Where the Secret Lies

by Gandhi, Malika

  Mrs Shah threw a card on the table. ‘So how is your husband, Anjali?’

  ‘Oh you know; he is a busy man. Sometimes we hardly see each other,’ replied Anjali.

  The other women raised their eyebrows.

  ‘It’s nothing like that. He is not having an affair...unlike Rajshri,’ Anjali smirked.

  Rajshri huffed. ‘You would do too if your husband was boring, Anjali. My husband is only interested in reading the financial paper or listening to the news. If I say to him “ji, let us go to the cinema”, he would say “no”. If I say “eh ji, let’s go on a vacation”, he would say – ’

  ‘No!’ everyone chorused and laughter ensued.

  ‘Oh I wish I had your Mohan,’ Rajshri said mournfully. She took up a new set of cards.

  Anjali picked up her juice. ‘Mohan is mine only. Be careful, Rajshri.’

  ‘Is not your anniversary in a few days?’ Mrs Shah asked Anjali.

  ‘Yes,’ said Anjali. ‘I am surprised you remembered.’

  ‘Rajshri, I don’t think you heard how Anjali and Mohan met and married, it was right after partition.’

  ‘Five years have passed so quick...’ said Anjali.

  ‘Please tell us again and for Rajshri’s sake. It is so beautiful and romantic,’ Mrs Shah emphasised the word “beautiful”.

  The women stopped their game and Anjali relayed her and Mohan’s meeting and marriage, thinking of the upcoming anniversary at the same time.

  Anjali hummed whilst she embroidered her sari. She could not wait to wear it on the day of her and Mohan’s anniversary. The clock ticked as she worked away unaware of the time passing by.

  ‘Memsahib, Bari aur Chotti memsahib are home,’ Ramu ji, the servant announced the arrival of the girls.

  Anjali smiled broadly and put her work down. The squeals and laughter travelled up to her and in flew her daughters, flinging the door wide open. They landed in their mother’s outstretched arms.

  ‘How was your day?’ she asked taking their hands and leading them to the kitchen.

  The girls’ chatted all the while as Anjali served them late afternoon dinner.

  ‘And Ma, a cow walked into our school,’ Deepika giggled. ‘She wore a bell around her neck which jingled every time she moved her head.’

  ‘All our friends were laughing,’ piped in Kajol.

  ‘Why was the gate not closed?’ Anjali asked, concerned. This was not safe.

  The girls shrugged.

  ‘What happened next?’ Anjali asked.

  ‘We wanted to feed the cow some of our lunch but the headmaster told us off. The chowkidaar (gate keeper) and a few teachers tried to push the cow towards the gates but Ma, the cow wouldn’t move,’ Deepika said. ‘One of the teachers fell on her face when she tried to push harder. She fell on the cows –’

  ‘Enough,’ smiled Anjali. ‘I think I know what happened, the poor teacher.’

  ‘The cow’s owner came and took her home. I miss her,’ said Kajol frowned.

  ‘A school is no place for a cow,’ said Anjali hugging her daughters. ‘Now, who wants more rice and potatoes?’

  ‘I do!’ the girls chorused.

  The girls went to play and Anjali took her diary out, filling in today’s events. She included the tale of the cow and laughed softly, remembering her daughters’ detailed account. She finished writing, closed the diary, and sat thinking of her daughters for a while. The clock chimed five and she sighed. Well, I must carry on, I can

  cannot just sit and do nothing, she scolded herself.

  She hid the diary under a pile of sarees in her wardrobe and made her way downstairs, in time for the postman. Anjali took a boxed parcel and some letters he had for her and she signed the delivery document.

  Sitting in her favourite seat, Anjali skimmed through the envelopes, which were mostly bills. She cast them aside for Mohan to see later – he took charge of such things. Before she could open the last envelope, her gaze fell on the package. The wrapping was quite secure but Anjali managed to open it eventually.

  She gasped; her mother had sent a stunning statue of Lord Ganesh. The card read Meera and little Anjali’s name. Little Anjali...not so little anymore and was now six. She was identical to Sunil but had her sister’s silky hair and light eyes.

  Anjali’s heart tugged as images of her family came to mind. Time certainly had passed quickly since the deaths of Neha and Sunil but the pain still resided in her heart; something that would never leave.

  Going back to the package, Anjali found a note, which read “Shaadi Saal ki Mubarak” which meant “Happy Anniversary.” Anjali wished her family lived closer, especially during times of celebration.

  Anjali put the statue aside and began to pick up the wrapping. As she did so, she did not notice the last envelope falling off the table and sliding under the settee.

  It was the evening of their anniversary and Anjali finished preparing the dining table, which she did every year. The table hid under a shimmering white and gold tablecloth with a generous scattering of red and white petals. Two tall, white candles made the centrepiece.

  The dimmed lighting and tea lights gave the room romance; it was the perfect setting for a perfect evening.

  Anjali dressed in the sari she had finished embroidering and wore diamonds, knowing Mohan would not be able to resist her tonight. She waited for her husband, sitting at the dining room table. This was a yearly custom. The smile left her when the clock chimed six. She was expecting him at five thirty. She left the table and switched on the record player. Soft

  melodies calmed her anxiety and impatience a little, when he failed to arrive by six thirty.

  With the girls away at a friend’s house, Anjali found there was nothing to do except to wait. Anjali lay down on the settee and fell asleep.

  Something tickled her nose that travelled down her neck and stopped at her bosom. Anjali opened her eyes to see Mohan staring at her and her heart beat quickened.

  ‘Oh I’m sorry,’ she exclaimed, sitting up. ‘Oh no, the candles!’

  Mohan laughed. ‘Come here my darling.’

  He took her hand and kissed her fingers, then her hand, her arm and her throat. Anjali closed her eyes and melted under his touch.

  ‘Where were you, Mohan ji?’ she asked, her tone unforgiving. ‘I was worried.’

  ‘I am so sorry to be late,’ he said, kissing her neck. ‘The meeting went longer than expected.’

  ‘Mohan ji,’ she whispered unable to stop her anger from drifting.

  ‘Happy anniversary, my love,’ Mohan moved her sari from her bosom, revealing her lush cleavage. He kissed the full roundness. Anjali felt his need against her thighs.

  ‘The food will be cold,’ she said.

  ‘Let it be cold,’ he kissed her mouth and fondled her breasts.

  Anjali gasped in pleasure. His mouth travelled down to her stomach. Anjali could not think of anything else...she was soon lost in another world.

  Anjali and Mohan lay panting side by side. Anjali rested her head on Mohan’s chest and waited until their heartbeats slowed to normal.

  ‘I love you,’ he said, playing with her fingers.

  ‘I love you more,’ Anjali said.

  She kissed his hand and turned to face him, kissing his eyes, nose, and mouth. Mohan groaned and then his stomach grumbled.

  ‘Time to eat,’ Anjali arose and put on her blouse, finally draping her sari over. She soothed down her hair. ‘How do I look?’

  Mohan took her hand. ‘Don’t go.’

  ‘I’m only going to the kitchen to bring my husband some food,’ she playfully wriggled herself away from his roaming hands. He stood, very naked. His stomach grumbled.

  ‘We’ll have time for more of that later,’ she winked.

  Mohan reluctantly put his clothes back on. He seemed to remember something. ‘Wait here, my love.’

  He came back with a small box, covered in red velvet. ‘A gift – for you.’

  Anjali opened the box to reveal
a set of diamond earrings and a dazzling necklace.

  ‘Oh Mohan ji...’ she kissed her husband hard on the lips. ‘They are beautiful.’

  She proceeded to take her old earrings off when one slipped from her fingers and dropped to the floor.

  ‘Oh!’ Anjali crouched, trying to find the missing piece.

  ‘Let me,’ Mohan said, coming to her side. An envelope caught his eye. ‘What is this?’

  ‘It must have arrived with the post this afternoon,’ replied Anjali. ‘I do not remember seeing it.’

  Mohan ripped the envelope open and read the letter. His face drained of colour.

  NINETEEN

  ‘What is it Mohan ji?’ Anjali took the letter out of Mohan’s hand.

  Anjali read the letter and re-read it again. No, this could not be true. Mohan never hinted anything about this...then why was her heart thudding?

  ‘Mohan ji, please speak to me. You must tell me, is this the truth?’

  ‘It’s the truth,’ Mohan sat, distraught. ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘No, no! I will not believe it, you are lying to me!’ Anjali screamed.

  ‘I should have told you many years ago and I am sorry I didn’t,’ Mohan tried to take her hand but she backed away.

  ‘I trusted you. I believed in you. Why?’ She sank to the floor, hot tears running down her face.

  She felt her heart shatter. She trusted him and married him. She respected him and he lied to her. Why?

  Mohan’s arms circled her waist. ‘Will you forgive me?’

  ‘Please leave me alone Mohan ji. I want to be by myself.’

  Mohan withdrew. ‘I will wait for you my love. I understand this is hard for you.’

  Mohan was guilty for not telling her the truth but he was not ashamed. He believed they were dead and never once thought it important to tell Anjali, even so after their marriage. They were his past and she was his present...

  Anjali, now calm but drained of energy, finished her chai without tasting it and put the cup on the table. She walked to the balcony and gazed out to the rain-washed

  garden. She was angry; her future loomed ahead - bleak and grey and she could see no way to make it right. There was a soft knock on the door.

  ‘You can come in,’ said Anjali.

  Mohan came in and stood behind her.

  ‘Please forgive me, Anjali. I promise, I thought they were dead.’

  ‘Did you want them to be dead?’ Anjali turned to face her husband...she stared at him and realised she did not know him anymore.

  ‘No!’ Mohan was outraged. ‘They were...they are my family. You have to understand that.’

  ‘I want to know everything, Mohan ji.’

  ‘Yes of course you have the right,’ Mohan looked defeated. He cleared his voice.

  ‘I was married at the age of nineteen to Tehzeeb who was eighteen. Our first baby was born when she was twenty but he died after a few days. A year and a half later, Shabnam was born.’

  ‘Tehzeeb? Shabnam?’ asked Anjali in spite of herself. ‘Are they not Muslim names?’

  ‘Tehzeeb is Muslim. We fell in love and eloped.’

  Anjali could not believe what she was hearing. She could cope with an arranged marriage but love? Mohan had loved someone before her.

  ‘What happened next?’ she asked.

  ‘We had six more children; we named them Zakira, Ram, Shallu, Aamir, Anu and Imran - four daughters and three sons. We lived in Bombay. The boys went to school and I worked in a textile factory. Tehzeeb stayed home with the girls and taught them to read and write. We had a very good life.

  ‘When partition was granted, everyone began to move across the border. We were in the Punjab at the time, visiting friends and we separated amidst suffocating crowds. Shallu and Aamir were with me and Tehzeeb with the other children. Shallu and Aamir...’ Mohan broke down. ‘I’m sorry...’

  ‘You don’t have to say anymore. I am sorry,’ Anjali wiped his eyes, taking him into her arms.

  ‘No, Anjali. You deserve an explanation. I should have told you of my past a very long time ago. I will finish.’

  They sat at the table and Anjali handed him a glass of water.

  ‘My two children were killed in front of me and then the bastards were after me too. I escaped them, taking the bodies of Shallu and Aamir. I cremated my children and released their ashes into the nearest river.

  ‘Later I hid in abandoned houses with no sense of direction, no family, and no hope. I lost everything. One day, you came into the house I was currently living in. I saw you and I could not take my off you. I still loved my wife but I figured she was dead along with my children...and I did not want to let you go Anjali. I was scared, if I told you of my past you would not want me or love me. I had to keep my past a secret.

  ‘We went to the refugee camp and I saw the girl and her mother reunited. I thought that perhaps my family could be alive too. I registered their names and my name with the Indian army. When we found this haveli, I believed it was perfect for all of us; we could live here, as one if I happened to find them, if they were alive...the haveli would be enough for us all.

  ‘I went to the army base here in Lucknow and gave them gave them this address...and now here is the letter from them, telling me they are alive!’ Mohan raked his hands over his hair.

  Anjali’s knuckles ached from holding the edge of the table too tight. She let go.

  ‘Anjali, please talk to me. I need you to understand.’

  ‘Mohan ji...you said you chose this haveli so we all – including her and her children – can live here, all of us together...you intend to bring her here...’ Anjali’s voice trembled.

  ‘Yes, I would like that. Anjali, I need to see them. Will you come with me?’

  ‘I don’t think I can. Please go, I will not stop you.’

  ‘I have your permission?’

  ‘Who am I to refuse, your second wife,’ Anjali let her tears flow and walked away from her husband.

  ‘Ma, why are you sad?’ Kajol asked.

  ‘Did you have an argument with Papa?’ asked Deepika.

  ‘Come here my darlings, I have something to tell you. You may understand or may not understand but you have to know,’ Anjali gathered her girls to her.

  The girls looked at each other but came closer to their mother to listen.

  It was Saturday and the girls were off from school. Dressed in their traditional clothes, Anjali took the girls to the temple and Mohan went to the Army station. She wasn’t sure what she should be praying for...for Mohan to lose his first wife again and not find her or for Mohan to love her only? Anjali bowed her head to Lord Rama and Sita and bestowed marigolds.

  She arrived home a short while later but Mohan was not back. She was frightened to lose him...she tried to engage him into a little love making before he left, but he gently prised her off.

  ‘Now it is not the time,’ he said gently but firmly. Anjali felt Mohan had slapped her. The humiliation was

  too much to bear and she screamed at for him.

  ‘Anjali, take a hold of yourself!’ Mohan shook Anjali’s arms.

  She saw something in him she had not seen before – a hope – Mohan still loved his first wife...

  No, I have more right over him than she does! He loves me! She is his past!

  ‘Ma, please tell us...’ Deepika’s said, tugging her sari.

  Anjali forced a smile, coming back to her girls. Taking their hands in hers, she watched them for a moment then took a deep breath.

  ‘Before I was married to your Papa, he had another life. He was married to someone else and he had other children.’

  ‘Where are they? I want to see them,’ said Deepika. Kajol nodded in agreement.

  ‘You really want to see them?’ Anjali asked.

  How her children could take the news so easily, how are they so unselfish? Did they not worry about sharing their Papa with the other children, their...stepbrothers and stepsisters? Oh God...

  ‘Papa has gone to
bring them...here,’ Anjali said with difficulty.

  ‘Ma, aren’t you happy?’ asked Deepika.

  ‘Of course I am. What made you think I am not? Now remember, be polite when you meet them,’ Anjali managed.

  The girls squealed in delight and ran to the window, looking to see if their father and his family had arrived.

  Anjali polished the silverware, and then emptied her wardrobe. She re-folded her sarees and other clothes and put them back in. Anjali wanted to keep busy; she did not want to think about them.

  She listened to the news on the radio, when she tired, she listened to music, but her mind would not stray from thoughts of Mohan’s family. Anger and hate boiled inside her. In frustration, Anjali smashed a vase, shattering it into a million pieces.

  A maid came running. ‘Is everything alright Memsahib?’

  Anjali was ashamed. ‘The vase dropped from my hands.’ She saw the maid didn’t believe her. ‘I will clean up.’

  ‘No, let me Memsahib.’

  Anjali vacated the room feeling foolish. What was wrong with her? Why could she not just accept it? She knew Mohan would not want his family to live apart from him. She must accept this change, she must!

  The evening was drawing in when Anjali heard a motorcar stop outside. Deepika and Kajol stopped playing with their toys.

  ‘They are here!’ they whispered excitedly.

  Yes, they are, thought Anjali.

  The door was opened and Mohan walked in. He was alone and looked tired; his face betrayed an array of emotion: elation, worry, relief, happiness, and love. Anjali tried to smile but could not manage it.

  ‘Thank you, for letting me bring them home,’ he said taking Anjali into his arms and then letting go.

  ‘Deepika, Kajol, come to me,’ Anjali said. ‘Where are they Mohan ji?

  ‘Tehzeeb, please come,’ Mohan opened the door wider to let his family in.

  She was tall and slender. She was not overly pretty but there was something intriguing about her that could make any man love her or any woman like her. She was darker than Anjali, which satisfied her a little. Dressed