The Dowry Bride (4 page)

Kiran had flatly refused to go with the other men because he’d become suspicious. Amma was up to something. He’d sensed an undercurrent of excitement in her all evening. She had been more animated than usual, more talkative, more manipulative.

After she’d disposed of the men, she had shepherded Kiran’s mother, Kamala, and his aunt, Devayani, into the drawing room and shut the door, making it obvious that something of great importance was about to be discussed. Megha and his three female cousins, Kala, Mala and Shanti, had been told to amuse themselves by playing card games in the kitchen.

Pretending to relax in the master bedroom with a newspaper, Kiran had found a spot where he could put his ear to the wall separating the drawing room, so he could eavesdrop. Somewhere deep inside he knew this secret conference among the ladies had to do with Megha.

What he heard over the next few minutes was disturbing. The walls in that home were rather thin, and thank God for that.

“Megha’s father has still not paid you any of the dowry money or what?” Devayani asked in her nasal drone. His Aunt Devayani was a small woman with an overbite and perpetual allergies that left her with a congested nose and a voice that sounded like a broken guitar.

“Not one
paisa
yet. And I don’t see any chance of it coming soon. That’s why I’m thinking about this,” replied Amma.

Kiran had wondered what
this
meant. Exactly what was the old bat planning?

Then he heard his mother’s voice say, “Chandramma, it’s only one year since the wedding. Why not wait a bit?” Kamala was generally the voice of reason amongst the three women.

“One year is more than enough if you ask me,” Devayani sniffed. Amma had mentored Devayani since the time she’d married Amma’s youngest brother, Rama Rao, and since then Devayani had become Amma’s staunchest supporter and friend.

“I have been very patient,” Amma confirmed. “They promised us the money. This is clearly a breach of contract, no? Also, there is the matter of infertility to consider.”

Kiran frowned.
Breach of contract? Infertility?
Where had his aunt learned such terms? She had obviously been educating herself on these matters.

“A healthy young girl can’t get pregnant in one year or what?” Devayani wanted to know. “Then she must be barren also.”

“Wait a minute,” Kamala interrupted. “The girl gets along well with the family. And she is beautiful and bright, Chandramma. That was the main reason you chose her for Suresh, remember? You always wanted someone just like her for a daughter-in-law.”

“I have considered all those things, Kamala; I’m not a fool.” Amma sounded irritated at Kamala’s words of caution.

“And pregnancy takes time,” Kamala argued, somewhat impatient herself. “It took me many years before Kiran was conceived.”

“That may be, but don’t forget you had miscarriages before and after Kiran.”

Miscarriages before and after his birth? Taken by surprise, Kiran contemplated the matter for a minute. Nobody had told him that and he’d never really questioned why he was an only child. It was something to which he’d never given any thought, always assuming his parents had ended up with a single child because fate had determined it. And well…it had.

No wonder his parents doted on him and the rest of the family treated him like a precious commodity. As the son of the oldest Rao brother, Kiran’s was a special position to begin with. On top of that, his father’s brother had two daughters and no son. As the only male in the Rao clan, it was up to Kiran to carry on the family name. It was small wonder that they thought he was handsome and bright although he considered himself ordinary. Their adoring attention bordered on smothering at times.

Kiran had forced his attention back to the drawing room and its occupants.

“That girl is getting too clever for her own good. She has started to question my actions,” Amma fumed.

“What exactly has Megha questioned?” inquired Kamala.

“Do you know what she did last week? She openly defied me by going next door to that Muslim family’s house when I told her not to go.”

“Oh dear!” Devayani seemed to agree with Amma’s cause for indignation.

But Kamala asked, “Why did she go there?”

“She said she went to help that woman because she had an appendicitis attack.”

“What was Megha doing there if the woman had appendicitis? She needed a doctor, not a housewife,” Devayani, in her infinite wisdom, added.

“But Megha claims she stayed with the woman until her husband came home. She said their three-year-old daughter was crying and she had to do this to help out. I suspect she stayed there to laze, to get out of doing her own work here. When I asked why she disobeyed my orders, she called me selfish and thoughtless.”

There was a moment of silence as the two other women apparently absorbed this interesting piece of information, while Kiran silently cheered for Megha.

“Then she comes back home as if nothing happened. She polluted our Brahmin home by stepping into a Muslim house. That is total disregard for our religion, no?” Amma’s tone was one of righteous indignation.

Kiran nearly laughed out loud. So Megha had helped a neighbor in distress and for that she was branded a villain. Amma’s sense of right and wrong was twisted beyond imagination.

Unfortunately, too intent on eavesdropping to pay attention to his surroundings, Kiran’s elbow had accidentally struck a hairbrush on the dressing table and sent it crashing to the floor. Damn! After that, probably realizing that Kiran was able to hear them, the rest of the conversation in the other room had turned to whispers and gone on for several minutes. Kiran hadn’t been able to catch any of it. That was the part he needed to hear the most, and clearly, it was also the most damaging part of the meeting. And he hadn’t a clue as to what it was.

The only portion he’d managed to overhear at the end was his mother saying with an ominous sense of finality, “Chandramma, please, I beg you, don’t do it, at least for the sake of family honor. Imagine the scandal.”

A sense of dread had engulfed Kiran. The men had returned from their walk shortly after that. On the drive home, his mother had been strangely quiet and contemplative. He’d been tempted to ask her about it, but he knew she’d never reveal a family secret, especially when it involved her older sister-in-law. In old-fashioned Hindu households, one did not betray family, and especially not an elder.

After he’d dropped his parents off at their large, affluent home, Kiran had driven back to his flat. He hadn’t been able to relax or sleep. Something had nagged at him for hours, especially his mother’s last remark:
Don’t do it, at least for the sake of family honor. Imagine the scandal.

What could be that scandalous? Was Amma planning to force Suresh to divorce Megha? If that was the case, then it would be a good thing—for Kiran. Megha would be free, and perhaps Kiran would have a chance to offer her marriage in the future. Of course, it was all conjecture at that point. And his parents would never condone his marrying a divorcee, especially one who had been previously married to his cousin.

But somehow he’d sensed that divorce was not what Amma had in mind. If not divorce, then what? He had no idea what she was contemplating, but the ominous feeling in his gut only escalated. Then there was that mysterious bit of information he had accidentally found in Amma’s bag recently. That, too, was something that kept bothering him. But would his aunt stoop to something that evil? It was hard to say.

Megha was in some sort of trouble. He was sure of it.

After considerable private debating, he had pulled on some clothes, hopped into his car and driven to the Ramnath home. It was well after one-thirty at night then and the town quite dead. In all the chaos no one had questioned his unexpected arrival at such a late hour and he was grateful for that.

The scene confronting him at the Ramnath’s made his stomach lurch: lights on; the door open; and two policemen in the house. And his aunt weeping! His immediate thought was that something had happened to Megha—either accident or illness. Or worse?

But after listening to what his aunt and uncle had to say, one thing was clear to Kiran. His instincts had been right. He’d sensed all night that something was wrong. And it was.

Megha was gone.

M
egha knew that Kiran Rao lived alone in a flat, and vaguely remembered the address: Gandhi Road. It was some distance from the center of town, a high-class suburb of Palgaum. Amma made a point of mentioning the address to her middle-class friends quite often—her wealthy and peerless nephew’s home. As far as Megha could recall, there was only one building on that street with multiple flats. The rest were plush, sprawling individual homes.

Without giving much thought to what time it was, she raced towards Kiran’s house. Her foot continued to throb, her head hurt, and her stomach kept churning, but she couldn’t stop. It was too risky. The police were probably combing the streets for her. According to the Hindu edict she was a runaway wife now, a common criminal escaping from the law. The thought pushed her forward. Besides, who knew how many other drunkards were lurking around, waiting to pounce on hapless women?

Despite having to run and hide every time she heard a vehicle or unusual sounds, it didn’t take her very long to find Kiran’s residence—a modern, three-story building sitting amidst a walled and landscaped compound. It had a parking area on the ground floor.

The compound wall was a couple of inches taller than she, so she stood on her toes and surveyed the complex. There was no sign of people. The parking lot was almost full, indicating that the residents were all home and likely asleep in their beds. Every one of the windows facing her was darkened. All she could hear were the typical night sounds: insects twittering and the very distant drone of trucks on a highway somewhere.

The bad part was that the compound was brightly lit and nearly every part of it was clearly visible. Tiny moths fluttered around the brass pole-lamps standing like sentries at attention around the building. Not a single dark corner was available in case someone were to see her. For the residents it was probably an asset, but to her it was a major problem.

Afraid that she might be spotted by a passerby, she hunched down and crawled along the length of the wall to the black steel gates, which fortunately stood open. Once again she made a careful survey of the surroundings. She wasn’t sure if there were security cameras or any of those fancy surveillance systems they repeatedly advertised in newspapers and on television. Who knew what kinds of advanced gadgets these types of neighborhoods used to keep the riffraff out?

What if there was a security guard for the building? She hadn’t thought of that when she’d come running here. Expensive buildings usually had one or more guards or
gurkhas.
Given her present condition, there was no way a guard would let her in. She crept up to the glass windows of the lobby and, positioning herself behind a croton bush, looked in. From where she stood she had a wide view of the entire lobby. It was bright and spacious—tan marble floors, recessed lights in the high ceiling, and a modern wall-hanging on the largest wall. But there was no sign of a
gurkha
anywhere.

She waited a few minutes to see if a
gurkha
would appear. When there was still no sign of anyone, she tried the heavy front door and miraculously it opened with no effort. Where was all the security she had expected? She entered the lobby cautiously and sighed with relief to find it empty. Then, for a few moments she froze, wondering if some sort of alarm would go off. It made sense that an electronic sensor or something would be on guard, if not a human being. But several seconds passed and nothing unusual happened—no whistles, bells, or buzzers.

Well, she’d made it so far. What next?

The marble floor felt cool and smooth under her feet—a relief after the hard, rough surfaces she’d been traveling. Looking around she spied the red sign marked
Stairs
and made her way towards it. She dashed up the staircase. Amazingly, in her heightened state of mind, she even remembered that Kiran lived on the second floor. She was panting again by the time she reached the landing. Holding on to the handrail, she bent over to inhale some much needed air and calm her elevated heartbeat.

There were only two flats there, one to the right and the other left, with a long, wrought-iron balcony running the length of the landing. It looked down on part of the concrete and landscaped area below and a portion of the street was visible. She turned to the flat on the right, anxious eyes scanning the nameplate on the glossy polished door. It was a name she didn’t recognize. Her heart slumped in disappointment. She ran to the second door and almost cried in relief. It read K. K. Rao. This had to be Kiran’s flat.
Please God, please let it be Kiran’s flat.

She raised a hesitant hand to ring the doorbell. Although during the last several minutes it had made perfect sense, all of a sudden it felt strange to be standing here in the middle of the night. Earlier that evening, Kiran had said very little to Megha other than to compliment her on her cooking. Conservative Hindu families frowned on a young woman socializing freely with any men other than her husband. There had been lots of general chatter and noise around them, but there had been no interaction between Kiran and her. Now she was standing on his doorstep, desperately looking for help. How odd was that?

Overcome by doubts, she withdrew her hand from the doorbell. Although she’d had frequent contact with Kiran, she didn’t really know him well enough.

Under the bright overhead lights Megha looked down at herself and the slovenly picture she made. She knew she looked like a destitute woman. Her sari was crushed and muddied; her hands and feet were scratched and filthy from having traveled miles over dusty streets. Her injured foot was bleeding on the gleaming gray tiles.

With her sari she wiped her face to remove the dripping perspiration and any traces of dirt. Then she tucked the stray tendrils of hair behind her ears and smoothed down the rest. There was nothing she could do about her ruined sari. Despite her efforts to improve her appearance she knew everything about her said
beggar
.

Coming to Kiran’s flat was a ludicrous idea. How could she have dreamt up something this witless, even in her wildest dreams? Although Kiran was a compassionate man, his loyalties would surely lie with his own flesh and blood. Why would he want to help her? Just because he’d acted as her champion on a few difficult occasions it didn’t mean he was going to be disloyal to his family in times of crises. Aiding a truant wife was probably against the law, and Kiran didn’t appear to be the sort to resort to anything illegal.

After giving herself another minute to regain a little of her composure, Megha decided she would hide out somewhere for a day or two. Maybe Harini would take her in for a brief period. Harini was loyal to a fault.

Sometimes, when doing homework together as little girls, Megha had been mean to Harini, beyond mean, especially when Harini couldn’t figure out the answer to a problem. Megha had deliberately given her the wrong answer and watched her getting humiliated in Mother Doreen’s arithmetic class. Then the guilt would set in after Mother Doreen yelled at Harini or hit her over the knuckles with the sharp edge of the ruler. Megha would resort to apologetic hugs and regretful tears, promise Harini and herself she’d never do it again. But she’d do it again…and again. After all that, Harini had forgiven her. How could one not love a person like that dearly? It wasn’t until the girls had become teenagers that Megha had recognized her own malicious ways and stopped herself from mistreating such a wonderful friend. After that their friendship had become stronger.

So, how could Megha put her best friend through such deceit now, especially when the friend happened to be pregnant? Besides, Harini and her husband lived with the husband’s family. What would Harini’s in-laws say? She couldn’t throw Harini’s life in turmoil. So that option was out.

There was the women’s shelter in town, but someone had told Megha it was a smelly, grubby building filled with prostitutes and abused women battered beyond recognition. Even if she did go to that hellhole, the police were certain to look for her there.

She needed a plan right away. But no matter how many times and how many ways she examined the different options, she came back to a single solution: ask Kiran for a loan and then get out of town as quickly as she could. Kiran was her only hope. But would
he
be willing to help
her?
Well, she’d never know if she didn’t try.

With her mind finally made up, Megha rang the doorbell. There was no answer. Of course, Kiran had to be in bed at this hour. She repeatedly pressed the bell with no more luck than the first attempt. She wondered what was keeping him from answering the door.

Naturally Kiran would be astonished to see her. He might even ask her politely to go home to Suresh. If she refused, he’d probably threaten to turn her over to the police. Quickly she made a mental note of what she would say and how she would say it convincingly. She had to make him see reason. Being a practical and intelligent man, he’d be likely to listen to logic.

Just then a dark car drove up the street. She couldn’t recognize the exact color or the make from where she stood beside the metal railing of the landing, but she anxiously watched it come through the gates and enter the garage below. It disappeared from sight as it moved further inside and then came to a stop. The engine went silent.

A few seconds later she heard footsteps coming up the staircase—firm, heavy, masculine steps. Gripped by panic, she huddled close to the door. Her eyes darted about, making a quick survey of the landing for a place to hide. Unfortunately, there was none. This building probably had more lights than
Rashtrapati Bhavan
, the President of India’s official residence.

The person climbing the stairs would be sure to mistake her for a thief trying to break into Kiran’s flat. Total disaster! The police, neighbors, relatives—they would all converge upon her. And, the deadliest of horrors: Amma!

Taking a deep breath, Megha braced herself to make a run for it. Her only hope for escape would be to dart quickly past the unsuspecting stranger, fly down the stairs at lightening speed and disappear into the night before he knew what hit him. She’d have to count on the element of surprise to help her along. With any luck the person would be too stunned to react instantly. Clenching her fists, she readied herself for escape.

A split second later, instead of bewildering the man as she’d planned, it was she who became immobilized.

Kiran came into view as he reached the landing. Megha held her breath in. Their eyes collided and held for a stunned second. Her body tensed instinctively. Like a wild animal caught in the headlights, she stood poised to take flight in an instant. She had come all the way here to talk to Kiran, and yet, now that he stood before her, she’d lost her nerve. All she wanted to do was run.

The expression on Kiran’s face was wide-eyed astonishment. “Megha! What are you doing here?”

At a complete loss for words, Megha merely continued to stare at him, her heartbeat slamming inside her chest.

Kiran seemed to recover quickly. He made the first move. Stepping forward, he held his hand out to her. “Thank God you’re okay!”

Still dazed, but astounded at Kiran’s unexpected greeting, Megha took a step backwards, her eyes wary and unblinking. Something was odd about this scenario. Had he said thank God? He was supposed to be furious with her, wasn’t he? He should have turned her away or threatened to call the police. Instead he looked relieved and almost glad to see her on his doorstep. Was her traumatized mind playing tricks on her? She eyed him suspiciously, and took another step back.

But his expression still looked relieved and his hand remained extended. Something was wrong here. Very wrong. Megha couldn’t trust her own eyes or ears. Was Kiran playing a prank on her, only to trap her later? A flutter of fear went through her.

He stepped closer and took her clammy hands in his. “Megha, I went looking for you at your house, but Amma told me you were gone. The police have been summoned. It’s chaos over there. They’re frantically searching for you.”

So the hunt for her was already under way. And Kiran knew about it. Surely now he’d turn her over to the police. He had a clever way of getting her to trust him, too, pretending to be all concerned and sympathetic. She should have known. It was a stupid move on her part, coming to him for help.

Trembling, she withdrew her hands from his and held them behind her, backing into the corner until there was no place to go. The cool iron railing pressed against her side. Her lower lip started to quiver uncontrollably. Kiran stood only a couple of feet from her and she was trapped between him and the railing. He was a big, strong man. She’d never be able to escape, unless she arched her back and somersaulted over the balcony. And even that wouldn’t guarantee death from this height.

She was terrified of heights—they made her dizzy, but then what did it matter when she was hurtling down to meet her death? However, with her miserable streak of bad luck she’d probably end up with a broken neck and paralyzed for life. And wouldn’t Amma just love that?

No, she resolved in that instant, she wouldn’t let Kiran take her back to that slaughterhouse. She would make him see sense. She’d try that logical approach she’d been practicing during the last few minutes. She’d make it sound nice and rational, even fall at his feet and beg if necessary. If all else failed, only then would she throw herself over the balcony. It would surely be less painful than death by incineration.

However, instead of sound argument her voice erupted in a high-pitched torrent of desperate appeal. “I d-don’t want to go b-back, Kiran! Please, please, don’t make me go back. I can’t—”

“Shhh,” he interrupted. “It’s okay, Megha.”

“It’s not okay! They want to burn me to death because my father can’t give them a dowry. Kiran, don’t tell them you saw me here…please…” Her voice trailed away and her brain froze once again. Kiran was one of them. It was no use wasting her breath pleading.

“Burn you to death!” His jaws clenched visibly. “Are you sure?”