The Dowry Bride (14 page)

Overall, the snake-in-the-kitchen episode had proved to be quite entertaining. Megha had managed to chuckle, even though she’d been thoroughly embarrassed that a neighbor had to rescue them when there were two grown men in their own home. Mrs. Jagtap, despite her limited English, had been accurate in her description when she’d called Appaji and Suresh
“buddhoos,
complete fools.” Well, at least Appaji had tried his best and that counted for something.

Suresh, as expected, had behaved like a coward and a moron.
Buddhoo
for sure!

After the memories of that snake event faded away, Megha’s bereft feeling returned once again along with the restlessness. She turned off the video movie. Something was missing. She knew what it was: Kiran—his passion for life, his exuberance, his sense of fun and adventure. He made her feel alive and vital. In his presence she managed to forget her woes.

Was she using Kiran as a handy crutch? If so, she’d have to learn to wean herself from him right away.

She glanced at the clock. It was late evening and beginning to get dark outside. The sound of exploding firecrackers had escalated in the last hour. She didn’t expect Kiran home until very late. The
puja
included an elaborate dinner and he was likely to be in the midst of it.

The unexpected sound of keys inserted in the lock sent a chill up Megha’s spine. She shot out of her chair and sprinted to the kitchen. Heart racing madly, she listened.

“Megha, don’t panic—it’s only me.” Kiran’s voice sounded like music to her ears. She let out a sigh of pure relief.

Emerging from the kitchen, she greeted him with forced casualness. “What are you doing home so early?”

“I felt like coming home.”

A happy note clanged in Megha’s heart. “What about the
puja
dinner?”

“Right here.” Kiran held up an enormous plastic bag. “You didn’t think I was going to gobble up a
Diwali
feast while you sat here all alone, did you?”

Her lips curved in a delighted smile. “But…your parents?”

“I lied,” he said, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes.

“You lied on a religious day?” Megha shook her head, feigning incredulity.

Kiran grinned. “Told them I had to work on a project deadline for tomorrow. Naturally Mummy packed enough food for at least ten people,” he said, placing the bag on the table.

She sniffed the bag. “Smells delicious. Your parents’ cook must have been working since dawn.”

He raised a brow at her. “Hungry?” When she nodded, he rubbed his hands in anticipation. “Me, too. Let’s eat.”

“I’ll set the table while you get changed.” Megha watched with aching fondness as he disappeared into the bedroom. His generosity was amazing. He had missed the time-honored Diwali dinner at his parents’ home so he could eat with her. All that casual talk hadn’t fooled her for one minute. Project deadline indeed!

He had come home for one reason only: Megha. The tears welled up in her eyes.

V
inayak Ramnath sat hunched in his office chair, poring over a ledger. A blue ceramic teacup sat near his elbow. His forehead glistened with perspiration. It was a hot day and the ceiling fan wasn’t much help, so it was hard to concentrate on his work. He wiped his brow with a white cotton handkerchief.

When a squeal of brakes followed by loud honking and assorted invectives on the street assaulted his senses, he peered outside the window, peeling off his silver-rimmed reading glasses. “Those bloody rickshaw drivers,” he snorted angrily. “Dangerous
goondas!
”

Realizing his reaction was a bit extreme for something that routinely occurred several times a day on the crowded street, he settled back in his chair. His knee-jerk reaction wasn’t his fault. Megha’s disappearance had left him feeling uneasy and jumpy. The slightest provocation seemed to set him off lately. He hadn’t been sleeping well. He was sure it was only a matter of time before the police arrested him and his family for attempted murder. Besides, Chandramma was plotting something big again. She was like a taut wire about to snap any moment. He could almost taste the tension surrounding her.

A couple of his nearby colleagues, noticing his uncharacteristic reaction, stared speculatively at Vinayak for a few seconds, then silently went back to work. Embarrassed, he returned to his duties. He had a strong suspicion that most of them already knew about the scandal in his family. Gossip filtered very quickly through the bank’s rumor mill. And their man servant, Tukaram, was an expert at spreading news through the community.

Vinayak’s only concern was his reputation—he didn’t want his fellow bankers to think he had abused his daughter-in-law and forced her to flee. He had worked too long and too hard to have his good name ruined because of what his stupid wife and son had done.

Vinayak had been promoted from junior officer to senior loan officer some twenty years ago. He had not received another promotion since then, but he was happy where he was. His little niche consisted of familiar faces, comfortable habits like old shoes, and the office café—only a few paces from his corner desk. A nice cup of thick, milky tea with loads of sugar was always available when he felt like it. For an extra twenty-five
paise
the pug-nosed errand boy in the cafeteria even delivered it to Vinayak’s desk. The luxury was well worth the extra expense.

People who came to Vinayak about applying for loans slipped him a little bundle of hundred-rupee notes under the table and he made sure their loans got processed without a hitch. His had been a satisfactory career in most ways.

He was now biding his time until he could retire, only one year and four months away. He could hardly wait. But…then again…he wasn’t so sure. Circumstances had changed at home in the last few weeks. Home had turned into a grim, miserable place. It had never been a happy, cheerful household, but now he had begun to detest it.

Retirement would mean he would have to be in Chandramma’s company all the time. That woman would be the death of him. She would cut him in little pieces and feed him to the dogs if he allowed her to do it. “Ree, do this; Ree, do that,” she would say to him. “Ree” was the official husbandly title of respect she used to address him, but the tone of her voice was one generally reserved for servants and untouchables.

At least while he still had a job he could spend five days a week at the office. Plus, here in this familiar two-story building, despite his demanding young boss with the fashionable haircut and American clothes, Vinayak enjoyed some degree of independence, a little self-respect, even a couple of friends. As long as he got his work done and the small business loans department had no complaints, nobody bothered him. He came in at precisely eleven o’clock and left at six o’clock each day.

Vinayak sighed and closed the ledger, then shut his computer down. He would have to find some other form of work if he were to survive after retirement. By the following year he would start to look around for something. He was good with figures and accounting. With his banking experience, lots of businesses could probably use someone like him.

In the meantime he had his secret savings account.

Several years ago he had started to stash away the under-the-table gifts into an account under a fictitious name. Being a bank officer all his life had paid off. He had quietly fed the account on a regular basis. He had, at strategic intervals, used the cash to buy and sell stocks. Now, with the stock market having done its part to pad his account handsomely, he had a nice little reserve. He paid token taxes on it but took care of the paperwork from his office. Nothing about the account reached his home.

Chandramma kept a strict eye on their regular savings and Vinayak’s provident retirement fund. The fund was substantial and, combined with the inheritance his father had left him, enough to live on—so long as they lived frugally. His secret money was his own and meant for any unforeseen disaster. Who knew what the future would bring? The Lord’s ways were hard to understand. One’s previous life could come to haunt the present and money would always come in handy.

He had decided some time ago to put some of it aside for his daughter. Shanti was a less than plain-looking girl and was not likely to receive any marriage offers. If at all she did, the marriage was likely to be rather humble. He had to admit it was unfortunate—poor Shanti had a bad pool of genes to draw upon—no matter which parent she favored she was doomed. Her thick glasses and sallow complexion combined with her withdrawn personality would be hard to sell in the marriage market.

To make matters worse, Shanti had chosen to major in English literature and a future in teaching. What a bloody stupid choice! If she had at least gone into computers or medicine or engineering, she could have earned a good enough salary to survive on her own, but the teaching profession paid next to nothing. However, she was his child, and he owed her a decent living. She was a naïve girl, too, but affectionate in her own way. A bit too withdrawn perhaps, but then so was Suresh and so was he.

Under Chandramma’s thumb, most anybody would be withdrawn.

After taking a quick look around the office to safeguard against prying eyes, Vinayak quietly checked his passbook to make sure his secret account was doing as well as it should. He then slid it into his desk drawer and locked it before pocketing the key.

He would never take his passbook home. If Chandramma found it, that would be the end of his independence.

Although he cared about Chandramma in his own way, he didn’t love her. He had been a faithful husband to her in spite of the fact that intimacy between them had been rare. The last time he had touched her in that way, she had turned to him and exclaimed, “What is the matter with you? Suresh and Shanti are now old enough to get married and have children of their own, and you are touching me in such a shameless way. You are too old for this kind of teenaged behavior, no?”

Vinayak had promptly reclaimed his errant hand and turned over to his side of the bed, then pretended to fall asleep. He was furious and humiliated. How dare she call him old! She was only three years his junior. With her unsightly looks it was a wonder he had felt any lust for her at all.

Until recently, he had envied Suresh. Surely no good father would envy his own son? But Suresh had a gorgeous wife. At least in the marriage department Suresh had done very well, much, much better than Vinayak. Megha was not only beautiful, she was a cultured and respectable girl who had put up with Chandramma’s demands, and she seemed very affectionate towards Suresh. Kind and gentle to Vinayak, she even treated Shanti like a younger sister.

But now she was gone.

May God bless Megha, Vinayak thought with a tired sigh. She was like a breath of fresh air in their weary household. It had been a stroke of luck that the astrologer, in his customary terse fashion, had mentioned the girl to Chandramma. “Very good girl she is, Chandramma-bai, very beautiful and virtuous. She has just finished B.A. degree. But father is poor and cannot afford dowry. Maybe he will agree for your Suresh, no?” he said, stroking his thin gray mustache with his finger, his calculating eyes trained on Chandramma.

Upon examining the girl’s photograph, Chandramma had pounced on the opportunity. At last, here was a chance to bring home a good-looking daughter-in-law and ensure some decent-looking grandchildren to carry on the family name. “Does her horoscope match Suresh’s?” she had asked the old man. “Is she healthy? And I hope they have a pure Brahmin atmosphere in the house?”

“Of course, perfect match, no?” he had assured her. “For you, I only bring best.”

Thrilled at his words, she had offered the astrologer a large bonus if he could arrange the match. “Tell them Suresh has an M.Com degree and is a senior manager at the bank with good prospects.” She had asked the old man to quote Suresh’s salary as twice the amount he really earned, making Vinayak squirm. “And tell them we are wealthy people with very high status,” she had added. “And my brothers are Krishna Rao and Rama Rao. Everyone knows my brothers.”

Vinayak had turned to her in shock. “How can we lie about Suresh’s salary and our financial status, Chandramma? What will those people say when they find out the truth?”

“They are not lies,” she had retorted. “Are my brothers not rich and respected in this state? Is our son not a manager in a big bank?” Vinayak had rolled his eyes and shut his mouth after that. Protesting would do no good anyway.

The sly old astrologer had broken into a smug grin. He had planned this all along. And if truth were told, despite his discomfort about Chandramma’s deceit, Vinayak had silently rejoiced, too. It would be nice to have a pretty daughter for a change. He hoped she had a good, friendly personality and would adjust to their frugal lifestyle. And he prayed she wouldn’t resent them for the lies. A fussy young lady with costly tastes and a strong will that clashed with Chandramma’s would be a disaster.

But by God’s grace Megha had turned out to be a gem, far beyond his expectations.

After the wedding, however, instead of showing the daughter-in-law kindness and respect, Chandramma had treated her shabbily. Vinayak had cringed every time Chandramma had picked on the poor girl. She had made it her mission to make Megha’s life a living hell—insulting and humiliating her, making her feel small and inadequate. He despised himself for being such a coward and not coming to Megha’s defense. His poor attempts at defending her once or twice had only served to heighten Chandramma’s wrath. He had merely ended up making matters worse. Since then he had decided it was best not to interfere. But then Megha had paid the price once again.

It was bad enough that Chandramma had demanded a dowry from Megha’s poor, debt-plagued father. Before the wedding, Vinayak had tried to dissuade his wife from demanding a dowry. “Chandramma, the girl is beautiful, bright and educated. We should consider ourselves lucky as it is. Think about it. Do we really have to have dowry, too?”

Shocked at his comments, Chandramma had given him a good tongue-lashing. “No dowry! Ree, are you totally mad or what? Our Suresh is a bank officer. Our family is well known in the state. We are too good for that girl with only a bachelor’s degree and no career. Those Shastrys have no social standing; they should consider themselves blessed to have people like us associated with them. For giving their daughter a good home and husband, they should kiss our feet, no?” As always, Vinayak had retreated in defeat.

Chandramma had won another battle. She always did.

Recently, Chandramma had resorted to drastic measures to get the dowry money. She had no conscience. She had even stooped to murder. It made Vinayak sick to his stomach to think of the horror of it all. He was convinced that his wife had a mental illness of some sort. He had read about sociopaths and psychopaths—for all practical purposes they seemed like ordinary people, but their minds were twisted. Was Chandramma one of those mental cases? She had grown up in an affectionate and affluent home. There was no explanation other than insanity for the hostility and greed she exhibited.

All he could do now was pray that some day Chandramma would recognize her evil ways and atone for her sins. They had indeed been lucky to have such a wonderful daughter-in-law. Why couldn’t his wife have seen that, for God’s sake?

A sense of urgency to make up for his own sins had begun to creep up on him slowly, silently. It had started to become more evident since the previous year, when he had visited his doctor to be treated for bronchitis. His tired and weakened lungs were beginning to do something strange again. Having fought tuberculosis in his youth, he was resigned to the fact that it would probably show up again sometime during his life.

After looking at the X-rays his doctor had said it was serious—most likely lung cancer. “To be hundred percent sure we have to do a biopsy, Mr. Ramnath,” he had said grimly.

Vinayak was not surprised that his lungs had deteriorated further. His persistent cough had become worse in recent months, convincing him that he was dying. But he had made it clear that he didn’t want to be treated. “No biopsy. I have lived long enough, doctor. I am grateful to God for giving me this much after my tuberculosis.”

“But that is ridiculous,” the astonished doctor had scolded him. “You have to start appropriate treatment immediately.”

Vinayak had shaken his head. “No! If it is cancer, I don’t want to know. Just treat the pain when it starts, if it starts.” The doctor had reluctantly yielded to his wishes, but not without issuing dire warnings about the horrors of cancer.

What would be the point in resorting to expensive treatment anyway, Vinayak had argued with himself. He had read about the side effects of chemotherapy and radiation, about how the treatment was often worse than the disease. He had no one to worry over his health, hold his hand, soothe his aches and sit beside him in the hospital. His wife and children were not warm, kind-hearted individuals. They were likely to be glad to see him die quickly. He did not want to wake up in a hospital bed and see Chandramma’s face, blatantly telling him to hurry up and die so she could have his money.