The Indian Tycoon's Marriage Deal

by Adite Banerjie

  She removed the old yellowing plastic photo frame that was hanging on the wall. The photo had been taken on the morning of her tenth birthday. She wore a lovely rani-pink frilly dress that her mother had stitched for her. She remembered how excited she had been…Her mother had organized a little birthday party for all her friends from school and the neighbourhood. She had even ordered a strawberry cake. She had looked at it a million times during the day, wanting to taste a bit of the icing. And her mother would shoo her away. ‘Not now, baby! You will cut the cake later in the evening after Papa comes back from the office.’

  She had pouted. ‘But, Ma, how can I wait so long?’

  Her mother laughed. ‘Have patience, sweetheart.’

  She had been patient. Very patient. Her friends had arrived for the party by seven p.m. But there was no sign of Papa. And he had promised her he would come home early. She ran anxiously to the balcony every few minutes to check. Ma too was getting impatient, even though she maintained a calm exterior, chatting with her friends’ mothers, who had all come to attend the party. She checked the clock again and again—but it seemed to be teasing her, the arms moving so slowly. Finally, the doorbell rang.

  She rushed to the door. There was Papa. Frazzled. His forehead covered in sweat. His spectacles askew and his hair ruffled. Gone was his usual smile and ‘Where’s my beautiful Princess?’ greeting. She ran to him. ‘Papa, you are late for my party!’

  But he pushed her aside and spoke urgently to Ma. ‘We’ve got to talk.’

  They went into the bedroom. A few minutes later, the door opened and an anxious Ma ushered out the guests, apologising profusely. ‘I’m sorry, my husband is not well. You will have to leave. I’m really sorry.’

  Maya was in tears. ‘Ma, what about my cake?’

  Ma shushed her. ‘Sweetie, listen to me…we will cut the cake later…’

  Suddenly, with a loud banging, the door burst open. Three burly policemen stormed in. ‘We have an arrest warrant for Subodh Shome. Where is he?’

  An audible gasp went around as friends, relatives and neighbours gawped. Horrified, Maya watched as they handcuffed Papa and dragged him away. Ma wept as she ran down the stairs to the police van. Maya rushed behind Ma. The policemen shoved him in the van and Papa gave her a shamefaced look before turning away. As the neighbours looked on, whispering among themselves, she clung to Ma’s sari. Ma wept inconsolably and Maya wanted to cry too.

  As the police van pulled away, she tore herself from her mother and ran down the street, Ma’s screams fading into the background. She kept running till the van disappeared from her sight. She was faint, desperate, lonely. A bell chimed in the distance. She cried aloud, ‘Papa!’

  A sudden burst of white light appeared as she saw Papa walking towards her in a white robe spotted with bloodstains. His face was smiling but wrinkled. She rushed to him. ‘Papa!’ But he kept walking past her. And then she saw ten, twelve, no, many more, vultures swoop down towards her, wings flapping. Her heart pounded loudly. She covered her face in fright and screamed, ‘Papa!’ But he was gone…All that remained was a path strewn with bright, vivid, lavender roses.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HEART POUNDING, MAYA woke up. Totally disoriented. Soaked in sweat. The sunlight was streaming in through the curtainless windows. The pounding, though, had not stopped. With a start she realised someone was banging on the door and calling out her name. Oh no! The wedding! She checked her mobile. Eight-fifty a.m. And three missed calls. She rushed to the door, opened it a crack.

  An anxious Rohan heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Madam, we are going to be late…’

  Smiling apologetically, she said, ‘So sorry, Rohan. I will be with you in five minutes.’

  Before he could respond, she shut the door and sped to the bathroom. Tepid water shot out of the creaky showerhead. The water brought her back to life, washing away the last vestiges of her troubled dream. She had been up for most of the night, had packed her stuff into the small suitcase. It had been too hot to sleep, especially after a power blackout some time after midnight. She must have dozed off during the wee hours of the morning. And the bizarre dream about her father…She still couldn’t get over it.

  She pulled on a pair of jeans and T-shirt. There would be just about enough time to get into her bridal finery at the hotel suite. She grabbed her suitcase and her handbag and took one last look around the bare room. She would miss this place—it had been her home and she had felt at peace coming back here in the evenings. In the early days, though, she had often been depressed and lonely in a strange city with no friends or family. That was when she had taken up dancing. She would put on some music and let herself go—immerse herself in the beat and physical energy till every dark thought had been erased from her mind.

  A car honked impatiently. Maya, you’re running late! She shut the door quietly and ran down the flight of stairs. Pulling out an envelope containing a cheque for the rent, she slipped in the key to the barsaati and pushed it under the door of the landlord’s ground floor apartment. She dashed across the street and got into the passenger seat of Rohan’s car.

  * * *

  The wedding mandap at the hotel lawns was bedecked with flowers. Strands of marigold garlands were strung out on the canopy atop a small raised platform where the wedding rituals would be conducted. The shaven-headed Brahmin priest was not to be messed with: he was taking his own sweet time arranging the flowers, herbs and essential ingredients like rice, turmeric, the auspicious vermilion and the myriad other objects that went into solemnising a Hindu wedding.

  Krish’s patience was at breaking point. At this rate, the wedding rituals would go on for hours and there was still no sign of the bride. Finally, the arrangements were completed and the priest declared, ‘You may call the bride now.’

  ‘About time!’ Krish said under his breath, pulling out his BlackBerry from his pocket. Had she decided to renege on their agreement? He went cold. But then he stopped in his tracks. There she was—walking towards him, the picture perfect Indian bride. Her head covered by the gauzy chiffon dupatta, the shimmering red and gold lehenga swaying as her hips moved gracefully. The silver anklets tinkling softly, the jhumkas on her earlobes caressing her cheeks, the red-and-gold bangles on her henna-tattooed arms, the white flowers in her plaited hair and the jewel-encrusted tikli nestled on her forehead…She looked like an ethereal sixteenth century Rajput princess on the day of her swayamvar. Shaking away the unfamiliar tug that squeezed his chest, Krish approached Maya.

  * * *

  Maya looked up to find herself staring at Krish, impeccably dressed in a cream-coloured raw silk kurta-churidar. The red shawl and the turban on his head made him look like a dashing prince, ready to wed his princess. She was suddenly overcome with shyness. She almost felt like a real bride on the threshold of a new life with her chosen groom.

  ‘The beautiful bride is here finally! Now, can we get on with it? Or do you intend to take the rest of the day to walk to the mandap?’

  His impatient words shattered her momentary illusion. What was she thinking? As a child, she had been fascinated by the tale of the dashing Rajput prince Prithviraj Chauhan who defied his family, and rode his golden steed into an enemy kingdom to carry away his beloved Princess Samyukta to happily-ever-after land. She was no Samyukta, nor was Krish her Prithviraj! Casting away the thought from her mind, she resolutely made her way to the mandap to sit in front of the havan—the holy fire that would solemnise their marriage according to the Hindu Arya Samaj rites.

  The flames leapt up as Krish and she poured offerings of rice, ghee and assorted condiments into the holy fire at regular intervals, to the chants of the pundit’s mantras. After the priest tied the ends of her dupatta and Krish’s shawl together, they took the saat pheras—the seven steps. As they walked around the fire, the pundit invoked the gods to bless them with the seven most precious needs—nourishment, strength, wealth, health, progeny, luck and a loving relationship. Rohan and the priest’s assistant s
howered them with grains of rice and rose petals, symbolic of blessings.

  Maya’s heart swelled with longing for her parents. How her mother would have filled with pride to see her darling daughter as a bride. How her father would have shed tears to see his precious princess being wed. As her eyes welled with unshed tears, she sneaked a peek at Krish—her husband. Was he thinking about his mother? It was obvious that he had been very close to her. And, no matter how much Krish rebelled against his father, surely he must have wanted him and the rest of his family to be there at his wedding? Even if theirs was a faux marriage. On the other hand, could there be anything more real than this? Taking vows before the holy fire, streaking her hair with sindoor and claiming her as his wife for the next seven lives?

  A thought that, surprisingly enough, did not fill her with dread. She looked into Krish’s eyes and could see the reflection of the flame glowing there. He looked down at her and fed her a sweetmeat. ‘So, Mrs Maya Krish Dev, here’s to a long and happy marriage.’ His voice was sincere and his eyes had a warm glow in them, which ignited a spark in her heart. She was lost for words but her stomach issued a rumble of protest.

  Krish laughed. ‘Seems like the bride is hungry. And, as a husband, it’s my duty to provide nourishment, isn’t that right?’

  A beaming Rohan announced, ‘Sir, ma’am, lunch is ready to be served in the Banquet Room.’

  A sumptuous meal, comprising of several courses, was served to the newly married couple—ranging from the most deliciously cooked vegetarian dishes, melt in the mouth meat and chicken curries, a delicately spiced chicken biryani, flavourful mutton vindaloo and the most amazing array of syrupy sweetmeats. As Maya tucked in heartily, Krish watched her with indulgent amusement. ‘I have never seen such a ravenous bride.’

  Her mouth full, she glanced at him, as if to say something but thought better of it and continued demolishing the food on her plate. As she polished off the last crumb of the sweet and creamy kheer, she noticed Krish take a second helping of the syrupy gulab jamun. ‘Aha, so you have a sweet tooth!’

  Krish smiled sheepishly. ‘Never could resist GJs.’

  Sighing contentedly she said, ‘That was truly the most amazing meal I have had in a long time.’

  Krish looked at her, wonder-struck. ‘And you had a pretty decent appetite to do justice to it. Wonder of wonders, you aren’t worried about losing your figure!’

  She shrugged nonchalantly. ‘If I need to shed pounds, I will jog. But wasting such delicious food would be downright criminal!’

  Krish’s throaty laugh made her nerve ends tingle. ‘You know, you’re an amazing woman, full of surprises.’ And added in a husky whisper, ‘I can’t wait to unwrap the others that you have in store for me.’

  The fire in his eyes belied his teasing voice. It held a promise of passion that found an echo deep within her. She looked away, trying to steel her mind against the temptation. But her body rebelled, as it responded with sparks of fire of its own, spreading heat and warmth that crept its way right up to her cheeks in a fiery blush.

  Tearing her eyes away from his gaze, she murmured, ‘I need to change first before we leave.’

  As Maya made good her escape to the washroom, she pondered over the way she was reacting to Krish. There was something in his eyes that had the heat of fire—at times they were all aglow like embers, at times alight with the flame of mischief, and always there was a hint of controlled, fiery passion. She wondered how they would blaze when he finally let go of that control. The traitorous thought sent a hot wave of sensation down to her innermost core as she doused her face with cold water.

  * * *

  As Krish deftly manoeuvred the Prius through the city traffic towards the green outskirts beyond the cityscape of malls, multiplexes and multi-storey apartment blocks, Maya marvelled at the sight of the flame of forests. Blood-red flowers on trees that were stark and bald. The hotter the Delhi summers, the brighter the gulmohur blossoms. Sprawling farmhouses were spaced out between huge acres of farmland. The houses themselves, nestled deep in greenery behind formidable walls topped by barbed wire, were private and secure. These were the farmhouses of the rich and famous—and some even went the extra mile by posting gunmen to protect their property and privacy.

  Turning on to a narrow track off the main road, the Prius passed by acres of fenced-off sheds topped with the distinctive green covering sported by hothouses. The air was different—it had the feeling of space and greenery but also of seclusion and secrecy. For all the serene beauty, there was an edge of menace that chilled Maya’s heart. She felt a bit like Alice crashing into an alien Wonderland. A knot of tension gnawed away at her insides.

  To shake off the ominous feeling, she asked, ‘These are the Dev Group hothouses?’

  ‘Yes. In total, the DGE hothouses are spread over more than one hundred acres. And these supply cut flowers to destinations abroad as well as to the rest of India. After you have settled in, I will show you around. Most of these hothouses, though not all, are completely climate controlled. I’m sure you would find it interesting to check out some of the exotic floral species that are grown. Though, honestly speaking, this is one of the least profitable of the DGE businesses and its potential hasn’t been harnessed the way it could have been.’

  ‘Spoken like a true management consultant,’ she muttered.

  Krish simply shrugged. ‘Yes, but I don’t do consultancy for the DGE.’

  Maya was taken aback. ‘Why not?’

  ‘KD believes in hands-on management and he has no faith in management consultants.’

  ‘Not even you, the heir to his empire?’ Maya was incredulous.

  Krish’s eyes were focused on the road ahead. ‘Technically,

  I would be his heir. Realistically, I would be little more than a puppet on a string.’

  ‘So if you’re not interested in heading the DGE empire, wouldn’t it be best for all if you simply walked away?’

  A nerve throbbed in his jaw. ‘Let’s just say it’s complicated. And leave it at that.’

  The adamant set of his jaw, the dark look in his eyes, telegraphed a stay-away-from-this-subject message. She was more than happy not to interfere in father-son issues. The less involved she got, the better for her. She was not here to stay, despite signing his marriage contract—and maintaining her distance would be the wisest thing to do.

  They passed a curving driveway with perfectly manicured lawns on both sides. Up ahead was an opulent stone-façade farmhouse—no, scratch that—a palatial mansion. Right adjacent to it stood a smaller bungalow built in the British Raj style. Krish waved at the mansion as he drove past. ‘That’s the main house—my father lives there, and that’s where all the entertaining is done. The bungalow is his office.’

  ‘But I thought the DGE headquarters were located in Connaught Place,’ she said, bemused.

  ‘Yes, this is more of a home-office. For the times when KD doesn’t want to make the trip into Delhi. Besides, the horticulture business is handled out of this office.’

  Krish kept driving further away from the mansion and turned on to a narrow tree-lined path. ‘When I came back to India after finishing my studies, I had no intention of living anywhere close to my father. After squabbling over it for months, we finally came to a compromise. I would have my own private quarters within the complex and we would meet each other only when we needed to.’ What Krish didn’t tell Maya was that KD was wont to forget his promise. Recently, he had become more demanding and had begun to seek his son’s direct involvement in DGE. Then came the pressure to tie the knot and the endless arguments about the duties and responsibilities of the ‘heir to the Dev empire’. But at the heart of these tussles was just one issue. His father would do anything to ensure that he stayed in control but Krish was damned if he would give up his independence. And now he had finally outmanoeuvred his father—and reclaimed his life. He couldn’t wait to see his reaction when he walked into his mansion this evening with Maya by his side.

/>   Krish took a turn and, as the car crunched the gravel underneath, Maya saw nestled among the greenery a compact little cottage. The stone exterior was covered in green ivy. It was something straight out of a homes and gardens magazine. Elegant and yet homely, with none of the ostentatious architecture of the main mansion. Its striking simplicity made it look more like a cosy holiday hideaway. She couldn’t help but gasp in admiration at the perfectly serene surroundings. She stepped out of the car and took in the fragrance of the bougainvillea, climbing in a profusion of pink and white flowers over the awning on the front porch.

  An enigmatic smile played on his handsome face. ‘I would love to say “welcome home”. But I guess it’s too early for you to consider it home.’

  ‘It’s…beautiful,’ she whispered as she looked around.

  Suddenly there was a rustle of leaves as something came hurtling through the greenery at them.

  ‘Uh-oh. I should have warned you…’ But, before he could finish his sentence, a huge ball of slobbering red hair, flapping ears and sparkling eyes hurled itself at Krish. For a split second, Maya was taken aback at the sudden assault but soon recovered when she realised that the huge dog was trying to bark, dance, slobber and pant all at the same time.

  ‘Baloo! Come here, boy!’ Krish called out, laughing, as he wrestled playfully with the ecstatic dog. ‘Oh, I have missed you too!’

  Krish struggled to bring the hysterically happy dog under control. ‘Enough now. Calm down. Okay, good dog! Stay, Baloo! Stay!’ A few more commands and the dog quietened down before turning his attention to Maya. If it weren’t for Krish’s restraining hand on the dog’s collar, she was certain he would have launched himself on her and given her an equally enthusiastic licking.

  ‘Maya, this is Baloo…he is an excitable goof. Has a habit of knocking people down…but is the gentlest soul ever born on the face of this earth.’