Tell A Thousand Lies (32 page)

I got down from the car. I’d not been back since the day of Kondal Rao’s attempt on my life. The urge to turn back was strong, but I put one foot forward, then another till I neared the gate. I compared the squalor here to the luxury in my own life – spacious apartment, a nice car, cook, maid and driver, fancy interiors, the ability to pay for any luxury I chose. Even a municipal water tap which dispensed water at reasonable hours of the day. Yet,
Madhuban
Apartments was where I had been the happiest.

A few people milled about in the courtyard. Almost all had turned to look when I stepped out from the car; people getting down from privately owned vehicles was not a frequent occurrence in this locality.

“Who are you looking for, Madam?” a woman asked respectfully.

Old
Rukkamma
! Gossipy old crone, Geeta had called her. It was obvious
Rukkamma
hadn’t recognized me. Next to her stood another woman, baby on her hip. It couldn’t be, could it? I looked closely. She
was
Sandhya
! I stepped forward, a smile trembling on my lips, desperate for the chance to catch up with an old friend. She looked at me, her eyes not quite meeting mine, a puzzled frown on her face. Then she turned away. I felt a stab of disappointment.

In this part of town, a car and good quality clothing could change features; in my case I also had a makeover to assist me. My first instinct was to introduce myself. For old times’ sake. Then I decided against it; it might bring up questions I wasn’t willing or able to answer.

“A lady called Geeta used to live here,” I said to
Rukkamma
. “Seven or so years ago. Two children, in-laws?”

“Talked too much? Had big dreams? That Geeta?” my former neighbour asked. At my nod, she said, “She lives not too far from here.”

“If you don’t mind, can you give me her address?”

The old woman gave me a curious glance before rattling off an address which was only fifteen minutes away by car.

I thanked her, and turned to go.

“She moved up in life, leaving us all behind. Too fancy for the likes of us now,” the woman said. “Shifted to the other building right after that Pullamma ran off.”

I froze.

Seeing she had my attention, the woman said, “There used to be a really nice, young fellow. Srikar was his name, the poor unfortunate soul.” The woman looked around. Everyone was listening; I had forgotten gossip was the main pastime around here. “One day the wife, Pullamma, ran away with her lover.”

There was a collective gasp. Including mine.

“That’s right,” the old woman said, very obviously relishing the attention.

“What are you saying?”
Sandhya
exclaimed. “Pullamma was from a very nice family. She would never do such a thing to her husband!”

“Did you see her leave,
hanh
, did you?”

“No, but –”

“Well, I did,” the old woman said triumphantly.

Liar!
Rukkamma
was down with fever. I could never forget the details of that night, how could I?

Rukkamma
looked at one of the men. “Pullamma and Srikar used to live in your flat.” Then she turned to me. “What a woman,
hanh
? She couldn’t even realize how lucky she was, being so dark and everything, still managing to snare such a fair, and decent husband.”

Nothing like affluence to lighten the colour of one’s skin.

I struggled for a blank face, trying not to let her words wound, still unable to accept that Srikar had thought I’d run off with someone else.

 
Old
Rukkamma
continued with no hint of self-consciousness. “On top of that she left a note for her husband saying she had fallen in love with another man. And she coolly ran off with this man.”

“How do you know?” My voice was harsh. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself to prevent trembling.

“Madam,”
Sandhya
said, looking agitated, “don’t believe a word of what spews out of this old woman’s mouth. Pullamma was a very sweet girl. No one knows what really happened. This old woman’s gossip gets more and more vicious with each retelling.”

My heart overflowed with gratitude.

Rukkamma
looked at her avid audience in irritation. “Do you want the true story or not?”

“Yes, yes,” a swarthy man said.

“Okay then.” She shoved
Sandhya
aside, plonked herself on the stairs with a dramatic sigh, and continued with her version. “That Geeta told us. She personally saw everything. She was the one who found the note.” The woman grinned maliciously through the gaps in her reddish brown
paan
-stained teeth. “Completely shameless,
hanh
? Holding hands, they were, as they ran down the stairs.” The people looked around, at each other, jaws slack, eyes wide.

“And…” the woman said, drawing out her tale, “she was seven months pregnant!” She inspected the sea of shocked faces. “No one knew whose baby it was.”

“And Srikar?” I whispered.

“Oh that poor fellow? First he refused to believe it. Then he went mad.”

“Such a nice couple.”
Sandhya
shook her head, eyes soft with compassion. “Such a terrible tragedy.”

A numbness started up my arms. It spread to my body.

“Always mumbling to himself, he was,” old
Rukkamma
said. “Such a nice fellow, too. Very respectful. Colour of barely ripened mango. Always used to carry up my bucket of water for me. Such a sorry end for him,
hanh
? To end up in a mental hospital?”

><

I walked up the steps to our apartment, and banged on the door till Janaki aunty opened it.

”Forgot your keys?” Her eyes were puffy from her afternoon nap. When I didn’t answer, she looked at me sharply. “What’s wrong?”

Brushing past her, I went to my bedroom, and collapsed on the bed.

Janaki aunty followed me in and pulled up a chair. She kept rubbing my back, asking what had happened. She put a hand under my chin and turned my face to the side. One glance and she left the room. On returning, she helped me sit up and gave me a pill to swallow.

I downed it with a glass of water. It must have been a sleeping pill, because I slept.

><

I don’t know when I awakened, but I was groggy.

Aunty sat on a chair, neck at an awkward angle, fast asleep.

I went to the bathroom to freshen up.

When I came out, Aunty was rubbing her eyes. “What happened?”

“It’s two in the morning.”

“Don’t worry about the time,” she said. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

I related all that had happened.

“My poor child,” she said, as tears made their way down her cheeks.

I lay back on my bed, chest hurting badly. “I can’t believe Srikar ended up in a mental hospital, Aunty.” I broke down.

Aunty stopped crying. “You’re not talking like a doctor. His emotional problems must have been too much for him to handle. What is wrong in getting help?” She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself, as well. “Would you blame him if he needed medication for heart problems? Blood pressure? Then why not for emotional trauma?”

But doctor or not, prejudices were hard to overcome. I tried to take a deep breath to calm myself, but it hurt. I rubbed my chest. Images of my husband restrained in a bed, undergoing shock therapy, haunted me. Did they even do that anymore?
God, no! Anything but that!

“Aunty, all this time I thought of him as being safe someplace. Wildly successful, but missing me madly. Searching for me desperately. To think of him locked away…” My voice, or was it my heart, broke.

Aunty held me tightly. “I am going to find him, Child, if it is the last thing I do.”

My husband and my son. That’s all I want. Please, God. Take away my degree, my education, my money, add more darkness to my skin. Just give back my family.

Cupping my anguished face, she said, “Do you think his grandfather would have gone to so much trouble merely to let Srikar languish in a mental hospital? I’m sure he got the treatment he needed, and now is quite successful in life.”

“You’re talking about the man who had no problem giving his own great-grandson away.”

Aunty had nothing to say to that.

Let him be happy, God. Even if it means he hates me. I just can’t bear the thought of him locked up.

Chapter 41

Confronting Geeta

A
unty had been scouring the city for Srikar. She had called in every favour she could think of – and being a doctor, she was owed many – but she was unable to find any trace of him. “I just don’t understand,” she said. “He has disappeared.”

We sat, as usual, on the balcony overlooking the road, after a long day at work. As had become our habit, we relaxed with, depending on the season, either hot tea or chilled buttermilk. Today it was tea.

“I have offered large amounts of money for information, but nothing. I got in touch with my contact at the mental hospital, but that didn’t pan out either.”

I leaned back against the swing, drained. Aunty wasn’t able to find a grown man. What chance did I have with a young child? A child I might not even recognize. Did the people who had him treat him well? Did they take good care of him?
Please, God, let him not be out on the streets all alone, nowhere to go, no one to worry whether he’s eaten...

I took deep breaths, trying to ease the tightness in my chest, trying not to think of Srikar all drugged up, and chained to his cot. “Do you think we should contact women’s organizations, or the National Human Rights Commission for help?”

“And draw attention to yourself? I don’t think that’s wise, Child.”

I sighed. “That leaves only Geeta.” I could, of course, call Ammamma. God knows, I wanted to. It wasn’t inconceivable that the news of Srikar had trickled back to Ammamma through Srikar’s grandmother. But I was afraid to put my grandmother in danger.

“Take tomorrow morning off and look for her. I can handle the patient load.”

I nodded. It was time.

><

The next morning, I dressed with care – a smart sari from a fashionable boutique, my hair carefully done up, a fancy purse in hand. Despite a lack of money, Geeta had an innate sense of style. I had no wish to feel inferior.

Getting into the car, I gave the driver Geeta’s address. Thirty minutes later we stopped across from a six storey building. Not fancy by any means, but certainly a step-up from
Madhuban
Apartments.

Two boys, a little older than the age my son would be now, were playing cricket in front of the building. I walked past a small room set to one side, bathroom on the outside. Probably the watchman’s quarters. I took the stairs up to the fifth floor, mildly out of breath. 503. The flat Geeta lived in.

I took a deep breath and knocked, gearing up for the confrontation.
 

Geeta opened the door, and the years fell away.

I was back in
Madhuban
Apartments, newly married and amazingly naïve, excited about my husband, my new friend Geeta, my future.

She looked at me questioningly. “Yes?”

I found myself too choked up to say anything.

All of a sudden, the expression on her face changed. Recognition seemed to have dawned, because she fell into the chair beside the door. “You came,” she said, voice hoarse. Almost as if she had been expecting me. Like the Warden at the Home.

“Quite a nice place you have here.” Distress caused my scalp to tighten. “Three bedroom flat, is it?”