The Dowry Bride (6 page)

Thank God it hadn’t come to that!

Megha was suffering and there was not much he could do for her right now other than to offer her a safe place for the night, a chance to have a hot bath and rest for a while. After that she was likely to feel better, maybe even fit enough to start thinking of a viable plan for her immediate future.

He rose and motioned her to follow him. She stood up without any arguments. He showed her to the bathroom. Before she went in he stopped her. “Wait, I’ll be back in a minute.” After rummaging through his bedroom he came back with a T-shirt and a pair of shorts along with a fresh towel and a new toothbrush still in its cellophane wrap. “Not much, but it’s the best I can do. At least they’re clean and the shorts have a drawstring, so they won’t slide down.”

She took the clothes but glanced at them with a mild frown. “But how can I…?” She seemed to change her mind about whatever she was about to say and nodded instead.

“There’s running hot water twenty-four hours. Take your time—have a nice hot shower if you want.”

“Thank you,” she whispered with a grateful half-smile and stepped into the bathroom.

Then the doorbell rang.

S
haking with terror all over again, Megha huddled in the bathroom. Someone was at the front door.
Oh God, oh God!
They had found her. How had they located her so quickly?

Holding the door partly open, she strained her ears to listen to the two male voices in the foyer. Kiran’s was a bit clearer than that of the other man. It was neither Suresh’s nor Appaji’s voice. The police? Kiran’s father or uncle? By this time the entire family would have rallied to Amma’s side and started their own search.

She closed her eyes in defeat. Her time had run out after all.

The sound of the front door shutting with a slight squeak reached her. Kiran must have let the person in! She listened to the approaching footsteps. Her life was about to end. All that running was for nothing. She should not have come here. Stupid, stupid decision!

She shut the bathroom door quickly and turned the lock. Unfortunately, there was no window in this bathroom to even contemplate an escape. Despite the thud-thud of her heartbeat in her ears, Megha clearly heard a set of steps approaching—but only one set. Was the policeman or whoever the man was, waiting in the drawing room then?

A knock sounded on the bathroom door. “Megha.”

She didn’t answer.
Think, think….
Looking around for something heavy to wedge against the door, she realized there was nothing, so she pitched all her weight against it. Maybe she could plead for her life with Kiran one more time. But if a policeman was here, what could Kiran do? Promise the man a bribe…perhaps? Weren’t the police always looking for rewards?

None of those options seemed viable, so she pressed harder against the door.

“Megha, are you okay?” When she remained silent, Kiran rapped harder. “Megha, answer me!”

The silence on Megha’s part continued.

“I know you heard the doorbell, and I know you’re scared. I want you to know it was only my downstairs neighbor.”

Neighbor? Likely story! As if she was going to fall for that. “What did the…uh, neighbor want?” she managed, her voice barely coming out as a murmur.

“He heard our footsteps and voices on the landing earlier.”

“Is that so unusual?” Her heartbeat continued its frantic beat.

She heard Kiran hesitate on the other side of the door. “Yes, it is. Because it’s so late at night and my lights are still on, he wondered if there was some emergency and whether I needed help.”

“What did you tell him?” Even now Megha wasn’t sure Kiran was being entirely honest. If this was his way of getting her to open the door and come out so the police could cart her away, she was wise to him. If he thought she was that naïve, he was not as bright as she’d imagined.

“I told him it was an office problem and someone on my staff delivered an emergency report.”

“I don’t believe you, Kiran. I know there’s a policeman in your drawing room.” She might as well be direct in her accusations. Even if she was helpless, at least he wouldn’t mistake her for a fool. She’d never tolerate being labeled dimwitted.

“Damn it, Megha! There is no policeman.”

“Then prove it!”

“Quit acting like a brat, will you?” He sounded thoroughly annoyed. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

Standing there in the bathroom, Megha speculated. If he wasn’t telling the truth, he’d have been nice and persuasive instead of angry, now wouldn’t he, at least in the interests of gaining her trust? She gingerly unlocked the door and opened it a crack. “Kiran, if you’re lying to me, I swear I’ll get even with you.”

“Fair enough.”

“I won’t forgive you for pretending to be my friend and then turning me in.”

Kiran nodded gravely. “I understand. Now come out and see for yourself.”

Very slowly, she opened the door all the way and stepped out. “I’ll tolerate open hostility any day, but I will not put up with back-stabbing, Kiran.” She pointed a finger in his face and glared at him for a moment. “I detest two-timers.”

Kiran stood aside and motioned her to go out and look for herself. After making sure the flat was empty save for the two of them, Megha returned to the alcove outside the bathroom where Kiran still stood, with his arms folded across his chest. “Satisfied?” he asked. He didn’t seem so irritated anymore.

She nodded grudgingly. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.” He hadn’t been lying after all. She felt foolish and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry from relief. She couldn’t blame him for being cross with her. She had behaved like an ungrateful little brat.

To her surprise, Kiran chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Suspicious young lady, aren’t you?” When she shot him a quelling look, his chuckle turned to a hearty laugh. “Can’t blame you, I suppose. If I were in your place, I wouldn’t trust anyone either.”

“Glad to hear that.”

He gestured toward the bathroom, looking even more amused. “Now that you’re somewhat convinced that I’m not a two-timing back-stabber, you may want to go ahead and wash up.”

With her head held high despite feeling embarrassed about acting so churlish, she swept into the bathroom and shut the door with a decisive click. Well, he could laugh all he wanted! She wasn’t ready to trust him completely yet.

A nice long shower was exactly what Megha indulged in. Accustomed to a more austere lifestyle, she had never used a shower before and it took her a couple of minutes to figure out how it worked. Once she got it started, the spray of warm water felt like heaven. Hot water without having to heat it on a wood fire in a big brass cauldron? How wonderful was that! And then not to have to scoop it out of a bucket with a mug and pour it over one’s head? That was pure luxury.

Putting every other thought aside for now, she lifted her face, closed her eyes and delighted in the water raining over her and flowing down her body.

The soap was deliciously fragrant. The sheer lavishness of the modern tile-and-marble bathroom made Megha feel weepy again. So foolish—to cry over a simple bathing routine—but her nerves were frayed and the tears came easily. After a while she washed the cut on her foot, which stung from the soapsuds and continued to bleed a little. Her scratches and bruises burned under the hot water.

But otherwise the shower was marvelously soothing. Even better was getting that awful grime and stench off herself. She used large quantities of Kiran’s shampoo to wash her hair and spent a long time in the bathroom trying to speculate and strategize. But for the life of her she couldn’t think of a plan of action. Right now, all she wanted to do was lie down somewhere and sleep. It was as if her mind had shut down completely. Having made it this far, to a state of relative safety, a strange kind of numbness seemed to have set in.

While Megha was in the bathroom, Kiran heated a mug of milk in the microwave oven and stirred some Ovaltine into it. After hunting around in the kitchen cabinets he found a packet of chocolate cream biscuits and put a few of those on a plate.

He then made a cup of instant coffee for himself, pulled out a chair at the dining table, and sat down to think.

What was he going to do with Megha? This late at night there was nowhere she could go. He could probably afford to keep her with him for one night, maybe two, but after that? His mind drew a complete blank. She might have a few uncles and aunts and cousins somewhere, but relatives and friends could not be told of her whereabouts. Hotels were not particularly safe for a lone young woman, and anyway the police would be sure to look for her in every hotel within a twenty-mile radius.

His own Mumbai flat was large enough and completely furnished in anticipation of his impending move. But though he had mentioned the idea to her, he now realized Megha was too young and inexperienced to live alone in a big city. Her petrified reaction earlier to the imaginary policeman in his living room had shown him that.

All Kiran knew for sure was that she was in danger and had to be protected. But if she remained so close to him, under his roof, the threat to his sanity was equally troubling. He was a man infatuated, with all the needs and instincts of a healthy male. At the moment, with her in the next room, naked and bathing, his nerves were already tied in knots.

However, where else but in his home could she remain safe? He was the only one who really cared about her, and he was also the least likely to be suspected of harboring her. The police and his family would target all of Megha’s family and friends, but nobody would think of asking
him
regarding her whereabouts. That more or less clinched the matter. She would have to stay with him indefinitely. He’d have to keep his baser needs and his emotions under strict control. Perhaps in a day or two they could review her situation and come up with some practical answers. There had to be some way to resolve this.

When Megha came out of the bathroom he noticed the edge of the T-shirt fell all the way down to mid-thigh level on her, but despite its looseness it didn’t hide her feminine shape. The absence of a brassiere was obvious from the way her breasts strained against the soft cotton of the shirt. It took all of Kiran’s self-control to tear his eyes away from that particular spot. A wave of longing to feel her crushed against his own hard chest washed over him for a second before he ordered himself to stop behaving like a hormone-crazed juvenile.

The shirt’s sleeves covered her elbows, and the shorts hung well below her knees. Her face had a clean pink glow. Her hair fell in damp waves over her shoulders and down her back. The enormous dark eyes were less red now. She smelled of his soap and shampoo, and something else…essentially female. She smelled sweet.

Looking like an incredibly beautiful teenager, she seemed so unspoiled and innocent. And, with that sense, an all-male desire to defend and protect once again replaced the need to touch and possess her.

The bright red dot on her forehead had been washed away, too. The
mangalsutra
was tucked inside the shirt. For some reason it gave him deep satisfaction to see her dressed in his clothes and the dot gone. That dot had meant she was still married to Suresh. Kiran wanted Megha to belong to himself. He’d make sure that would happen soon. Knowing what the divorce laws were like, it could be at least two or three years in the future, but Kiran considered himself a patient man.

He’d wait as long as he needed to. Megha was worth waiting for.

Megha stood awkwardly in the kitchen, embarrassed at wearing Kiran’s clothes. She hadn’t exposed her legs in years. She felt naked. When she saw that Kiran wasn’t laughing at the odd picture she made, she took a step forward, feeling more confident. Encouraged by the kindness in his expression instead of the ridicule she’d expected, she moved closer to the dining table.

“Feeling better?” Kiran asked.

She nodded. Eyeing the steaming milk in the mug, she smiled at him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to put you to so much trouble.”

“No trouble at all.” He rose and pulled out a chair for her—one of four matching chairs surrounding a round, smoked-glass dining table. “Come, sit down and drink some Ovaltine.”

She sat down with some hesitation and studied the table. It felt strange to be waited on by someone, especially a man.

“Eat some biscuits,” Kiran encouraged. “Unfortunately, mine is a bachelor’s home. I don’t have anything more substantial than this.”

“Ovaltine is fine. It smells wonderful.” She gratefully picked up the mug with both hands, hoping to savor the aroma and the heat from the cup seeping into her palms. Instead she winced and put the cup down with a thud, the scalding liquid sloshing over the rim.

“Too hot, Megha?” Kiran half rose from his chair.

“It’s my hands. I bruised them earlier.”

“Did you fall down?” His eyes traveled to her arms and chin, probably wondering about the scratches, too.

She nodded reluctantly. “I was running in the dark—it was hard to see where I was going. And then…I had to climb over a rough-surfaced stone wall.”

“Why?”

“Some disgusting drunkard was chasing me.” She avoided meeting Kiran’s eyes. Her story was beginning to sound like something out of the movies. Such bizarre things didn’t happen in real life.

“Did he hurt you?” Kiran sounded angry, as he’d sounded earlier.

“I’d rather not talk about it.” Suddenly she felt very exposed, talking about a near molestation to a man she didn’t know all that well.

“Can you at least tell me if you’re all right? You don’t need a doctor?” He was still scowling.

“Uh…no. I’m okay, thank you.”

“You’ve been through hell tonight, haven’t you?” Kiran’s expression softened. “Here, hold this around the cup,” he said, handing her a cotton napkin. Then with a sponge he carefully cleaned up the spilt Ovaltine.

She did as he suggested and it felt better, the warmth from the mug comforting. She realized she was ravenous as she sipped the Ovaltine. It tasted delicious.

Kiran drank his own coffee and pushed the plate before her. “Eat.”

She gratefully accepted some biscuits.

Feeling refreshed after a few swallows of the nourishing liquid and the food, Megha took stock of her surroundings. Earlier she had been too distressed to notice the flat. This was her first real glimpse of Kiran’s home. It was not a very large place, but still spacious and airy compared to both the cramped homes she had lived in.

The contemporary domed light fixture above the dining area was made of etched glass. The sofa and chairs in the drawing room were covered with tan damask and accented with forest green pillows. Curtains in the same shade of green covered the window directly behind the sofa. There was a hand-woven area rug in shades of tan, white and green. Two matching brass floor lamps sat next to a pair of end tables on either side of the sofa. A large bronze sculpture of the god Ganesh rested on an oblong table against one wall that had no other furniture. The Ganesh looked like an antique. On the wall above the sculpture hung a set of four miniature Rajasthani paintings mounted on ivory silk mats in intricate gold frames.

Kiran’s flat had the look of understated elegance. So this was how rich bachelors lived. He worked for some corporation at the moment, and had family wealth, as well. His father was the sole owner of a flourishing petroleum and chemical products distribution business. Megha could see the discerning taste of his mother, Kamala Rao, in the décor around his home.