by Anju Gattani
Dr. Chaturvedi lowered his voice, “Perhaps a little later, as scheduled?”
What schedule? Rakesh wasn’t even supposed to be here.
“Now,” Rakesh demanded. “I want all this sorted out now.”
“It’s the middle of the concert.” Dr. Chaturvedi withdrew a hand from his cane and gripped the backrest of the nearest seat. “Perhaps, um...if we waited for—”
“I don’t wait for anything, especially after I’ve paid for it.” Rakesh grabbed Sheetal’s wrist.
Did Rakesh bribe Dr. Chaturvedi? If she’d donated one of the orchid paintings, perhaps she could have bought the man’s loyalty first.
Just then, Dr. Chaturvedi’s eyes widened behind the lenses of his thick, black eyeglasses and he whispered something in Rakesh’s ear. He pointed to the dais, then summoned a thirteen-year-old usher and whispered in the boy’s ear.
The boy left.
“What was that all about?” Sheetal tried to twist her wrist out of Rakesh’s grip, but he tightened his hold.
“You’ll see.”
A figure on the far right of the auditorium cut through a throng of people and made his way toward them. Arvind.
Dr. Chaturvedi’s cough broke the silence as Arvind neared. “Let me introduce you.”
Arvind smiled and turned to Dr. Chaturvedi.
“Meet um...Mr. Chopra. Arvind Chopra.” Dr. Chaturvedi turned to Rakesh. “Mr. Rakesh Dhanraj. I’ll leave you gentlemen. I um...think you two have some catching up to do.” Dr. Chaturvedi left without another word.
He knew everything. There was no escape now.
Arvind reached to shake Rakesh’s hand. “Hello, I’m Arvind.”
Rakesh’s jaw tightened. “Arvind!” He released Sheetal and shook Arvind’s hand, towering several inches over him. His knuckles paled and his fist and face turned a darker shade of yellow while Arvind’s swelled to a richer shade of brown. It was like watching scotch and coffee fill a single cup, each vying to outdo the other’s color. “So, we finally meet. Heard much about you. You’re taking care of my son, I hear.” He let Arvind’s hand go.
“An honor to meet you at last,” Arvind replied.
“The honor is all mine.”
“Yash talks a lot about you.”
“As my wife—you. Not that she tells me anything, of course. But I know. And.... Oh”—he turned around to face Sheetal—“I forgot to introduce my beautiful wife, Sheetal. But then, you two already know each other, I hear. And you already know my son. In fact, you know everyone and everything there is to know about me except me.”
“Namaste.” Sheetal pressed her palms together.
“Oh, come now.” Rakesh pulled her forward and squeezed her between him and the backs of seats in the row ahead, until she stood next to Arvind. He nudged her closer to Arvind. Uncomfortably close. “You’re behaving like strangers. All this pretending, save it for the kids on stage. You guys are old friends. Good friends. Very good friends. Ditto?”
Blood rushed to Sheetal’s head. “Rakesh. He’s Yash’s House Master, nothing more.”
“Of course.” He grinned. “Or how else would you have found him again after all these years?”
“We just happened to meet. I told you—”
“Things don’t just happen. They’re either meant to, or not. And I’m here to make sure: not.” He grabbed her shoulders. From the pressure of his hands and the way he dug his fingers into her collar bones, he was using her to steady himself. “I hear my son is unwell.”
“He’s sitting right ahead, up there, in the front with all the other students,” Arvind said. “If you would like—”
“Was it not your duty to report this to Dr. Chaturvedi?”
“Report what?”
“This problem Yash is having. My wife just told me.”
“I didn’t think it was that serious.”
“Mr. Chopra, I’m his father. I’ll decide what is serious and what isn’t. And when it comes to my family, I make the decisions. Understand?”
Arvind looked him in the eye. “Perhaps you need to understand that Yash is in this state because of you. Just because you run the country’s largest business empire doesn’t mean you can run a child’s life.”
The pressure of Rakesh’s grip tightened and the floor felt as if it would give way. No one spoke back to Rakesh. There was no telling what he would do.
“Do you have a doctor’s degree, Mr. Chopra?” Rakesh’s voice remained calm. Deathly calm.
“No.”
“Then I suggest you stop giving recommendations on how to treat my son.”
“It’s not just your son.” Arvind slid his hands into his trouser pockets as people filled seats and a small crowd gathered round. “Anyway, I should be heading back. We still have the second half of the show. It was good to meet you. Finally.” He nodded to Rakesh and then Sheetal, avoiding eye contact before turning to leave.
“Ditto.” Rakesh raised his right hand over his head. “The show must go on.” He swayed his hand left and right. “May the best man win.”
The lights dimmed. Arvind disappeared from view, and the auditorium was blanketed in darkness once again.
“I...I think we should leave,” she whispered.
“Yes.” Rakesh nodded. “Somewhere far away, perhaps?”
Sheetal watched the remainder of the show and mentally reviewed the alternative plan. A car would be waiting for her outside the hotel lobby at eleven o’clock. Obviously, Arvind now understood why she failed to meet him and Yash shortly after the performance began. Her only chance was to make it to the waiting car. But how? She occupied a resort villa a kilometer away from the reception complex, on the far edge of nowhere. She had forgotten to inform Arvind of the resort’s layout. If he sent the car to reception, she’d never make it there by foot. The car had to meet her outside the villa. She had to tell Arvind. But how? Rakesh was not going to let her out of his sight for a second.
The curtains drew to a close and the audience applauded and cheered.
“Come.” Rakesh grabbed Sheetal’s hand, rose, and cut his way through the aisle, knocking down people in his path like dominoes. When they reached the auditorium’s entrance, he ordered a security guard to find his son among the cluster of students sitting near the stage.
Minutes later, Yash arrived, dressed in his school uniform. He slid his hands in the side pockets of his trousers. “H-h-hello, D-dad.”
Rakesh bent at the waist, towering two feet above Yash’s head. “What’s this I’m hearing, Yash? You were replaced as the host for the performance? I would have been so proud of you. You let us down, Yash. All of us.”
“I’m s-s-sorry.” The pockets of his trousers swelled as his hands fisted.
Rakesh shook his head. “You don’t look sorry. Look what your mother turned you into.”
Sheetal’s heart ached. Couldn’t Rakesh see how broken the poor boy was inside? She reached out to hold and protect her son, but Rakesh yanked her back to his side.
“Now, here’s the plan. We’re taking tomorrow’s train back to Raigun. All three of us. You’ve always wanted to live at home like other boys. Right? You’ll be in a new school and you’ll have new friends.”
Yash nodded. “B-b-ut my exams?” He paled, turning to Sheetal in desperation. “I have t-to g-give m-my f-final p-papers.”
Rakesh rose to his full stature. “We’ll see.”
“I d-don’t want t-to g-g-go.” Yash’s trousers darkened in a wet patch at his crotch and the air reeked of urine.
Rakesh wrinkled his nose and tightened his grip on Sheetal. “Look what you’ve turned him into.” He looked at Yash. “You’re going where I take you. Understand?”
Yash stood rooted to the spot.
“Have your bags packed and be ready to leave first thing tomorrow morning.”
People spilled out of the auditorium.
“I will come pick you up. For me, Yash. Do it for me.” Then Rakesh turned and started away, dragging Sheetal in his wa
ke. She craned her neck to see Yash as the distance between them increased. “Cottage number forty-two. Not hotel. A resort,” she lip-synched to Yash as she stumbled after Rakesh. “Tell Arvind. Send the car to cottage number forty-two.”
Yash nodded.
“Do you understand?” She asked, voiceless.
Yash continued to nod, his expression blank.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Drink and Kill
Rakesh slammed the cottage door closed and hurled Sheetal across the carpet.
She tripped over her sari pleats and hit the sofa’s edge. Sharp pain seared up the left side of her nape and ear.
Rakesh raised a hand. She threw up an arm and turned away.
His ring hand came down.
Sheetal numbed. She gasped for air and cowered, but breath didn’t come. Instead, something warm, wet, and sticky oozed down her cheek. Her eyes stung. She blinked and then squeezed them shut so she wouldn’t cry. Rakesh hated tears.
“Fucking bitch!” Spittle sprayed with his words.
She opened her eyes. His bloodshot eyes loomed like two bloody, out of focus moons. He struggled to balance and the hip flask swayed with his tilt. “It wasn’t about Yash, was it? But you. Am I not man enough...?”
Sheetal took small, shallow breaths as he paced the room. Soon, he would kill and drink or drink and kill. Either way, she was going to die. She had to keep him drinking and talking.
He pulled out the flask, unscrewed the cap, raised it to his lips, and gulped the liquid. Then he brushed the sleeve of the blazer across his face, staggered to the dining table, and thumped the bottle on the surface. “What is it you like-eh? That dark skin? That beard? Is that it?”
She turned away, keeping watch from the corner of her eye.
“What?” he screamed.
Ripples shuddered through her body. She had to answer. Say something quick. And keep her eyes down. “Nothing,” she whispered.
He torpedoed across the room, grabbed her shoulders, and forced her onto the double-seater. He pinned her to the backrest and mashed his lips down on hers. He sucked hard, drawing the breath from her lungs.
She fought the urge to vomit. She couldn’t breathe. She pressed hard against the cushion and turned away.
“Something wrong?” He inched his fingers past the neck of her blouse and down her cleavage, his sharp nails scraping. “Don’t want me anymore, do you, bitch? You want that son of a bitch!” His breath burned. “Yash likes him, you like him. Try him out, did you? What was he like, Sheetal? Was he all you wanted in a man?”
The nightmare was happening all over again. Her bladder was going to lose control and spill any second.
“What the fuck do you see in him? Nothing. Hear me? He has nothing. Not even a fraction of what I own. Shares a cottage with fucking students. Doesn’t own a house, and you were ready to leave me for him and take my son with you? How dare you? Yash is mine. He belongs to me. He’s my blood.” He touched her right cheek. “Now, how did that happen?” He licked his finger. “Sweet.” He pressed his lips against the wound and sucked hard.
Pain sizzled and she gasped for air.
Calm. Keep calm. Let him have his way.
He withdrew. Smears of blood marred his chin. “I gave you everything. A studio for those damned paintings. A career. A business. But nothing I ever do is good enough. Why?” He made his way to the kitchenette and grabbed one of the bottles he had stashed that afternoon. He unscrewed the top, raised the bottle to his lips, drank, and lowered it. “We’ll see how successful you are when I smash your studio this time. No more Naina. That tea will take care of Naina for good.”
Fear paralyzed her. The ayurvedic tea from Bharat Chaiwallah.
“This time, I’m going to burn those paintings, put an end to all your nonsense, and you’re going to watch your fucking career go up in flames.” The bottle swung in his hand, and scotch spilled on the carpet. “Tell me, Sheetal.” He dropped into the recliner and thumped his feet onto the coffee table. “What do you like about him?”
Twice. He had asked her the same question twice. “Nothing.”
“You were going to run away with him, right, and take Yash?” He raised the bottle and drank. “You....”
She might be able to make it to the front door and escape. But where would she go in the dark, in the middle of nowhere? Reception was at least a kilometer away. Even in his half-delirious state, Rakesh would get her. She needed her drawstring bag. She had to keep him talking and drinking until he passed out.
He swung the bottle in an arc to his mouth, sipped, and lowered it. “Running away from me, right?”
“I...I didn’t know what to do.” She inched to the sofa’s edge and slid onto the floor. Power. He craved dominance, control, and power. “I didn’t think you loved me anymore.”
“Fuckin’ bitch!” his speech slurred. “Liar.”
“You love someone else, Rakesh. I heard you and him on the tape.” Pretend. Pretend to be helpless. Weak. Lost. “You were making love to him on the tape, and—”
“Why, that son of a bitch! Double-crossing—” He thumped the bottle on the table and scotch erupted, spraying the wooden surface and carpet.
“I...I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to ask, but I was scared. What if you said you didn’t love me and loved him more? Then where do I go? How do I live without you?”
The creases around his eyes melted. “You...you...withdrew all the money and closed your account.”
“I had to, Rakesh. They were...lying.” He hated dishonesty.
“Gupta Sahib said you closed the account for personal reasons.”
“They were giving me a lower interest rate. Did Gupta Sahib tell you I was planning to open a new account? A joint account in both our names? They can’t mislead me again.”
“Hmph,” he grunted.
“Oh.” She eased her tone to make light of the matter as pain burned across her face. “He must have forgotten.”
He reached for the bottle and drank. “You were on the phone with him. Why?”
“Who?”
“You know fucking who. Arvind. Megha told me of your plans to run away.”
How did Megha know anything when she didn’t even live with them?
“You talked with him three times.” He rose, turned around, then paced the room, struggling to stay upright.
The static on the phone hadn’t just been Naina. Megha spied for Rakesh. That explained her frequent visits, timed to Rakesh’s absences. The brother-sister partnership wasn’t a heightened security measure, it was a team. They were the real Dhanrajs. The turf had always been theirs to rule, control, and protect. For so long, she had believed she was the outsider, but Mummyji and Naina were the true exiles struggling to hold ground. With Naina gone, Rakesh would continue to play Mummyji against her so they could never unite.
“Why the calls, Sheetal?”
“He wouldn’t stop calling. He wanted me to run away with him—still thinks I love him and that he has a right over me.” She lowered her tone, “I-I didn’t want to trouble you with such trivial things. It’s you I love, not him. And you’ve got so many worries...pressures of the business and the debt. So, I played along. I let him believe what he wanted, thinking he’d eventually go away. I came for Yash, just like you. I think Arvind’s hurting our son and doing things to him. Things you said happen to boys in a dormitory.”
He sat in the recliner again.
“I love you.” She dabbed her wounded cheek with the pallu and cringed as sharp zari embroidery pricked the raw skin. She inched toward his feet, maneuvering to keep the recliner’s right armrest between herself and a blow should Rakesh strike. “I...I love you.” She glanced up at a digital clock near the gas stove. Nine-thirty. Ninety more minutes.
He grabbed her hair.
Skin ripped from her scalp. She tried to pry his fingers off but he looped her hair and tugged hard. She screamed, but he tightened his hold and she numbed.
“Fucking bitch, liar! It
’s him. It’s always been Arvind.”
“No.” Tears streamed down her face. “You. It’s only been you.”
He twisted harder.
“I’ll prove it.”
He let go.
She forced herself onto her knees, shuffled forward, wedged herself between his thighs, then leaned toward his face, took a shallow breath, and closed her eyes. She gulped against the bile that raced up her throat, pressed her lips to his, and exhaled through her nose. She was going to be sick.
He pulled away. “Games, eh, to play with me? I bet you did much more for Arvind. I’m done with you. Fuck off!”
She staggered to her feet and stumbled to the corridor. Her attention fell on the kitchen counter, toaster, sink, and the wooden block of three knives. She paused. Four. There had been four. She made it to her room and closed the door, leaving a crack open. Then she peeled off the sari, slipped on a salwar suit, donned a thick nightgown, and turned off the light.
Glass clinked on wood. Feet shuffled on carpet. Silence. A beam of moonlight streamed through her window. She dabbed her cheek with the petticoat she’d removed. The fabric grew moist and dampened her fingers. She could just make out the silhouette of trees outside and her suitcase lying open near the foot of the bed.
She slipped between the sheets, pulled the covers up to her chin, then leaned over the edge of the bed to peer through the door gap. No sign of Rakesh. She didn’t want to risk being seen. She eased her head back onto the pillow, waited what she hoped was fifteen minutes, then checked her wristwatch. Ten-thirteen. Forty-five minutes to go. She prayed the car would be waiting outside.
She threw the covers aside, swung her feet to the floor, padded across the carpet, halted at the door, and listened. Nothing. She carefully opened the door and tiptoed to the end of the corridor. Moonlight allowed her to make out the coffee table’s outline and a half-empty bottle of liquor. Four objects lay on the floor. Sheetal inched closer. Rakesh’s shoes and socks. A dark form draped the recliner’s back. Had Rakesh collapsed? Sheetal slid one foot ahead of the other. “Rakesh?” she whispered.
Silence.
“Rakesh?” She reached for the object. Her fingers sank into fabric. His blazer.