The Heart Is a Shifting Sea

by Elizabeth Flock

  Veer’s past was another woman, coincidentally also named Maya. It was the woman he had dated when he sent Maya the thank-you card. Everyone said Veer had turned into a deewana over the other Maya—had gone mad in love—even though he had met her in person only two or three times.

  The other Maya was also Veer’s very distant cousin, and so believed to be of his same gotra, or lineage. In marriage, a gotra was sometimes used to determine whom a person could or could not love. The elders in his family would see marrying this other Maya as taboo, a kind of incest.

  When the other Maya broke off their relationship, Veer assumed her family had pressured her into it for this reason. Or because his family’s business had taken on too much debt and crashed around that time, and so their new money was sure to vanish soon. Both realities made him a less-than-attractive prospective groom. He was certain the other Maya would never have left him of her own volition. Because it was a perfect relationship, he thought.

  But even if it was clear to the rest of the world that the other Maya could not be his wife, Veer continued to pretend that it was possible. He kept his cell phone wallpaper unchanged: a photo of her, smiling out at him. She was smiling from his wallpaper even as he made love to Maya on his birthday night.

  * * *

  When Veer told Maya of his feelings for the other Maya, at first she was distraught. But then she thought of the old Hindu myth of the god Krishna and his lover Radha, and began to feel better. It was a love story she had read since she was small. Out of all the women Krishna met, it was Radha, the gopi, or cow-herding maiden, whom he loved best. But Radha had to suffer for their love. She suffered so much she was known as the personification of bhakti—of obsessive, devotional, sacrificial love. And yet she also enchanted Krishna like no other woman could. While they never married, Krishna and Radha’s love was considered eternal. Maya thought that she should channel Radha and her sacrifices. If Veer doesn’t love me, Maya thought, then he should be with the one he loves.

  Maya called around and found Veer the other Maya’s new contact information, which had changed since they’d dated. “Go ahead and talk to her,” Maya said, and encouraged him to try to win her back.

  But though Veer tried, the other Maya did not want a reunion. She said she wasn’t going to hurt her family to be with him. Veer was upset but understood. A common adage went: Family, where life begins and love never ends. And a much-repeated filmi dialogue: The value of family is greater than dreams.

  Veer called Maya and thanked her for her help but told her he would not keep trying. He said he had too much respect for the other Maya’s devotion to family and would honor that by giving up what they had. We met perfectly. We left perfectly, Veer told himself so that it would not hurt so much. So it is still a perfect relationship.

  Veer continued to call and text Maya often, though he said that they were just friends. Soon, they began talking every day. “I don’t think we should be talking,” he’d say, but then they would talk for two, four, six hours, until the morning light arrived. When India’s telephone companies got the capability for picture messaging, they began sending photos back and forth every day. In each successive photo, they could see the tiny, almost imperceptible changes in the person from the day before. Before long, Veer began calling her “Mayu,” and she used his family nickname “Kancha.”

  And then Maya came back to Mumbai several times with her mother, and each time, she snuck out and rendezvoused with Veer in hotel rooms. Each time, they had sex. When apart, they began having phone sex, and Veer knew she was no longer a friend. I miss you, he found himself texting her. I need you.

  Soon, Maya allowed herself to believe he had forgotten all about the other Maya. She thought that maybe he could even become a deewana over her instead. After many months, Veer said the words Maya had longed to hear for so long. “Let’s get married,” he told her over the phone, “and see how and where it goes.”

  Maya tried not to think the words sounded noncommittal.

  * * *

  She didn’t want her father to find out about the engagement. Not so soon, and not like this. But her brother—who had once drawn a literal dividing line in their bedroom between what was his and hers, playing at the border of India and Pakistan—spilled her secret before she had a chance to.

  “Have you gone mad?” her father said, his voice thundering through their big, open home, which was so close to the airport they could hear the planes come in. Her father, a gentle man with professorial glasses, was unexpectedly forceful as he forbade the marriage. He told her to forget all about Veer. “Marry him, and yours will be a life of sorrow,” he said.

  Maya’s father knew Veer’s father, because the two men had done business together. They were also both from the same ethnic group: Marwaris, traders, migratory but originally from Rajasthan, and stereotyped for valuing money above all things. He thought Veer’s father inhabited the stereotype to the greatest degree. He had heard whisperings about the other Maya, about how Veer could not give her up. In their community, news traveled fast. Maya’s father did not trust Veer or his parents. He had heard that women who married into Veer’s family were harassed by their in-laws. He swore to prevent the marriage any way he could.

  As weeks passed, Maya began to panic. She was convinced that she and Veer would never marry. Not only did her father remain opposed to the union, but Veer made no steps to plan a wedding. She thought that he regretted having asked her. She decided he had not meant it at all. Love marriages were still rare in the city; romance was mostly reserved for the gods and the movies. She had been foolish to believe that Veer was different from other men. But she had believed, and that made it worse.

  In a moment of rashness, Maya found a bottle of sleeping pills in the house and swallowed thirty of them, one after the other after the other. Her father came home to find her stumbling down the hall.

  At the hospital, they put a thick tube down Maya’s throat and pumped her stomach. The tube caused searing pain but saved her life.

  Maya took the pills to send a message: I cannot live without Veer. She wanted her father to see it, and Veer to see it. And it was true; if she couldn’t have him, then she wanted to die. She had begun to feel that life was a constant struggle: with her father, with boys, and with how girls in India were permitted to live. She hadn’t been allowed to study what she wanted to, earning a master’s degree in analytic chemistry only because it was a field her father found respectable. If she had chosen, she would have studied psychology or journalism. And now her father would also choose her husband. She hoped that swallowing the pills would show him how misguided that effort was.

  But after she recovered, Maya was shocked to find her father’s stance had not changed. If anything, it had hardened. She should have remembered this about him. When he made up his mind about a subject, it was like he’d completed a Marwari business deal. It was finished, bought and sold. Over. Neither melodrama nor violence could change that.

  And Veer still made no steps to plan a wedding. He and Maya continued to talk, but he avoided the subject of marriage. And so, a season later, when Maya’s father suggested she at least meet another man, she unhappily agreed to it. There was, in fact, a line of men waiting for her: a fair, well-proportioned Hindu girl, and a supposed virgin, who smiled in photos with her mouth closed. Demureness was always valued in a woman.

  Her parents set her up with Anil, a small-time Bollywood filmmaker and aspiring poet with a feminine voice, and a desperate comb-over. They impressed upon Maya that he lived on Mumbai’s tony Altamount Road and came from a wealthy family. Equally important was the fact that he was from the same Brahmin subcaste.

  Soon a trip was suggested—with Anil, Maya, and both sets of parents—for everyone to get to know one another better. Maya agreed, thinking this might be just the leverage she needed to win over Veer. But when Maya told Veer, he only said, “Go and let’s see what happens.” Maya thought he sounded upset but couldn’t tell for sure.

&n
bsp; Anil and Maya set off with their parents for Mysore, a South Indian city of palaces at the base of the lush Chamundi Hills. In spite of the bucolic landscape, Maya found it anything but romantic. She was not at all interested in Anil, with his turtle face and family wealth. Anil found Maya beautiful, but also didn’t want to be pressured.

  After the trip, Anil and Maya met without their parents at a Café Coffee Day, a Western-style coffee chain frequented by young couples, on a prearranged date to talk next steps. As they sat down, Anil said, “I think this is all bullshit.”

  “I agree,” said Maya.

  “I don’t believe in arranged marriages.”

  “Neither do I.”

  Nor did many young people in Mumbai, and so arranging marriages took a special finesse. Both sets of parents tried to convince Maya and Anil that the other person had come around and asked when they might also give in. As summer neared its end, and Maya’s parents kept asking, Maya called Veer to impress upon him that he was about to lose her.

  “There is no way they are not going to get me engaged to this guy,” she told Veer, with a touch of drama. “The whole society knows. You have to decide what you want to do.”

  The next day, Veer asked Maya to marry him. This time, she could tell the proposal was different. Something had changed in his voice and demeanor. “Until the eighth of August I wasn’t definitely interested in a marriage,” Veer said later. “But on the ninth of August I thought: it’s okay.”

  Something had changed because when Veer saw he might lose her, he thought of all of Maya’s best qualities. He thought about how she was always supportive. She always told him what she felt. I have also shown her my life like an open deck of cards, he thought, and she’d embraced it, not getting hung up on the success or failure of his family business. This seemed like what a man needed in a wife: someone who supported and understood you and always gave you a frank opinion. Veer had also come around after he mentioned the idea of marrying Maya to his father and his father supported it.

  But when he asked Maya to marry him, he also told her the other Maya would remain in his life. He said the photo of her might stay on his wallpaper forever.

  I should walk out right now, Maya thought. But she didn’t, because she was certain he was the one.

  And before they married, Maya decided she would visit Choodi Bazaar. There, in the center of a teeming marketplace in Hyderabad, a woman could find bangles in any color and style. There were big shops with glass cases of fancy bangles and little outdoor shops with tarpaulin roofs that sold simpler ones. The shopkeepers always beckoned with cries of “Choora, choora!” which could be worn for any occasion but primarily for weddings.

  Some were made from the ivory of an elephant tusk or rhino horn and slid on with the help of perfumed oil. Others were twenty-four-karat gold, inlaid with jewels in a glittering red and clasped at the edges with a satisfying click. Most came in red and white, for luck and purity.

  Bangles were symbols of a marriage promise, of finality and commitment. If Maya were like her mother—and like most Hindu women—she would wear her red wedding bangles until she died.

  * * *

  It was when her parents went away on a short trip that Maya took her chance. She and Veer planned to meet at the airport in New Delhi, and then go on to Jaipur, city of pink palaces, to wed. But as Maya waited for Veer’s plane, she worried that he wouldn’t be on it. She called her best friend, who would be a witness at the wedding, and asked, her voice tight and fearful: “What if he doesn’t come?”

  “Then go back home,” her friend said, “and no one will ever know.”

  But Veer did come, and seemed excited, even euphoric, about the wedding. They met up with Maya’s friend and her boyfriend and another couple, friends of Veer. These four would be the witnesses at the wedding, in lieu of parents.

  Both couples had tried to prevent the marriage at first, saying they didn’t think it would work out. Not with how big a deewana Veer had been over the other Maya, or how fanaa—how destroyed in love—Maya seemed. And not with how controlling Veer’s parents were, or how displeased Maya’s father was with the union. There was also the glaring problem that Maya and Veer’s stars did not match. Marriage is made in the heavens, the old adage went. Most Hindus consulted their birth charts before marrying, even the nonbelievers. Maya’s and Veer’s stars forecast that their marriage would bring them only trouble.

  But then the couples had come around, after seeing that Maya would not yield, and that Veer now called her “Mayu” with affection. They came around after they learned that even Veer’s father supported the marriage. In the end, both couples helped organize the entire affair. They planned the wedding for Jaipur, city of epic forts and fanciful palaces, because Veer had been born there and would know how to get around. It was where even Maya’s and Veer’s parents might have chosen for a wedding, because of their shared Rajasthani roots.

  It was August, and excruciatingly hot in the city, as they ran from one temple for the ceremony to another for the pooja, fearing at any moment that they’d be found out. Maya wore a hot pink sari, a deep red–colored shawl, and cheap plastic red bangles, which Veer’s friend had gifted her. She had not bought the bangles at Choodi Bazaar, because there had not been time. Veer wore a majestic white, gold, and red sherwani and a tall turban that didn’t fit quite right. They both wore garlands of pink and white carnations. They married in the style of Arya Samaj, the equivalent of a court wedding, for couples that married across caste or religion, or without parental approval. Arya Samaj ceremonies were simple and inexpensive but still included all the essential Vedic marriage rituals and blessings.

  There were some minor mishaps during the ceremony, which worried both sets of friends. Marriages were supposed to take place before sunset, but by the time Veer and Maya married, the sun had already gone down. It also began to rain very hard, as if to signal bad luck. When Maya and Veer walked around the sacred fire, they accidentally did it eight times instead of seven. The pandit said not to worry, that the last time was “just to finish.” What is this? thought Veer’s friend. No one does eight times instead of seven.

  But in a photo from the day, Maya and Veer do not seem worried. Maya smiles in her hot pink sari, her hands and feet dyed deep red with henna, and she leans comfortably into Veer. Veer, who is still in his tall turban, stands with his arm draped around his new wife.

  As they left the temple, Veer received a call from his older brother. Maya’s father had called Veer’s family and told them he was searching for the couple.

  “We’ve already done it,” Veer told his brother, his voice calm. “Let’s not talk much now,” he continued. “Just give it two days. After two days you can call me, and if you feel at ease then it’s good. If you say anything right now, you will be shouting and regret it later.” Though Veer’s family had initially approved of the marriage, he knew Maya’s father’s anger could stir up trouble.

  Veer hung up and switched off his phone, as did Maya. They spent several more days in Jaipur, switching hotels every night. Maya worried her father might show up at any moment, though she did not know what he would do if he came. At the minimum, he would take her back home to Hyderabad and never allow her to see Veer again. To be extra safe, they stayed one night at the house of a Jaipur mafia don, the father of one of Veer’s old school friends. No one is going to catch us here, Veer thought.

  For Maya, their week on the run was the most terrifying and romantic of her life. She found herself even more besotted than before. Veer felt only at peace. He thought he had made the right decision. I am marrying a good friend, he thought. In the end, he hoped the marriage would bring two respected, middle-class Marwari families together. Marriage was, as it had always been, a kind of transaction. But their families would only come together if Maya’s father forgave her.

  When Maya and Veer flew to Mumbai, Veer’s father and stepmother were waiting at the airport to receive them. They were thrilled for the new couple. Their so
n was thirty, so it was past time he settled down with a young, supposed virgin, only twenty-three, and from his same background.

  Soon after, they hosted a grand wedding reception in a banquet hall, inviting some five hundred people, including Maya’s parents. It was unusual for the groom to bear all the costs of a reception, but Maya’s family wasn’t going to do it. Maya’s mother attended the party, along with Maya’s brother, uncle, and other family members. But her father did not show up. “These people will mistreat you,” he warned his daughter over the phone. His view had not changed.

  And it didn’t change even after Veer’s father took Maya home to Hyderabad after the reception, to try to mend what was broken. In their living room, Maya found her father crying, with her grandfather seated beside him.

  Maya’s grandfather had always been intimidating, both in height and demeanor. He was a government man, and he’d worked for the railroads. His posture was ramrod straight. He was also a man of strict principles, which could be good or bad for his grandchildren, depending on whose side he was on. This time he stood by Maya. He thought that if she had found a good man she loved, she should be allowed to marry him. He was only upset that it had been done in a way that could end her relationship with her father.

  “You should have told me,” her grandfather said, sadly. “I would have gotten you married.”

  Maya began to cry along with her father. “But this is what I’ve done,” she said, looking from one man to the other. “Now I’m responsible for my life. You have to trust me.”

  Her father said he couldn’t, because he knew what lay ahead.

  Veer’s father sat watching the scene coolly, and, when everyone was finished crying, took Maya back home to Mumbai.

  * * *

  As was customary for a new bride, home was now Veer’s parents’ house, which was in a crowded suburb on the northern outskirts of the city.