by Anju Gattani
“You want me to marry you?”
“Don’t you love me?”
“I will always love you. But I can’t marry you.”
“Why?”
“Because I...I just can’t. I have to let you go.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s no telling what Rakesh will do.”
“Rakesh is gone. What more does he have to do with us—with me? I’ve left him for you.”
“No, Sheetal. If you left him for me, then it’s wrong. You’re leaving him for you.”
“But I love you.” The ache in her heart welled up her throat and everything blurred. “Since we met, I can’t stop thinking about you. And us, together. You’re all I have, Arvind.”
“I love you, too, and I spent the last ten years of my life wondering why you never came with me. I don’t want to spend the next ten years wondering why you did.”
“I don’t understand. What more can he do to me? To us? He won’t know where we are. Rakesh won’t—”
“It’s not that easy, Sheetal.”
“Ten years ago, you jumped over my balcony and told me to walk away from it all. You told me to marry you. You said it was easy and all I had to do was leave and forget about what everyone would say.” She took a deep breath. “Well, I just did. And...now you want nothing to do with me? Why? Because I have a son? Because I married—”
“Because you need to do this for you and for Yash. If I marry you, Rakesh becomes right. You and I will become wrong.”
Like Ajay Malhotra’s wife? Wronged to begin with, then proven wrong again because she fell in love with another man? “Why did you help me then, Arvind? Why the phone calls? Why the worry? You should have left me where I was. Why the promises? Why the lies?”
“I promised to help,” his voice held firm. “That’s all. Anything more is stepping over the line.”
“What line?” Blood raced through her veins. “I crossed all boundaries for you.”
“For Yash,” he corrected her. “You’re doing this for Yash and for you. Not for me. You just said so yourself. If it were for me, you would have done it ten years ago.” He closed his eyes and docked his forehead on his knuckles.
“Are you with Rakesh in this?”
“What?”
“Have you teamed up with Rakesh against me?”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“What am I supposed to believe when you don’t—?”
“You are my responsibility, and I won’t take advantage of you. Do you honestly think Yash will ever accept me as his father? Do you think we can ever live like a family? A real family? What will everyone say?”
The blood rushed to her head. First, Kavita assumed she had the right to decide what was right and now Arvind. What responsibility called someone to put their life at risk for another without a coolie’s fee or an expectation of anything in return? The darkening grass, the purple-gray sky, the air...everything felt suspended in time.
“I have a room booked at Jatinder Bhai’s guest house if you don’t want to stay at the hotel. You can move—”
“No. I’ll stay where I am in case Rakesh calls and checks with reception. We stay with the plan. You’re right. There’s no telling what he’ll do.”
“Tomorrow evening when the concert begins, I’ll meet you outside the auditorium with Yash. I’ll stay indoors until the show begins so everyone sees me around. I’ll have time to make sure things are set in place. Then we leave. I’ve told Yash everything.”
“What did he say?”
“He was relieved but scared. Confused. Should this fail—”
“What do you mean fail? You’re expecting something to go wrong?”
“I’m not expecting anything to go wrong. But we’ve got to be careful in case the plan falls apart. I will send a car to the hotel lobby. Where are you staying?”
“Plaza Royale.”
“The driver will meet you in the lobby at eleven o’clock, like last time. The Red Fort Express leaves at three in the morning. It’s our only hope because travel by car isn’t safe, and the next train isn’t till four that afternoon. So, we can’t afford to miss the morning one, you understand?”
Sheetal nodded.
***
She hardly slept that night, and spent the next morning rehearsing Arvind’s plan. When she couldn’t take the stress anymore, she stepped out onto the deck for a breath of fresh air and focused on the rolling landscape. Shortly afterward, she ordered room service.
Forty-five minutes later, a bellboy set the patio table and covered the embroidered tablecloth with pots of spicy dals, vegetable curries, and naan.
Sheetal told him to set the table for two so the loneliness wouldn’t pinch. For ten long years, succulent meals had graced the Dhanraj’s dining table, but everything had tasted bland. Now, suddenly, she could smell the aromas of hot cayenne peppers, garlic, fried onions, and cumin seeds that crackled and exploded when dropped in hot oil. She chewed hastily, swallowing each morsel.
At three that afternoon, she packed her essentials into a small, khaki string bag: one ordinary salwar suit to change into after the concert, a pair of Nike shoes—because she couldn’t walk around the train station in stilettos—passports, papers, her train ticket, a torch—just in case—cash, travelers’ checks, and jewelry. She shoved the bag into a gap between the cupboard and wall so she didn’t accidentally misplace it.
Then she debated whether to dress in a fancy sari because she wouldn’t attend the concert anyway. According to the plan, after everyone took seats inside the auditorium and the concert began, she was to meet Arvind and Yash outside the auditorium’s main entrance.
She quickly realized that casual clothing would draw unwanted attention.
She folded the front pleats of her sari while calculating the hours from the time they reached Lower Mansali to the train’s departure at three a.m. They would have plenty of time. No rush. Her breathing calmed. Maybe everything would go smoothly, after all.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Kaun hai?” she called from the bedroom.
Silence.
She tucked all seven pleats into the waist of her petticoat.
Another knock sounded.
“Who is it?”
“Room service.”
“I ordered room service hours ago and lunch was delivered.” She lifted the cap off the lipstick. Someone had probably mistaken her villa for another, or come to clean up. She was about to apply the frosted pink color when a third knock rapped. She leaned out of the bedroom’s doorway to make herself clearly heard. “I told you, I didn’t order room service, and I don’t need anything cleaned. Now, please go away.”
The knocking continued.
She thumped her lipstick on the dressing table, marched to the front door, swiveled two bolts to the left, and twisted the lock key. “I told you, I—” She swung open the door and stepped back. Her right heel caught on the hem of her sari and tugged at the folds. She staggered and grabbed a chair on the right for support.
He marched in. Two strides.
Sheetal struggled to speak, but words wouldn’t come.
“Promise. I won’t bite.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Fear
Sheetal stepped back and the sari pleats came undone. “I...I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to.” Rakesh’s broad frame blocked the view of the setting sun and swallowed its light. He made his way in, dragging the scent of mint, a suitcase in one hand and a hand-carry in the other. He kicked the door closed with his heel and a thud shook the wall. Then he paused, surveyed the interior, put the hand-carry on the sofa, and marched down the corridor.
His head fell three feet short of the ceiling. He looked into Sheetal’s room. “Sweet.” Then he took a step and swung open the door on the left, wheeled in the suitcase, and emerged seconds later. “Comfortable?” he asked.
Her heart pounded. Thank goodness, she took the initiative t
o dress up. Was he going to share her room? Sleep on the same bed? Use the other for storage? Storage of what?
“Too comfortable?”
“I...I thought you’d be in Delhi,” she raised the pitch of her voice to sound casual. “On business.”
“This is business.”
“But the Japanese. Tashukomo Electronics. Didn’t you say—”
“That can wait. This can’t.” He grinned and yawned, stretching his arms wide and appearing to touch the sides of the cottage, his ring sparkling in the yellow light. He let his arms rest by his sides and the ceiling appeared to succumb to his pull. “Too small.” He shook his head.
He sat on the three-seater, spread his arms along the backrest and took up the whole space.
“You came for Yash’s sake, I’m guessing?” With no official news from the school that Yash had been replaced, Rakesh would be expecting to see Yash take center stage. “I was just getting ready for the performance. Yash will be so—”
“I came for you.”
“Oh.” Her heart fisted in her throat. “You must be tired after the long trip.”
He lunged, grabbed the hand-carry, unzipped the bag, pulled out three bottles of Blue Label, and stacked them like trophies in an open cabinet above the toaster.
Was he planning to drink them all tonight?
“Aren’t you going to ask if I want chai?” He returned to the sofa.
She prayed her sari concealed the heaves of her chest. “I’m still getting dressed.”
“So?”
“We need a car. Why don’t you call the front desk?”
“I will.” He walked across to the patio door. “You’ve been busy entertaining, I see. Table for two without me?”
She froze at the implication. “I was alone, and ordered room service, but the bellboy assumed I was ordering for two. The other place setting is untouched.”
“Room serviced? You must have quite an appetite.” He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and grinned.
Sheetal held onto the dining table for support. “I have to finish getting ready. We’ll be late.”
“You never even invited me.”
“In Raigun, you said no. Remember?”
“Didn’t try hard enough. Doesn’t matter, anyway. After this, it’s over. You’re going home.”
Just then her mobile chimed.
“Go pick it up,” he ordered.
She went to her room and fished the Nokia mobile out of her travel bag. The caller ID showed Mr. Patel from the Taj Resort. Good. The phone call would prove business as usual. She pressed the phone to her ear “Hello, Patelji?”
He pried her fingers open, pulled the phone from her hand, and flung it across the room. The phone hit the wall and shattered. “Now that future interruptions are out of the way, let me update you. I filled out all the transfer certificates at Dr. Chaturvedi’s office on my way down. Yash will study in Raigun going forward. We leave tomorrow afternoon. The train is at four—”
“Yash,” she interrupted. “Did you meet him?”
“No.” He frowned. “Why?”
“Does he know you’re here?”
“No. But you, sure as fucking hell, don’t look happy. Anyway, he’ll find out soon enough.”
***
The welcome reception outside the auditorium’s main entrance swarmed with people as a photographer asked groups of attendees to pose. Men and women dressed in shimmering attire stopped to chat and mingle with Sheetal and Rakesh on their way in, no doubt keen to be seen and photographed with a Dhanraj.
Sheetal gazed down the steps leading to the grassy area where she’d met Yash yesterday evening, her wrist locked in Rakesh’s grip. In half an hour, she was supposed to meet Arvind and Yash on this very spot. She drifted outside Rakesh’s radius and he pulled her back.
She kept calm and smiled at the crowd—a repeat of her performance at the charity dinner before they’d left Raigun. All she had to do was play along and he wouldn’t know the difference.
Half an hour later, Sheetal sat in the brightly lit auditorium next to Rakesh in the middle of an aisle reserved for VIPs. The terraced seats gave spectators a clear view of the dais. Her attention flew to Exit signs lit in neon red, placed at regular intervals along the auditorium’s walls. She leaned past Rakesh and caught sight of an Exit to her right, at the end of the aisle. She needed an excuse to leave.
The stage curtains parted, the bright yellow lights dimmed, and the performance began. Yash and Arvind were probably waiting for her outside. She had to get to them. But how? Did they know Rakesh was here and that she was stuck with him? She didn’t have her string bag and documents. Even if she managed to escape, she still couldn’t leave. Her heart raced. “I need to go,” she whispered into the dusk.
He turned. “Really, where?”
“Ladies’ room.”
“Hold it.” A drum roll sounded and he tightened his grip on her wrist.
A lump knotted in her throat. She tried to swallow, but her heart, her head, everything thumped wildly.
This year’s concert was a tribute to the legendary actor, producer, and director of Indian cinema, Raj Kapoor. Renowned as India’s Charlie Chaplin, Raj Kapoor frequently performed roles where he portrayed a tramp, or a tragic lover opposite a female lead actress. Because Stonewall was a boys’ school, some of the boys had to wear saris or salwar suits and play the roles of the leading women in musical sequences of various Bollywood hits.
About thirty of Raj Kapoor’s famous songs, acts, and dance sequences were performed as vignettes, each including a new song and new actors. Scene after scene rolled on and off stage like the episodes in Sheetal’s life. The long, languid calls of the violin reminded her of the endless search for a husband’s love. The tinkle of piano keys represented her love for Yash, Mama, Papa, and the struggle to keep her life together. Drum rolls called to mind Rakesh. The CD. The threats to Yash’s life.
An hour into the performance, Rakesh leaned toward her. “Where’s Yash?”
She had spent all evening rehearsing an explanation that would appear natural. “He’s not hosting the event.”
“You knew Yash wasn’t hosting?” Rakesh whispered.
“He told me yesterday when I met him.”
In the reflected light of on-stage spotlights, Sheetal could just make out Rakesh’s twisted expression. “Who the fuck”—spectators seated in the row ahead turned to look at them—“kicked him out?”
“No one,” Sheetal kept her voice low. “He just couldn’t perform.”
“Couldn’t? Couldn’t go up on stage and announce like that boy up there?” He gestured to a boy on stage who announced the upcoming intermission. “You turned Yash into a fucking coward, like yourself.”
More heads turned in their direction.
“He’s not feeling well.”
“And you knew about this?”
“I—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t expect you to be here. You said you were going to New Delhi.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I told you, I found out yesterday.”
“Bullshit.”
Applause filled the auditorium and the curtains clapped to a close for intermission.
“You’re not really here for the concert, are you?” Rakesh firmed the pressure on her wrist. “There’s something else, I can tell.”
Her hand numbed. She could hardly feel the bangles on her wrists. “You’re hurting me.”
Lights bathed the auditorium and people who stayed seated swiveled their legs to let others pass. Rather than trespass through Rakesh and Sheetal’s space, those on their row left via the aisle on the left.
“I’m only here because of Yash,” Sheetal said. “You know that.”
“Really? Then why did you come for the performance if he has no part? You could have stayed back at the cottage.”
“And do what? Do you remember Megha?” Sheetal firmed her voice. “Remember how she
used to talk, dress, and keep to herself?”
“What does Megha have to do with Yash?”
“She was so unstable...so broken inside.”
“Sweet! Women talk. Just what I need.”
“It’s precisely what’s happening to your son. He stammers. He’s lost all confidence. He’s broken inside. I wonder why.” She snatched her hand away. “What did you do to him?”
Rakesh’s features tightened and his face turned a shade of dark yellow. “Oh, you think it’s all my fault when you’ve been overprotective?”
At that moment, Dr. Chaturvedi made his way through the narrow aisle between seats to Rakesh’s right. “Aah. Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Dhanraj.”
Rakesh rose and shook his hand. “Good evening. Quite a spectacular performance. A lot of practice and hard work has gone into this.” He leaned toward Dr. Chaturvedi.
Sheetal stood and inched closer, straining to overhear what was said.
“Why was I not informed about my son?”
“Informed about what?” Dr. Chaturvedi asked.
“It is my understanding that he’s not hosting the concert like he should be. He auditioned and got through. Why wasn’t I told he.... That there’s a problem?”
“Problem? Um...what problem?”
“Isn’t there a school policy about informing parents when something is wrong?”
“I...ah...yes. Maybe we can discuss this later?”
“Now. Why didn’t you say something when I called you a few weeks ago?”
Rakesh called Dr. Chaturvedi? For what?
“I um...don’t seem to understand what’s going on.” Dr. Chaturvedi paused to take a breath. “My apologies, but perhaps I—”
“My wife just informed me.”
Dr. Chaturvedi winced as people turned to stare.
“Something about no confidence.” He waved a hand. “Can’t talk right. Why didn’t someone tell me?”
People nearby spoke in hushed whispers.
“Ah...I...um...didn’t know myself.” Dr. Chaturvedi looked left then right, gesturing to the onlookers that everything was all right. “Had his House Master informed me, I most certainly would have—”
“This House Master,” Rakesh interrupted. “I want to see him now.”