by Krishna Saki
It was the eve of our first anniversary when I lost my hope and my life. One of our guests had complimented him, that he looked the most happiest man on earth. He had shrugged, like telling them it was a matter of fact. Then, he whispered a carefully basted, caustic dose of words in my ear, ‘Your death would make me the happiest man on earth’. My lips could do nothing but curl into a tender smile, while my eyes welled up in tears. The guests smiled, dreamily, imagining of all the nice words a husband could whisper to his wife.
‘While we are indulged’, he addressed the guests, ‘Kavya, I think will check on the dinner.’, he said, smiling at me as he finished. His head was tilted towards the gallery as if commanding me that my presence was not necessary around. His raised eyebrows that carved furrows on his forehead, insisted that I was needed in the kitchen not at the dinner with him.
I thanked Bhaskar silently, and walked away, clenching my turquoise skirt, into the gallery, that bridged the kitchen and the balcony, where we hosted the party.
‘He didn’t mean it. He said that out of stress.’, I consoled myself as I strolled. ‘That tone! Why that cold tone?’, I refuted my assertion, pacing up my gait. My feet were in search of anywhere desolate where I could vent out my sorrow. ‘Where did I go wrong? This was not the life I’d dreamt of that day when I was a bride.’, I thought as I passed by the mirror. I stopped, when nearly taking a turn to the kitchen and walked two steps back. I turned round to face myself. I stood for sometime, reminiscing, the last time I was there. Something gleamed in my hands…. A knife. Bhaskar had jabbed it in my hand when I had advanced to cut our anniversary cake with him, before he uttered those piercing words. Did he thrust it in my hands so I could cut myself? I thought. I ran my index finger over its trenchant edge, allowing it to cut. Blood oozed out. I glanced at myself one more time in the mirror. A sympathetic but encouraging smile stretched on my face…. I knew what to do.
I hustled to his study and pushed the heavy door open. There was a pen on his desk. I quickly pulled out a paper from his chest.
‘Dear Bhaskar,’ I wrote to him. ‘I’m sorry, I have to leave you. I couldn’t find a better way. Guilt doesn’t spare any peace. I’m guilty of scheming and attempting murder. I’d abhorred you all the time. I’d been poisoning your food.’, I fibbed. ‘But, you wouldn’t eat of it. So, once, I fed it to your cat. She was very dear to you isn’t it? I killed her.’ The pen had poured fables that day. Bhaskar never had a cat. ‘I celebrated that moment of your grief in silence. I didn’t deserve your trust. This could be the only punishment I would deserve.’ My hands had their reason to fabricate the story. I knew the cops would investigate after I was gone, I was protecting him from suspicion. It was my choice in the end. I didn’t want to live, while being neglected by my husband.
I placed the note on his desk and topped it with a weight. I took a moment to live just another second, completely, without branding myself a wife or a daughter. I wanted to live as me, for a second. I closed my eyes, clenched the chair and took a deep breath. I was prepared.
I pressed the knife against my neck….. It felt hard to die….. I didn’t want to die…. But, it was the best for both of us… I cut deep across my neck…. Blood trickled down and splattered on the floor…. It was painful at first…. Then I was numb….. my limbs weakened…. I fell on the floor with the chair that I had clenched on to, making a loud noise…. The pain gradually subsided as I exhaled the last breath to never wake up again……
I would never wake up again, I had thought, but, I was wrong. I woke up in the study, completely conscious, over a pool of blood. Someone had saved me, I thought, feeling my neck for stitches. There was none. ‘Probably, it was all a dream, but, whose blood is that?’, I thought. Suddenly, I recalled, ‘We were hosting a dinner! I was away for long, what would the guests think!’ I hustled out of the study.
While I passed by the mirror, I smiled at my folly.
‘I could have talked it out with Bhaskar and ended the issue’, I thought I was talking to me reflection, when a realised the mirror didn’t reflect me at all. It was strange. I stood there for a minute, studying it. The paintings, the walls, everything but me were visible. It felt odd and miserable. The walls of the gallery echoed strange sounds of mourning. They were emanating from the patio. I rushed down the gallery expecting something ghastly, until I stumbled over a lady lying on the grass, her head rested on Bhaskar’s lap. She resembled me, only she was pallid. Slowly, I realised she was my mortal self.
Bhaskar looked pathetic. I was in deep remorse for my actions. I wished, desperately, for time to reverse, anything to alleviate his sorrow. I glided on the grass and settled next to him, resting my head on his shoulder to comfort him. I felt him shudder immediately. That must have been the first time he didn’t brush me away. Then, I could feel a lady approach us from behind. She was willowy, but, attractive. Her gait was enticing. I felt her hand pass through me as she tapped Bhaskar’s shoulder. He spun around to look at her. His eyes lit up. They exchanged smiles. I stared at him clueless, searching for answers, like I did in the mirror. I peered into his eyes, they reflected her and nothing else, like the mirror that reflected everything in the gallery but me. I existed, yet, I did not.
He placed my mortal head gently on the grass and stood up, to greet her. He gestured her to follow him. They were walking towards the gallery. I didn’t have to follow them. I knew, exactly, where he would lead her to. I appeared there, in a jiffy, out of thin air, in his study. The next minute, I heard the door knob click and he allowed her in.
‘How are you feeling?’, she asked him
‘Impassive’, he replied, smiling. That smile must have been attractive to her, to me it was slyly. ‘I’ll get us some tea, while you wait here.’, he said, shutting the door behind him.
She studied the place with an attractive smile lurking on her face. There was not a crevice in the study that her eyes ignored. While she was strolling around the place, she approached me. Obviously, she couldn’t notice me. I didn’t move an inch either, it was my home. I saw her feel a wave biting air, yet, she advanced, making contact with me. I felt a sudden jolt, pulling me inside her. She shuddered. I was able to breath after a long time. She emulated me, inhaling deeply.
‘Tea’s here!’, he said, entering the study with two cups of steaming hot tea. His voice had a tinge of excitement.
‘You could have asked Chinmay to get it for us’, I said in her sonorous, yet, tranquil voice.
‘Pardon me, but, I’m at your service now’, he replied. She knew the house helps!
‘Tell me truly, how do you feel about your wife’s death? Pathetic? Morose?’
‘As I said, impassive. I didn’t consider her existence then. She doesn’t exist now.’ We settled on the couch, tea in hand.
‘Why did you marry her in the first place then?’
‘Please, don’t start it again’, he sighed. She knew about us!
‘She’s not here now. Let’s concentrate on the meeting…. Mr. Vaani said he had procured the assets….’, he cut me, bluntly.
‘The cops will probe. They’ll probe for murder first. You’ll be their prime suspect. You know that, right?’, I emphasised.
‘Oh! Don’t worry! I’ll take care of that’, he said, holding my arm, reassuringly.
‘I think, your wife has done that for you.’, I said, pointing at the note on the desk. A strong breeze dislodged the weight, throwing it down on the pool of blood, breaking the delicate thing. The note flew into his hand. He read it. Lines of blithe appeared on his face, like sin had lifted its burden off his shoulder. I had not committed a suicide, I was instrumental in the murder he had committed. I wouldn’t let him escape. I’ll punish him, the same way I punished myself.
He set the note aside to sip some tea. I think he was revelling in silence.
‘Where did I err Bhaskar?’, I asked him, tilting my head, like I did when I would talk to him, while I lived.
His eyes rolled up towards me, while he
still sipped tea. They were loaded with guilt. I think, he knew, it was me. ‘Why were you so cold to me, this morning?’, I asked him, gripping his arm that held the cup of tea. My grip was too strong, I could feel blood pulse in his veins. When I was alive, I did not have such a strong grip.
He tried to gulp the tea he had slipped in, but, it chocked him.
‘Look up. You’ll feel better’, I said. But, he stared at me, perplexed, still choking. The cup slipped off his hands and shattered, spilling tea over my blood. His eyes blurred, I could say. Still, they were fixed on me. It felt like he was courting me. I blushed. My lips curled into a crescent. I retracted my hand that held his arm to sip some tea. The chocking had subsided, he was wheezing heavily, instead. After a few seconds, it had stopped. Silence prevailed. I rolled my eyes towards him. He had slumped against the cushions. His hands had dropped, lifeless. His eyes were still fixed on me. I finished my tea, placed it back gingerly on the teapoy and exhaled out of her.”
The inanimate voice stopped abruptly, but it rung eerily in my ears. I looked around. I was not in the gallery anymore, I was in a porch. The mysterious tree stared at me, from a distance. I could tell my way out. I had to walk back to the terminal. I had to catch a train. There was a possibility by a hairline, Rivaa was telling the truth. She could’ve been loyal to our marriage. Shriya could’ve died in an accident and not murdered. I could’ve been wrong all the time. I wouldn’t get my daughter back, but, I could bring her memories back….. anything I could find, her clothes, her slippers, her suitcase… anything that could remind me of my little one.
Emancipated
I stared at the doorbell outside their home. They were living in a simple home. Rivaa never cared for comforts, but, Shriya always wanted a large life, like me. We had a strong semblance. Both of us had pointed nose, we were proud of. Her eyes were like her mother’s, doe shaped, brown. They looked good on her, better than on her mother. Yet, she had an eye for investments like me. It was her fifteenth birthday when she passed away. I’d gifted her ten lakhs the day before, when she came to meet me. I wish she’d stayed for her birthday with me, with her old papa. But, her mother had insisted on spending that birthday with them. I’d arranged an after birthday party for her. I’d waited all evening, even after the guests left, expecting her mother to drive her down home, her papa’s home. I stood at the door waiting, all night. Dawn broke, I stood still, waiting for my little one.
It was 6 AM when my phone rang. It was a call from an unknown caller.
‘Hello?’, I greeted.
‘Hi!’, said a man on the other end. I heard a familiar feminine voice, wailing, in the background….
‘Rivaa! Is she alright? Where’s Shriya?’, I demanded. I was pacing around the hall in apprehension.
‘I’m Rivaa’s husband speaking. There’s bad news.’, Rivaa had re-married after our divorce. I and Shriya had both avoided attending it. She knew, her papa was hurt. She’d stuck with me for the three days. She was my stalwart.
‘Shriya is no more’, the words pounded my ears. My breath had ceased. I spun towards the door, agape. I was still waiting…. She could come… It could all be a prank, my little one could’ve it all set up….. I’ll berate her for this…. Let her come home….. She didn’t come….. She wouldn’t come, ever.
I didn’t attend my baby’s funeral. I could only see her sleep, not dead. But, I was pining to know what had happened. I and Rivaa were not in speaking terms. I didn’t text or call her. I was told Shriya had barged out, in rage, after a brawl with her stepdad. Then someone called the duo, informing them that she was hit by a truck and she was barely breathing. I didn’t buy the fib. I had a hunch, Rivaa must have fabricated it to save her husband. He must’ve been prying for her money. But, I think, I was wrong. There must’ve been some veracity in what I heard. If it was a murder and it was her stepdad, Rivaa would have told me. She was a doting mother, she wouldn’t let go of the culprit unpunished. She would probably not have been living with him.
I rang the doorbell. A tall man, dressed in casuals, in his late forties opened the door for me.
‘Hi!’, he greeted with a smile.
‘Hello! I’m Shriya’s….’
‘I know you. I need no intro. Come in’, he welcomed, flashing a smile.
How easily he could fake! How did Rivaa and he make a couple? I quizzed myself. The living room was simple, coated in cream, Rivaa’s favourite colour. The furniture was elegant though, must’ve been the guy’s choice.
“Chew your food properly, Abhineeti!”, I heard Rivaa instruct, faintly. I knew from the tone. It was the same tone she used, to discipline Shriya.
“Who’s Abhineeti?”, I asked the guy.
“After Shriya’s loss, we adopted Abhineeti from an orphanage. I don’t have kids. Shriya was the only….’, he stopped after he noticed me walk away curtly. I didn’t want to know if he had kids or not and Shriya didn’t mean anything to him. She was my daughter!
“Rivaa!”, I called out. She hustled immediately from, I think, the dining area. She was particularly receptive to my call when we were married. Was she still the same? Her face reflected a tinge of astonishment and joy, that expression on one’s countenance when they meet a long lost friend or maybe love?
“Want a word with you”, I said dropping my bag pack on the floor.
****
“I want to take Shriya’s belongings home”, I told her at their porch. It hosted a gigantic tree, between me and Rivaa.
“They are upstairs….. in her room.”, she said. I nodded and approached the knob of their back door.
“Do you know the way?”, she asked.
“Yeah. Shriya had told me. She had even shared images, we had had video calls from there.”
“Don’t you wanna know what happened?”, she asked, stopping me from the clicking the door open. I stood, stooping at the doorknob, breathing heavily, holding tears from welling out of my eyes.
“Was it your husband”, I called out. My voice had cracked.
“No!”, she bellowed.
“Then, I don’t wanna know”, I heard myself murmur. I pulled the door open and hustled to the stairway.
****
I pulled out clothes, slippers, hairbands, clips, anything I found that belonged to Shriya from her closet. Tears welled up. My cheeks and lips felt hot. I brushed my tongue over my lips. My throat was parched. I remembered, I had water in my sipper. I rushed downstairs. The hall was unoccupied. The door to the porch was open. The gigantic tree peeped through it. I reached to my bag, someone had opened it. That’s strange. The bag was heavier before. What’s missing? I pulled the sipper out of my bag, when I heard a loud noise of a chair fall over the floor, emerge from the inside of their home. The baby started to cry. “Rivaa! I think the baby fell”, I called out to her and began my walk back to Shriya’s room. But, I’d stopped. Something was wrong. She used to respond before. I rushed following the baby’s cry.
I was in their dining hall. Rivaa had stumbled on the ground. A chair, she probably, sat on a while ago, had fallen next to her. Her husband had dropped, lifeless, on the dining table with a plate of cake next to him. He had taken a bite of it. There was another plate of cake, scooped on one end, on the table. Both were foaming from the mouth. I saw a third piece, untouched on the table. She must’ve had set that plate for me. I stepped on something metallic when I took a step forward. I looked down to find a spoon’s handle sticking out of the gap between my shoe and the floor.
What had I done?, I thought, as my eyes rolled at Abhineeti, in remorse. I ran out of the dining area into the hall and settled on the floor. “I killed the kid’s parents! I orphaned her!”, I murmured to myself as tears rolled down my eyes. I shut my ears and eyes, tight, unable to tolerate her cry. ‘Help! Please!’, I whispered.
“Don’t you want to comfort her, like you did your daughter?”, I heard a voice. I looked up. The seer in loose robes stood by me. I gasped at him.
“You can take her as your
daughter”, he said.
My daughter! I thought I would never get to see her again. I thought I’d lost her. But she came back to her old papa. My happiness knew no bounds.
‘Let me taste the cake my wife baked, before it stales. Today’s my baby’s birthday isn’t it? I think that’s why she’s baked cake’, I told him. The man smiled and disappeared, gradually. I spun around. The gigantic tree from the porch stared at me eerily. I got off the floor, picked the sipper lying next to me, and sprinted towards it, to share my joy.
“It’s my daughter’s birthday!”, I told it. “Actually, I was parched, I thought I’ll sip from my bottle. But, it’s my daughter’s birthday and it’ll rain heavily today. All wonderful things happen on my daughter’s birthday. Here’s a treat, friend!”, I told the tree.
The breeze brushed my hair. A dog howled at a distance. I unscrewed the cap of the sipper. There was very little water. I knew the water was not for me, it must never have been for me. I poured it over the roots of the tree, threw the sipper on the grass and walked back to the dining hall, jubilant. Lightening flashed, thunder rattled.
I sat before the plate set for me, a spoon stuck over on the cake. Rivaa used to make food, she used to set the table with assorted dishes. I never tasted them. I felt an urge to eat with her. Finally, our daughter was back! I extracted a picture of her’s from my wallet, as I scooped a large chunk of the cake, and shovelled it into my mouth, like a glutton would.