Duty and Desire

by Anju Gattani

  Aunty Hemu’s posture slackened, her jaw dropped, and Sheetal savored the moment. It felt good to get even.

  ***

  At the auspicious hour of two in the morning, Naina and Ajay took their pheras under a mandap of the finest ruby-red silk, beneath a clear sky of glittering stars. They perambulated the havan seven times as priests chanted one vow in Sanskrit for each phera: to earn a living and respect their abundance…to live for each other…to be concerned for the other’s happiness. Naina led Ajay, while the swirls of embroidery decorating the lower third of her ghagra sparkled in the firelight with each addition of ghee. On the seventh and final round, the couple switched places and vowed to love each other forever.

  Seated on Rakesh’s left, Sheetal nudged his elbow. “We took those pheras just a year ago.” And then he’d raped her. “Ten days until our anniversary.”

  His attention remained angled toward his right knee.

  Sheetal leaned close to see what held his attention and a flutter, like the gentle stroke of a brush on canvas, pushed outward against the wall of her tummy.

  The baby kicked!

  “Rakesh, you hear me?” She saw the Blackberry in his hand and her chest tightened. “The baby kicked again. Just now.”

  “What?” He shifted the phone from view as if he hid something.

  Her throat tightened. Oh, they were blessed with abundance, all right. Servants, chauffeurs, wealth beyond belief...and an abundance of lies and deceit.

  An hour later, Naina and Ajay Malhotra were driven to The Plaza, Raigun’s most expensive, chic hotel, where the Malhotras and their entourage of five hundred had been accommodated at the Dhanrajs’s expense. Both relatives and newlyweds were scheduled to fly to Calkot tomorrow morning aboard a private jet.

  Per Mummyji’s instructions, Sheetal arrived at Naina and Ajay’s hotel room promptly at seven a.m., ready to help Naina dress, but muffled bickering between Mummyji and Naina’s elderly mother-in-law wafted through the closed door. Before Sheetal could knock, the hall door swung open. Mrs. Malhotra bolted out and slammed the door.

  “Is everything all right?” Sheetal asked.

  At four feet nine, dressed in a gaudy magenta sari, Mrs. Malhotra, a frail, bony woman with a tiny sparrow face, crossed her wiry arms and paced the corridor. “Exactly why I went in to check in the first place. Naina’s been in bed all morning, and Ajay can’t get the girl on her feet. Ajay thought she was sleeping but then realized she wasn’t responding. I told Pushpaji to call a doctor, but she went on about how Naina’s exhausted from the wedding. Well, so are we.” She spun on her heels and reversed direction. “Everyone’s been on their feet. But then Pushpaji went on about how Naina goes into these quiet phases because she’s still grieving her dead father or something. You’re Naina’s Bhabhi. What do you know about all this?”

  Sheetal pressed her tongue against her cheek. What was she supposed to say without jeopardizing everything when Naina had relapsed thrice in the last year?

  “Well?” Mrs. Malhotra pressed.

  “I haven’t seen her act in this manner,” the lie rolled off her tongue with ease, and in Mummyji’s voice. “I guess this wedding really has been too much for Naina. She’s very delicate, you know. All of us are used to peace and calm. Poor girl’s probably collapsed from fatigue.”

  Mrs. Malhotra’s jaw dropped, and she frowned. Her posture slackened.

  It worked!

  Bacause Naina was moving to another state and city, the formality of Rakesh bringing Naina home had to be dispensed with. So, seven hours later, Naina was carried aboard the chartered flight on a stretcher as Mummyji handed Mrs. Malhotra a brown medical bag. Mrs. Malhotra opened the zipper, glanced inside, then sealed the bag shut again.

  “Nothing to worry about, I tell you. It’s a bag of vitamins. Naina takes three every night. Just make sure she gets lots of rest and relaxation to recover. It could easily be several weeks before she’s on her feet.”

  Mrs. Malhotra turned to Sheetal in shock and Sheetal turned away.

  Two hours later, after everyone had boarded, the airplane raced down the runway, sliced through the afternoon sky, and disappeared into the clouds.

  Sheetal took a deep breath and exhaled. At last! Naina was gone for good.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Waterworks

  After the wedding, Sheetal was delegated to clean Naina’s room because Janvi, the only servant allowed into the families’ bedrooms, was busy with post-wedding duties.

  When Sheetal opened Naina’s bedroom door, the stench of insect repellant caused her to take a step back. Crushed dupattas and salwar suits lay tossed on the bed. Cases of blush-on, lipsticks, eyeshadows, colorful hair pins, butterfly clips, and crumpled wads of tissue littered the carpet. The duvet lay rolled up in a corner beside the sofa.

  Sheetal opened Naina’s closet door, hoping to find some sense of order. However, virtually every hanger had been stripped of clothing and garments littered the lowest shelf.

  Sheetal’s head spun. She leaned against the door jamb. How was she supposed to rearrange a chaos of this magnitude with a tummy the size of a watermelon? Did Mummyji know what a mess this room was before she added it to Sheetal’s list?

  Sheetal sighed, half-sank into a crouch and picked up litters of tissue, hairclips and cosmetics strewn over the floor. She mounded them on the dresser until the carpet was clear. Then she separated the tangle of dupattas and organized them into piles, folded salwar suits, straightened the bedsheets, and spread the duvet. She was about to tuck in the sides when an ache in her feet shot up to her calves and thighs. Exhausted, she sat on the mattress’s edge and looked at her feet, puffed like two bread rolls. A shiny orange tablet on the carpet caught her attention. She knelt, grabbed it and placed it on her palm. ‘Elavil-40’ was printed in white letters on one side.

  Sheetal tossed it into a waste basket, then replaced clothes on hangers and organized the cupboard. She opened a drawer to stash the hair clips when another orange tablet rolled to the front right corner. Curious, she opened the drawer wider. Four white, plastic bottles labeled ‘Elavil’ stood at the back. Sheetal picked up one and read the directions. ‘Take three every night after dinner.’ Was this what Mummyji referred to when she handed Naina’s bag of vitamins to Mrs. Malhotra?

  That evening, Sheetal asked Rakesh about the Elavil, but he shrugged and suggested it was probably some diet fad. Megha said she wasn’t aware Naina was on medication and suggested she might have started birth control pills. Finally, Sheetal asked Mummyji.

  “Orange pills? Oh, yes, yes. I…well…” Her face filled with crinkles. “Vitamins. That’s right! For Naina’s health. So weak she is, I tell you. But you shouldn’t waste your time on such trivial things.”

  That night, Sheetal did a quick google search on Rakesh’s laptop in the den.

  ***

  Ten days later, on June fifteenth, Sheetal woke at sunrise and began her day earlier than usual. She wanted to keep the evening free so she and Rakesh could celebrate their first wedding anniversary. Though Rakesh hadn’t mentioned dinner reservations, Sheetal suspected he planned a surprise dinner at Chalet, their favorite restaurant. For certain, Rakesh had something up his sleeve—he always had something up his sleeve—especially considering he’d surprised her with the art exhibition. Which is why she’d secretly bought a new, western-style maternity dress for the occasion.

  In her studio, Sheetal surveyed paintings of still-lifes, waterfalls, snow-covered lodges in the Himalayan foothills, lush forests of flora and fauna, and wave-crested seashores left to dry against a wall. The works were the best she’d done so far, but what if they weren’t good enough for the exhibition? Believe what you see, not what you think you see, Rakesh’s words filled her thoughts. Right.

  She reached for a white canvas, centered it on the easel and took a deep breath. No more worrying about what was done. She had to get on with what lay ahead. She dabbed a brush into green and
brown paint and raised the loaded bristles to the upper third of the canvas. Mountains? No. Not today. A lake? She lowered the brush. Tomorrow, perhaps.

  She’d settled on a scene she’d been thinking about for several days now when Mummyji halted in the doorway, panting.

  “Happy Anniversary! I’ll be at the club if you need me, I tell you.” She waved her fingers and dashed off, the trail of her white sari sparkling in the light.

  Well, that didn’t take long.

  Sheetal shook her head, mentally positioned a deer and fawn on the blank canvas, and began painting. An hour later, the phone rang. Her heart flipped. Rakesh?

  “Happy Anniversary, Beti!”

  It was Papa.

  “Thank you,” Sheetal replied before Mama’s voice filled the speaker.

  Sheetal still talked to Mama two or three times a week, and though Mama had invited her to visit on several occasions, Sheetal refused, reasoning that she must have all fifty paintings ready before she gave birth.

  “So, how are you planning to celebrate?” Mama asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Perhaps Rakeshji has planned a surprise party.”

  Normally, Sheetal would have been thrilled at the idea, but the thought of waddling about like a duck while other women flitted around Rakesh like butterflies soured her mood. She could barely stand for more than half an hour and had to take frequent breaks to ease the pressure on her feet. She imagined sitting with her feet propped up all evening while Rakesh danced with other women. What if Aradhna came? Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed. How could she expect a man as stunning as Rakesh to like her, to want to be with her, when she couldn’t stand herself?

  The phone rang at five p.m. and Sheetal answered before the second ring. It had to be Rakesh. She had enough time to shower, change and meet him at six. “Hello?”

  “Happy Anniversary!” It was Uncle Ashwin from New Jersey, U.S.A.

  “Thank you.” Sheetal calculated the time difference. “It must be early morning for you.”

  “Very early. But any later and we’d miss wishing you because I’m sure you’ll be tied up with a party or some sort of celebration.”

  “We’re going out for dinner with friends,” she lied.

  Near seven p.m., Sheetal was about to begin work on a second painting when the phone rang. She stiffened. What was the point in answering?

  What if Rakesh got held up in a meeting and was finally able to call? She pushed the answer button just as the ringing stopped. Caller ID showed an unknown number.

  Did Rakesh not remember? How could he have forgotten when she’d reminded him at Naina’s wedding? And where was he? At dinner with clients? At a bar? Graffiti’s? She gulped and brushed away the thought.

  At ten-thirty, Sheetal couldn’t take the loneliness anymore. She called Mama. Naina’s wedding fanfare was over. She was going home tomorrow whether Mummyji agreed or not.

  ***

  The fragrance of flowers blooming in Mama’s yard helped calm Sheetal’s anger, but something about home had changed. She ran her fingers along the frames of paintings mounted on the walls of the Prasad mansion. The wood felt rough and chipped, and the odor of stale fish lingered in the corridor.

  Sheetal took a deep breath and hurried to escape the smell, but the odor seemed to grow stronger as she neared her bedroom. Was something rotting inside? She swung open the door just as Mama appeared at the corridor’s end.

  “You can’t go in, Sheetal!” Mama called. “It’s—”

  “How dare you barge in?” A mousy-looking woman with a sharp nose, pinched lips, and a scarf around her head looked up in shock. Anjali rocked an infant in her arms while seated on a king-size bed. A baby changing station and crib filled the area where her workstation used to stand. Huge black cupboards blocked the balcony door, and several chairs had replaced her dresser. “Where’s my stuff?”

  “It’s my room,” Anjali yelled.

  The baby startled and cried.

  Sheetal looked around, convinced she’d entered the wrong room, but she’d made no mistake. This was all Aunty Hemu’s doing! “How dare you take my room?” she raised her voice.

  “Look, you’ve upset her now.” Anjali rocked the baby and gave Sheetal a look that warned her to back off.

  “I’m so sorry, Anjali.” Mama touched Sheetal’s arm, ushered her out, closed the door, then led Sheetal down the corridor to Mama’s room. “I was going to tell you, but—”

  “Tell me what?” Sheetal snapped.

  “Vikram and Anjali preferred your room over the others and moved in after Naina’s wedding.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want to upset you.”

  “And this isn’t upsetting me now? There are so many rooms. Why mine?”

  “It’s what they liked best.”

  Anger surged anew. “This isn’t a hotel, Mama. You can’t just let people walk in and choose whatever room they want.”

  “I tried. I showed them others, but they insisted on your room.”

  “You mean it’s what Aunty Hemu wanted.” Was this Aunty Hemu’s way of getting even for the comment at Naina’s wedding?

  “Your grandmother finalized it all. She—”

  Sheetal didn’t want to hear any more and was about to leave but hesitated. Where would she go? How did this happen again? First kicked out of her bedroom at the Dhanrajs’s and now here. She stormed out and made her way down the corridor, unsure where she was going. She just needed to be alone for a while to make sense of it all.

  “I tried to reason with your grandmother”—Mama followed—“but there was no changing her mind.”

  The weight of the baby and the ache in Sheetal’s feet forced her to slow.

  “It wasn’t my fault. You know your grandmother is in charge here.”

  Twenty-three years later and Dadi was still in charge. Would anything ever change?

  “I even told them you might be coming to stay if you have the baby here…but you have to understand—”

  “What more do I have to understand?” Her throat choked with hot breath. “That I’m a liability because of how much you had to spend on my wedding? That even when you didn’t have money ten—fifteen years ago, you still spent it on some coloring book I wanted? And you didn’t have the heart to tell me no then. But you and everyone can say and get away with whatever you want now?”

  Mama’s face paled. “That was a lie.”

  Sheetal leaned against a wall for support. “What? What’s a lie? Rakesh? The Dhanrajs?”

  “That we went hungry one night because of the coloring book. I made that up, and I know I shouldn’t have.”

  Sheetal stared at Mama in disbelief. “So, you didn’t starve. You lied?”

  “To… I had to say something, anything, to keep you at your in-laws and maintain the peace.”

  Mama chose peace over her? Sheetal opened her mouth, but words choked her.

  “I love you, Sheetal. I care and worry about you all the time. But you have to understand, you don’t live here anymore.”

  The words cut through her heart. “Well, that explains everything. Those who live here are the ones that count.”

  “It’s got nothing to do with—”

  “All you had to do was take my side and say no.”

  The pointed tip of Aunty Hemu’s head appeared at the landing and Mama ushered Sheetal into a nearby room. The white walls bore scratches and scrapes from the corners of furniture. Cobwebs draped a ceiling fan, and a panel of windows overlooked the front lawn and Rosewood Street. “They could have easily managed with this room. Or the one next door.”

  “What could I say to Hemuji when—”

  “It’s because you say nothing that the Choudharys moved in and nobody lets you say anything. It’s precisely why I’m stuck in that family with Rakesh.”

  The crinkles around Mama’s eyes tightened and she closed the door. “You
’re stuck there because of your own stupidity. You sneaked out to meet Arvind when we specifically told you not to. At the Broken Fort.”

  How did Mama know?

  “Rakesh saw you that day with Arvind.”

  “Rakesh?” How was that possible?

  “Yes, and he told us everything.”

  “You believed him? And you knew all along the Dhanrajs were—were…” She couldn’t think of a word to describe them. “And you still married me to—”

  “Consider this. After you met Arvind, Rakesh was still gracious enough to take you as his wife. Be grateful.”

  Like Mama was because Papa had married and rescued her? Was Rakesh now a savior?

  Sheetal’s head throbbed. She was going to be sick. Why had Rakesh been spying on her in the first place? “We were just friends. Good friends. I’ve told you—”

  “Rakesh saw everything, and he still married you.”

  “Why do you think he did?”

  “To save you.”

  “From what?”

  “Yourself. Your own foolishness. He saw a chance to give you a future. A home. A family. Stability.”

  Her insides felt like jelly. Just because a girl married didn’t mean she acquired stability. Helping to groom Megha, that was helping her find independence and blossom into a woman. Besides, this wasn’t about saving her. It was about Mama and Papa saving themselves from the shame of a crime she hadn’t committed. It was a kiss. One harmless kiss. But according to them, one kiss apparently meant she was tainted. Damaged goods. “I can’t believe you chose to believe him over me.”

  “What else were we supposed to believe?”

  “You could have asked me.”

  “Asked you what? You disobeyed us despite everything. Rakesh offered to marry you. What choice did we have but to agree?”