Sangita closed her ears to the long lecture that followed. She had obviously not got across to her mother. She looked around desperately, searching for an escape. There was just no way. She was barely nineteen, a fresh graduate with no job to fall back on. She knew only her family and a few friends whom she wasn't very close to. Her two siblings were male and she couldn't imagine talking to them about her horrifying experiences. She felt lonely and cornered.
The telephone rang shrilly and Sangita jumped like a nervous filly. Gopal answered it and turned around to yell, “It's Mappillai on the phone, Radha. He's so worried. Ask your stupid daughter whether she came away without taking his permission?”
Sangita shrank from the accusation in her mother's gaze. “Is that so, Sangita?” she asked her daughter harshly.
“Amma, I told you...”
Radha gave her daughter a killing look before snatching the receiver from her husband.
“Mappillai,” she gushed, her tone dripping honey. “How are you?”
“I'm alright,” answered Giridhar superciliously. “Only your daughter...”
“Hee hee,” cut in his mother-in-law with a stupid smirk on her face. “She's young, you see, and also very innocent. You must give her time to adjust to you. She's a good girl,” this as she pinned her daughter with a glare.
“Okay, okay,” said Giridhar, his tone grudging as he accepted Radha's explanation. “I was quite worried you know, when I got up to find her missing.”
“I am sure she is very sorry, Mappillai. Please forgive her. Gopal and I will bring her back right now.”
“There's no need. I will come after a few hours and pick her myself,” he said, his voice suggesting what a big favour he was doing them. He suddenly felt a strong urge to visit Rosy and didn't want to be hassled by a visit from his parents-in-law.
“That's very kind of you, Mappillai. You must have lunch here. It will be our pleasure,” she insisted before disconnecting the line.
Sangita realised the futility of appealing to her mother's reason as the older woman continued to lecture her on the intricacies of a woman's role in a marriage. Sangita had to put up with her tirade till her husband's arrival.
Sangita looked at the three of them, her parents and her husband, feeling paralysed at the turn her life had taken. She vaguely heard them discuss her as an object or maybe an animal, which had passed from one set of hands into another, to be moulded and made use of as he pleased. Her opinion was never sought. Thankful for the feeling of numbness, Sangita sat through lunch huddled on her chair, pretending to eat the food on her plate. She felt abandoned.
13
The days flowed into each other. Sangita turned deaf and mute to her surroundings. She succumbed without protest whenever Giridhar decided to bed her and was careful not to exhibit the revulsion she felt. She felt undying gratitude towards the unknown Rosy, who made sure that it didn't happen too often.
Sangita was glad that Giridhar never raised his hand on her. She thanked God for small mercies. But his tongue was a scorpion's sting. He humiliated her verbally at every opportunity.
Sangita, who was innocently beautiful, lost confidence in herself. She believed Giridhar when he called her plump and ugly. He hated her innocence and purity. He felt the urge to hurt her and bring her to her knees.
Even her unreasonable parents had approved of her culinary skills. Giridhar couldn't find anything right with the meals she prepared.
“You call this sambhar?” he pushed his plate violently across the length of the dining table. “It tastes like mud.” He walked away, not looking back when the plateful of food crashed to the floor.
'How would you know the taste of mud?' Sangita didn't ask the question that rose to her lips. Oh, what was the use? She wiped the tears that rose unbidden to her eyes as she bent to clear the mess her husband had created in his wake.
Giridhar slammed the door of the flat behind him as he left for Rosy's. Sangita sighed in relief, as she looked forward to the next few hours of peace and quiet. She took each day as it came, careful not to look into the future, as she could see nothing but darkness. She never bothered to call her parents or her friends. Nobody could rescue her out of the hell she was relegated to.
Days went by when Sangita had only the milkman or the vegetable vendor to talk to. She didn't care. She merely existed, having given up on life.
She gained some amount of confidence that her troubles couldn't get worse. This faith was broken one morning when she woke up, violently sick.
She looked at her wan face in the bathroom mirror. Now what the hell was wrong with her? Sangita squared her shoulders and looked at her reflection. 'Buck up, you fool! Sickness doesn't mean anything. You're just fine.' She felt better after the pep talk and continued with her day as usual.
Sangita had taken to maintaining a diary into which she poured her thoughts, her dreams, her disappointments, her frustrations and her anger. She guarded it very secretly. It served as an excellent way to let out her feelings. She felt much better that day after writing her diary. But she again felt violently sick, first thing the next morning. Terror struck Sangita's heart. Could she be coming down with something? Flu or malaria, maybe! She was petrified. She couldn't think of one single soul who would be bothered.
Maybe she had cancer. Sangita shuddered. Her brain felt woozy. She couldn't recall one symptom of cancer from what she had read about the dreaded disease. She had to see a doctor.
Her visit to her general physician left her dazed. He had conducted some tests and congratulated her. She was pregnant! Sangita didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. She felt so unwanted, totally without an anchor and now suddenly there was this new life growing inside her.
She reached home to find that her husband had already left for work. She was fiercely glad. She sat down on the sofa with a tall glass of fresh orange juice. The thought of any solid food made her want to puke. She sat for a while thinking about the news the doctor had given her and the impact it was bound to have on her sorry existence. She finally came out of her listlessness as a big smile appeared on her face.
She was going to be a mother. A tiny life was growing within her, which was all her own. She felt fiercely protective of her unborn child. She would shower it with all the love she had in her heart. And finally, inexorably, she would have someone whom she could call her own. She had ultimately found her anchor in life, her reason to live.
Her joy knew no bounds as she went about preparing lunch. She had to eat well, the doctor had advised. The sick feeling had passed and she felt ravenously hungry as she bit into an apple, humming a tune to the small being that had taken life in her womb. She ran a gentle hand over her still flat stomach and marvelled at the wonder of nature.
Giridhar failed to recognise his wife when he came home in the evening. The radiant creature in front of him wasn't the ghost who had been living in his house over the past few months. Sangita bubbled with joy when she gave the wonderful news to him as she served him coffee. She was ready to forgive all his misgivings for the precious gift he had given her.
“You know something?” he drawled in reply, “Science has advanced so much that it's quite possible to find out who the father is. A woman can't thrust her bastard on her husband any longer.”
Sangita blanched at the verbal whiplash. She turned away as the content of his words slowly sunk into her. Her first instinct was to curl up in pain. But no! The doctor had told her that she needed to nurture her baby with a lot of love and happiness. She didn't care what Giridhar said. He was bound to judge someone as he himself was. One couldn't blame him for thinking the way he did, right out of the gutter.
Sangita was going to be cheerful for her baby's sake, even if it killed her. She owed it to her baby. She looked at Giridhar in the eye, “The doctor has advised me against having sex during the pregnancy,” she lied blatantly, her fingers crossed, confident that Giridhar wouldn't care to find out the truth.
“You were no great shakes in be
d, anyway,” he shrugged as he left her alone to change and leave for Rosy's place.
Sangita was floating on cloud nine as she daydreamed about her child, crooning to it many a happy hour.
She marked the dates on a calendar while waiting for the birth of her child. She would call him Sandeep or call her Sanjana, she decided. She was fervently glad that it could be her own decision.
Her mother made a big, fat fuss over her—to impress the friends and neighbours, no doubt. Sangita was totally unaffected by the goings on around her as she felt the baby moving inside her. She was overawed by the marvel that was the life growing inside her womb. She had her diary to share it with.
She gave birth to a healthy baby boy at 12.20 in the afternoon on July 9th. She felt ecstatic holding Sandeep in her arms for the first time. He didn't resemble his father in any way and Sangita was glad to see the chocolate colour of his eyes. It was love at first sight for her!
She couldn't care less that the baby's father never came to see him at the hospital. It only gave her the confidence that Sandeep belonged only to her exclusively.
All the insults Giridhar flung at her had no effect on Sangita. She was in seventh heaven holding her little bundle of joy. The baby had given her a new lease in life.
Sandeep was almost three months old and fast asleep in his cradle when the doorbell rang. Sangita opened the door to admit two policemen who insisted that she identify the watch, ring and wallet that belonged to her husband. They had found them on the dead body of a man who had been involved in a motorcycle accident. He had crashed it drunkenly into a lamppost and died on the spot.
Sangita turned around to look at Gautam who had been listening to her patiently for the past half an hour. She smiled at him.
“That's it, Gautam. The story of my married life. I hated every moment of being Giridhar's wife. I was revolted by his touch and I never enjoyed the physical intimacies that we shared...no, not shared, he forced them on me. I detested every bit of it. I couldn't think of a way out. In the end, I just wished him dead. I never really expected my prayers to be answered so speedily. But the sense of relief at his death was tremendous. I still am not able to believe that I am free of him. But, somewhere deep down I feel that maybe I did him an injustice. I wonder how it appeared from his end. He was married to me, a frigid woman who couldn't make him happy. And he lost his life at a young age, thanks to my wishful thinking.” Sangita shuddered as she admitted to her feelings of guilt for the first time. She had carried her guilt around, buried deep under her feeling of euphoria at her husband's death. But talking about her marriage in detail for the first time to a willing listener brought it to the fore. Now it stood out as if in bright neon letters—the fact that she had willed Giridhar dead.
Gautam looked at Sangita with a mix of adoration and compassion. “Sangita, has anyone ever told you what a fool you are?” She gave him a shocked look that seemed to ask, 'Et tu, Brute?'
Gautam sat down on the divan next to her, taking her small, trembling hands in his. He ran his thumbs in a loving caress over the backs of her hands. “A fool,” he reiterated gently. “A man treats you like trash, has an extramarital relationship and you feel guilty that you may have given him a raw deal? He gets drunk and crashes his motorbike and you feel responsible for his death? You only wished him dead. If I was in your place, I might have killed him! You, my darling, are an adorable fool.”
“But Gautam, I couldn't make him happy in bed. The whole process revolted me.”
“Rubbish, that's utter nonsense and I can prove it to you,” said Gautam
Sangita gave him a sad look. “You don't know, Gautam. I just abhor physical intimacy. That's why Giridhar...”
“I don't want to hear your words of praise for that particular gentleman, if you'll please excuse me,” stated Gautam vehemently, his disgust obvious.
She giggled as a frown gathered on Gautam's handsome face. “You, silly Gautam, are jealous of Giridhar. I can't understand why. I never even liked the man. I...”
“Good. Now that we're clear about that, let's close the subject. I've heard enough for a lifetime. I'm glad for the loser's sake that he never had the misfortune to meet me.”
“Gautam.” She looked at him, rather taken aback by his vehemence.
“I mean it, Sangita. I'll not tolerate anyone who tried to hurt you or Sandeep,” he declared passionately.
She felt her heart swell with elation only to crash down when she realised that they were still left with the problem of Gautam's marriage proposal. She had yet to find a way to convince him that it wouldn't work.
“Thank you, Gautam. I'm so glad to know that I have such a loyal friend in you.”
“Sangita,” Gautam's arms tightened around her waist, “I want to be more than your friend.”
She raised her hand to caress his bearded cheek. “Please try to understand, Gautam. I...”
“No,” he protested. “You listen to me. I now know that you don't like physical intimacy. That's fine by me.” He crossed the fingers of his right hand behind her back. “I'll never force you to do anything that you don't want to, okay? Now say 'Yes'.”
“But, Gautam, you...”
“Sangita, will you marry me?” He looked intently at her, his gaze compelling and cajoling, all at once.
Sangita lowered her gaze to his shoulder level. Gautam's T-shirt hung lank on his gaunt shoulders, giving proof to the hell he had been through the past week. It seemed to mock her reluctance to wed him. Did she have a choice? Who was she fooling? She couldn't imagine a life away from him. And it was obvious to her that he was also extremely unhappy without her. Why should either of them suffer this agony?
But on the other hand, what would happen after a while, when Gautam needed her physically? He was normal even if she wasn't. And then there were her parents to consider. They would never agree to this marriage. A big sigh shook Sangita's slender frame. She felt the whole weight of the world pressing down on her slight shoulders. She buried her face against Gautam's chest, her arms around his waist, not wanting to face the future.
Gautam had been watching the conflict of emotions on her face with a smile on his face. He bent down to press a kiss on top of her head.
“Sweetheart.”
“Hmm.”
“The decision too tough for you to make?” he asked gently.
“Hmm...mm.”
“Right, then. Let me handle it. I won't propose marriage. You've no choice. Just marry me within the month.”
“What?” Sangita's head jerked away from him. She looked up at his face as if to find out whether he had gone mad. “Are you serious?”
“Never more so in my life.”
“But...”
Gautam pressed his hand against her lips. “Just listen, will you?” He waited for any further protest before lifting his hand off her mouth. “My grandparents and I will deal with your parents. I'll adopt Sandeep legally and the two of you can move in here after the wedding. I'm sure you don't have any objection to that,” he declared confidently as if he had set forth a plan for a day's picnic by the seaside.
Sangita gaped at him, her mouth wide open, at a loss for words. Gautam pressed a gentle fist under her chin to close her mouth and grinned at her cheekily. “What, no come back? Don't tell me I have finally managed to render you speechless.”
She shook her head in a daze. “I don't know. You make it sound so simple, Gautam.” She raised troubled eyes to his, “You don't want us to elope, do you? I don't want to hurt them.” Her tone was pleading.
“Of course not, sweetheart. Do you trust me to deal with everything?”
Sangita looked into his passionate gaze. He was probably the first person who had taken so much interest in her. If anyone could give her a better life, it was him; especially with his grandparents' support. She remembered the time when they had stood by her when her parents had insisted on shaving her head. What did she stand to lose?
But on the other hand, she would gain a wonderf
ul future as Gautam's wife. A small smile lit her tense features as she nodded slowly to Gautam. “Okay,” came the whispered reply.
Gautam lifted her off the floor to swing her around a couple of times.
“Gautam,” she gasped as he put her down and kissed her. Sangita clung to him, her arms clasped tightly around his neck, standing on tiptoe. She knew that any problem with her parents would be worth the sparkle that had come back into Gautam's eyes.
“Shall we go down now to break the good news to Thatha and Patti?” he asked enthusiastically.
Sangita nodded in agreement. “But before that, do you think you can get cleaned up, Gautam?”
“Why ma'am, are you suggesting I'm dirty?” A devilish grin lit his ragged features.
“Like a tramp! I'm not suggesting it, sir, I'm stating it.” Gautam gave a startled shout of laughter at her prompt reply.
He let go of her reluctantly to step into the bedroom. Ten minutes later, he came out, clean-shaven, hair combed neatly, wearing a fresh shirt.
“Will I do?” he asked her, tongue firmly in cheek.
Sangita examined him from top to toe. A mischievous smile lit her face, making her glow. “I didn't know that the wedding was to take place right now. Look at me. I can pass of for a ragamuffin. Are you still sure you want to marry me?” she grinned, setting his blood on a slow boil.
He stepped forward and embraced her. “If you're fishing for compliments, you've come to the right pond. Well, here goes,” he held her face between the palms of his large hands, “you look beautiful, like a fresh, dewy rose bud in the early morning sunlight,” he whispered. The English professor was never short of metaphors when it came to describing her beauty. “You look gorgeous, my love,” he continued, as tears gathered in her eyes. He pressed his lips against her eyelids, one by one.
The Madras Affair Page 15