I need to get on with my life.”

  So did he, and her persistence didn’t help. “I’ve done everything possible to make it easy so you don’t have to worry. Just hold tight for another week. The wedding will be over and then—”

  “What were all those hotel receipts?” She gripped the sofa cushion. “Why did you lie about the whole Amsterdam trip? Why do you keep”—her expression tightened—“vanishing at night?”

  Why couldn’t she let it go? Why did she have to be such a snoop? Didn’t she understand the pressure he was under? The throbbing intensified and he buried his face in his hands. There was a fucking wedding ahead, but she just wouldn’t give up.

  “Why did you really renovate my studio and the bedroom? Why did you say Vipul Sahib—”

  He winced at the pressure of molar against molar. “Who the fuck do you think you are, demanding answers like you’re the boss of me?”

  She crossed her arms over her belly, and Rakesh swallowed. Fuck! He’d done it again. Let loose like a cannon. “I’m— That’s not what I meant.” He touched her hand, but she withdrew. “I’m under so much pressure with the loan, the wedding. And now, it’s beginning to… I—”

  “It’s not my fault. You should have gone with something simpler. Taken out a smaller loan.”

  “Do you know what that would have done to Pushpa and Naina?”

  “I’m so sick and tired of Naina.” She was breathing hard. “Why is everything always about her? What did Mummyji mean that day when she said, knowing what it’s like to have nothing? Was she from some poor family? Or—”

  Rakesh shook his head. What was the point of this discussion? It could only make things worse. “Just forget about everything else. Focus on you, the baby, this wedding. Whatever you must to keep going.” Maybe she needed to see a doctor or get help. “When’s the next doctor’s appointment?”

  “After the wedding.”

  “I can go with you if—”

  “I’ll manage.” Sheetal rose and started for the door.

  An emptiness tore at his gut. “Call if you need me.”

  “I have. So many times. Didn’t you hear?”

  Chapter Thirty

  Summer Wedding

  On May twenty-fifth at four-thirty in the afternoon, the local TV stations interrupted their daily broadcasts to relay the unveiling of ‘Typhoon Tycoon’s Loudest Thunder.’

  Sheets of tarpaulin slithered off scaffolding and pooled like silk around the building’s perimeter. Reporters in helicopters took aerial shots of the monument. Spectators and journalists gaped at the two-hundred-and-twenty-seven feet tall golden chariot with twenty-four wheels drawn by fourteen golden horses. Sprawled over two hundred acres of land, the Sun Temple sparkled in the afternoon sun as artificial waves lapped the lakeshore, leaving diamond-like specks glittering along the sand.

  An army of guards manned the grounds of the Sun Temple, hired to prevent members of the public and media from sneaking through a corridor or past a pair of majestic golden stone lions. The public pleaded for a glimpse of one of the three inner halls—the reception, dining or dowry room—but were asked to enjoy the outside view because the wedding could be attended by invitees only.

  The media photographed the three-tier, pyramidal roof and the spire crowning the monument, then focused their lenses on capturing the delicately painted, three dimensional “carvings” of animals, dancers, and couples in erotic poses that comprised the exterior.

  On June fifth at six-thirty p.m., Sheetal stood at the base of the stage stairs and watched Mummyji, dressed in a white silk sari embellished with fifteen hundred Swarovski diamonds, approach the main entrance and formally greet the groom and his procession. Ajay Malhotra dismounted from a mare, straightened his gold trimmed, bronze sherwani, and stepped onto a golden footstool that faced the Sun Temple. Ajay clasped his hands together and stood tall and proud at five feet ten, his burnt-clay complexion glowing like a sunset in the cameraman’s light. The entourage of Dhanrajs, Prasads, Choudharys, and extended family members assembled behind Mummyji murmured approval of the austere manner in which Mummyji applied a vertical streak of vermilion between Ajay’s eyebrows, dotted the mark with dry rice and tactfully avoided bumping his beak-like nose. She then circled the puja thali clockwise to officially welcome Ajay into the family.

  With the formal welcome completed, Ajay stepped off the stool and entered the Sun Temple. Mummyji followed him, then broke away and hurried to reach the audience hall’s main stage. Banners of Naina and Ajay hung from the ceiling and sparkled in the chandelier’s light. Twenty feet tall windows provided a view of the courtyard, where guests aimed cameras at the walls.

  At exactly eight o’clock, Naina coyly made her way up the dais dressed in a red and gold ghagra and gold jewelry studded with rubies. A dozen women followed, bearing a tray with a garland for the Varmala Ceremony.

  Ajay approached from the opposite staircase, accompanied by a best man and friends who bore a matching garland on a golden tray. They joined Naina and her bridesmaids center stage. While the couple garlanded each other, guests photographed the room’s interior.

  When Naina’s attention left Ajay, she turned toward the wedding guests, pumped her hands on her hips, and marched toward the audience. Images projected onto two huge screens, to the left and right of the stage, zoomed in on her face.

  Standing at the foot of the dais stairs, Sheetal half expected Naina to throw a fit. With Mummyji and Rakesh nowhere in sight, Sheetal started up the stairs, her mind racing with a barrage of excuses. ‘I’m so sorry, ladies and gentleman, for that outburst,’ she could almost hear her announcement, ‘but Naina’s a little eccentric.’ No. Spoiled? ‘Used to being the center of attention and throws tantrums when she doesn’t get her way?’ Oh god, no.

  At that moment, Mummyji rushed center-stage, cleared her throat and grabbed the microphone. “Your attention, please! Thank you all, I tell you, for coming,” her voice boomed between the walls draped in red and gold silk, followed by an ear-piercing electronic screech. People covered their ears. “As you can see, we are all here to celebrate the wedding of my daughter, Naina, with Ajay Malhotra.” The crowd whistled as Mummyji put an arm around Naina’s shoulder, whispered something in her ear and signaled for her to rejoin Ajay. “Now, as you all know, the Malhotras are well established in Calkot, and we are so happy to welcome Ajay to our family. But I’ve been congratulated again and again over how lucky Ajay and the Malhotras are to have Naina in their family. And who would dare to question that? After all, Naina is a Dhanraj and the name speaks for itself.” She looked at the sea of people and waited. “I said, the Dhranraj name speaks—”

  The crowd cheered and raised their glasses.

  “Now, I know Naina will require a while to adjust to her new surroundings, like all newlyweds do. She’ll make do with a home that’s a fraction of the size she’s been used to and, of course, that shouldn’t pose any problems since I’ve taught her well.”

  The crowed murmured and shifted uneasily.

  A camera zoomed in on Mummyji’s face. The arches of her eyebrows almost touched her hairline, and her
eyes sparkled with the ferocity of her diamond earrings. “I said, I’ve taught her well. And now, applause for the couple.” She swept her arm to direct the audience’s attention to Naina and Ajay, but accidentally whacked Naina, who hadn’t yet moved. “And for your dining pleasure, I tell you, we have twenty-one types of cuisine…”

  Swarms of people broke away and rushed toward the banquet hall’s massive doorway before Mummyji finished.

  For the grand reception, Sheetal and Rakesh took positions on the stage beside Naina while the Malhotras assembled beside Ajay. Guests formed a queue and made their way up to congratulate the newlyweds, to present their gifts, and to be photographed with the couple.

  Vipul and Bina Swampat joined the bride and groom, and Bina clasped Sheetal’s hand. “Magnificent!” Bina looked as if she were about to explode with excitement. “It shows, it truly shows! All the love and affection you two have for Naina. What a lucky girl to have such a loving brother and Bhabhi! And you are both so modest about all you do for her.”

  “It was all Rakesh’s efforts, planning, and execution,” Sheetal said.

  “We did what was in our hands,” Rakesh said. “Nothing more.”

  We? Sheetal looked at him. Was Rakesh referring to them as ‘we’?

  Mummyji squeezed between Sheetal and Naina and gestured for the photographer to focus on her.

  Rakesh gently nudged Sheetal aside and leaned close to Mummyji. “Perhaps you should mingle with the others off-stage and spend some time with the guests.”

  “What for, I tell you?” she snapped. “I’m the bride’s mother. I should be here.”

  “And shadow Naina with your bad luck?” Rakesh hissed. “Last thing we need is for something to happen to Ajay.”

  “Smile!” the photographer called.

  Mummyji smiled broadly and held the expression until a flash lit her face. Then she whirled and strode off stage.

  “You did far more than any brother would in today’s time.” Vipul’s statement redirected their attention. “You went above and beyond, as always. Whether at home or Dhanraj Towers, you always excel.”

  After Vipul and Bina stepped away, Aradhna Damani approached on the arm of her husband, Akshay. A tide of guests trailed behind the pallu of her sequins-sparkling, yellow chiffon sari. The fabric lay along her voluptuous curves and fluttered as she sashayed.

  Sheetal turned away and fanned the pleats of her turquoise ghagra over the bulge of her tummy as if she hadn’t noticed Aradhna’s approach.

  “The décor. The colors,” Aradhna squealed. “So fantastic! So just…wow!” She let go of Akshay’s arm and grabbed Rakesh’s wrist. The photographer asked them to smile, and she pressed close to Rakesh.

  Fury coursed through Sheetal. Had Aradhna accompanied Rakesh to Amsterdam? Sheetal was about to pull Aradhna away when Rakesh plucked Aradhna’s fingers off his wrist and stepped aside.

  “I’m just glad it all came together in the end. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Rakesh turned toward Akshay and made light conversation.

  “And shame on you, Sheets”—Aradhna wagged a finger at her—“for not telling anyone about this. Not even…”

  Sheets? Was that a new nickname? “I didn’t know the details myself.”

  “So like Rakesh to handle everything on his own, considering you must be tied up with the pregnancy and all. And you didn’t wait too long, did you?” She winked as the queue of people grew longer. “But you’re looking happy, healthy.” She scanned Sheetal from head to toe and raised an eyebrow.

  Sheetal winced. Just because she was double Aradhna’s size didn’t give her or anyone the right to insult her. “Look, Rakesh.” She diverted Rakesh’s attention to a group of ten who waited behind Aradhna and leaned close to whisper, “The Malhotra’s relatives. We should focus on them, instead.”

  “Oh yes, of course. Excuse me.” Rakesh turned to the incoming tide of people and Sheetal straightened with pride. This is what good wives did: steered their husbands in the right direction.

  She searched the crowd for Mama and Papa, but her attention fell on a woman in an orange and silver ghagra.

  The young woman appeared to be in her early twenties and flitted across the open floor like a butterfly. From the manner in which she attended to guests, it appeared she had hosted parties her entire life. At first, Sheetal couldn’t catch a glimpse of her face, and when she did, her heart skipped a beat. Was that really Megha? A pang of pride and guilt washed over her. With all the focus on Naina, she hadn’t had a chance to help Megha with her clothes, accessories or make up. But from the looks of her, she didn’t think Megha needed her advice anymore.

  “Sheetal,” Rakesh whispered, “you’re ignoring the Malhotras.”

  Sheetal turned to a woman in a bright green sari, Ajay’s older sister, and apologized.

  Rakesh nudged Sheetal’s elbow. “You look tired. Perhaps you should sit down.”

  “I can’t leave with so many guests to attend. I’ll be okay.”

  While Rakesh made conversation with Ajay’s sister, Sheetal’s attention drifted to several young men in the crowd. She mentally sized up several as potential suitors for Megha. The young man in the brown suit with wavy black hair? No. Too tall. What about the man in the light blue silk kurta pajama? She tiptoed for a better view. Too short. A man in a black suit and red tie with a mischievous grin wove through the crowd. Too old. Married, perhaps? And he didn’t convey the impression of a responsible husband.

  Her breath caught. Is this what Mama and Papa thought with their dream that she marry a Rajkumar?

  At that moment, Papa, Mama and Dadi arrived center stage. Dadi congratulated and blessed the couple, and a servant positioned her wheelchair between Naina and Sheetal for a photograph.

  “I heard you supervised all the dowry packing,” Dadi whispered.

  “I had to keep a close watch,” Sheetal said, “so there wasn’t any chance of the jewelry—”

  “Please, everyone!” the photographer called. “Look this way.”

  “You understand then,” Dadi continued, “what it means and how hard it is to put together a life for someone and give them a new start. To bear the responsibility of their actions even though you are not responsible.”

  Sheetal nodded. Just last year, her dowry had meant little because she had done nothing to earn it. It simply followed her and went straight into Mummyji’s hands. But Naina’s dowry represented Rakesh’s and Ashok’s hard-earned money, and hours and hours of precious time robbed from her prospective career. It was just one of the numerous expenses for which Rakesh had to pay out five-hundred-and-fifty-million rupees and take a three-hundred-and-fifty-million-rupee bank loan.

  The photographer gestured for everyone to stand closer. “Smile, now.”

  Squeezed between Rakesh and Naina, the zardozi work on Naina’s ghagra pricked Sheetal’s elbow. She cringed. So much glitter. So many lights. So much glamor. For what? A flash of light blinded Sheetal. She blinked, but the spots of light that interfered with her vision persisted, much like the game of deception in which they all shared blame.

  After the reception, Sheetal and Rakesh led Naina and Ajay to their seats in an area of the dining hall cordoned off with pink ribbons. The Malhotra family and their closest friends, the Dhanrajs’s extended family, and the Prasads were already seated at round tables. Golden tablecloths laid with sterling silver place settings had been crowned with silver swan centerpieces. Pink roses descended the backs of the swans, and matching pink ribbons encircled the backs of silver-cloth-draped chairs.

  A table for two, set atop a miniature dais, faced the guests. A pair of golden chairs plumped with pink cushions provided seating for the bride and groom. Once Naina and Ajay were comfortably seated at their table, waiters began serving the first course.

  As immediate members of the bride’s family, Sheetal, Rakesh, Megha, and several other Dhanrajs were expected to ensure all VIP guests received personal attention. Sheetal left
the bridal couple, lifted the skirt of her ghagra an inch so she wouldn’t trip over the hem, and led a server bearing a tray of sweets toward the Malhotras’ table. When she reached Mrs. Malhotra’s chair, she turned to the server’s tray and chose a yellow, soft buttery saffron sweet in the shape of a round pot coated on the outside with sparkling edible silver, filled with gelatinous syrup, and decorated with a sprig of mint. Sheetal placed the treat on Mrs. Malhotra’s golden plate and waited for her to take a bite. “I hope you like the kesar matki barfi. We had this sweet made specially for your family.”

  Mrs. Malhotra looked over her left shoulder and up at Sheetal. She raised her eyebrows. Her tiny sparrow face appeared small in comparison to Mr. Malhotra’s, who was seated on her right. “That’s very kind of you. I hope Naina can cook a fraction of the menu. Perhaps one cuisine of the twenty-five being served tonight.”

  Sheetal’s mind raced. “I… I think you’ll be surprised by all she knows.” Then she quickly inched away before Mrs. Malhotra could say more.

  “I do hope you’ve taught her a thing or two,” Mrs. Malhotra said past her husband’s head.

  Sheetal smiled and nodded, placed a kesar matki barfi on Mr. Malhotra’s plate, and proceeded to make small talk with others seated at their table.

  After all the VIP guests had been personally attended, Sheetal, Rakesh and Megha joined the Prasads and ate their dinner.

  Two hours later, as Sheetal mingled among guests on the open grounds, a whiff of stale fish tickled her nose.

  “Hambe. How are you?”

  “Aunty Hemu. How are you?”

  “I asked first. But in any case, you know me. Busy. Always busy. Sorting things for Anjali’s baby and all. And you?” Her attention fixed on Sheetal’s baby bump. “Hambe, you hardly look pregnant. Can barely tell. Still, looking rather decent.” Then her attention flew to Sheetal’s gold and diamond choker. “Not wearing the Cartier? What a shame. I guess it was below your in-laws’ standards.”

  Sheetal tensed. Just because they had both been Prasad daughters didn’t give Aunty Hemu the right to talk down to her. If Aunty Hemu couldn’t digest the family Sheetal had married into and the lavish lifestyle she now led, that was her problem. “Actually, Naina liked the Cartier so much I gave it to her as a wedding gift. It’s in the dowry room. You should hurry before they close it. Unless, of course, they don’t allow you in.”