The Accidental Wife (10 page)

“Rihaanji!” Naina called. “You better hurry, unless you wish to spend the rest of the day sharpening your snake charming skills.”

Women!

Discoveries

A
gentle prod on the shoulder. “Time to deplane, sir.”

Rihaan let out a muffled groan as he jerked awake and worked on uncrumpling his stiff frame. His body ached all over, his limbs were like dead stumps of wood and his gravelly tongue appeared stuck solid to his palate. Even his neck was horribly askew. Yet he didn’t grumble. Instead, he hobbled to the exit and stumbled out only to be walloped by a blast of searing hot air.

With difficulty, he braced himself and ventured forward to peruse the vicinity. In a mere few hours, the entire landscape had undergone a drastic transition. Lush, verdant fields of maize, barley and
jowar
had given way to a brown arid expanse of scrub and brush. There were no tall dense groves of banyan and peepal to provide welcome shade; just an occasional thorny acacia trying to make its presence felt. Yet there was plenty of something else—dunes, loads and loads of them, rolling out in all directions as far as the eye could see. He had landed in the middle of a desert, hostile and downright deadly.

“Where in hell is this?” he seethed, seeking the slim figure of his reluctant spouse.

“We are in my hometown,” she responded, suddenly popping into his line of vision. “Rathods—Rajasthan… Get it?” Her lips twisted into a smile.

“Doctor Sahib! This won’t do at all! You look like a desiccated
vadi!”
She clucked in disapproval. “This place comes with a few but very basic rules.” She thrust a bottle of water at him. “Hydrate
and
cover your cranium.” Her tone rang with dry ridicule.

But before he could rally around and deliver a sound whack on her behind, she had disappeared leaving only the resonance of cheeky laughter in her wake. He felt like a henpecked husband already.
I can’t tolerate this!

“Get back here, right now! I command you!” he shouted.

But she didn’t obey. His words were inaudible, lost in the parched realms of his throat.
Damn!

Then all of a sudden, he became aware of a strange sensation. He was being watched. The locals were eyeing him with curiosity and of what could only be interpreted as amused sympathy—another
desi
kid straying off the beaten path in search of eternal
moksha
, instead discovering (too late) that he had seriously miscalculated his bearings.

I have to pull myself up and get my act together or I’m surely done for,
Rihaan thought ruefully.

He emptied the bottle in one big gulp, feeling a sliver of revival rush through his core. Armed with a renewed sense of purpose, he embarked on the dusty road, steering toward a profusion of tiny shops, and stepped into what appeared to be the main bazaar. The partial shade provided by the gaily decorated awnings supplied instant succor. His eyes, so far narrowed down to tiny slits, snapped ajar. What he saw were narrow alleys of packed mud, crammed with vendors on either side, branching out in diverse directions—a situation he found most confounding. And as if that wasn’t enough, he also had to endure a relentless wave of humans, seemingly bent on uprooting and evicting him from their midst. But tenacity was a trait he had been born with. He remained dogged in his quest. Fortunately it didn’t last long—
pagris
were quite a popular commodity.

Toning down his accent the best he could, he haggled with a stone-faced stall owner and arrived at what he presumed to be a bargain—a bright orange and green turban for a mere 2500 rupees!

“1500! They cheat you mister!” a voice said beside him.

“Huh?”

He watched bemused as his unsolicited champion plunged into a heated exchange with the merchant. It ended just as abruptly, with him being presented with his purchase, at a paltry Rs.250 savings and much worse for wear. Gingerly Rihaan placed it on his head and assessed his reflection in a foggy mirror.

“Ahh! You look just like a Rajput prince!
Shandaar!
All you need is a mustache!”

Despite himself, Rihaan found it hard to suppress a smile. He turned to his rescuer and proffered a couple of 100 rupee notes. They were pocketed promptly.

“You need help? I speak English very good! You American? Me Rafiq.” An eager hand was extended.

Though barely reaching above Rihaan’s midriff, Rafiq was a grown man, somewhere in his mid-thirties. Dressed in clean yet threadbare clothing with worn out leather sandals on his feet, topped by a pair of cheap shades, he looked like what he was—a seasoned veteran of the hapless tourist trade.

“Me Rihaan, and yes, I’m from America.” Rihaan solemnly shook the man’s weathered hand. “And no, I don’t need help.”

But the hint was forsaken. The little man redoubled his pitch while trying to keep pace with the much taller Rihaan who took off down a thin lane in search of Naina.

“You need guide? Me very good guide. I show you lake, bird sanctuary, Rathod palace. Just $100.00. I have car, very nice and AC.” He pointed to a beat up Ford that could have put many junkyard rejects to shame.

Rihaan regarded him warily. The fellow had probably a very good view of his bulging wallet—Naina’s warning still lurked fresh in his mind. He patted his rear to assure himself of its presence and observed Rafiq’s eyes following the movement. “No, thanks! I’m not a tourist.” He muttered it dismissively while frantically scouring the vicinity for a particular bright green and blue sari. It was a tough task—the whole place was a virtual impressionist palette.

“There you are! Here’s my
biwi.
My wife!” With a broad grin of discovery, he pulled the baffled Naina (whom he’d found at a stall struggling with some ridiculously tiny green bangles) firmly around by the shoulders and positioned her in front of Rafiq who, after surveying them both skeptically for several moments, reluctantly slinked away.

Sighing with relief, Rihaan turned to her. “Why did you disappear and leave me to fend for myself? In any case, why do you need these bangles?”

It took her but a few seconds to recover and disengage herself from his grip. Kohl-lined eyes with mile long lashes fluttered, quickly taking in his headgear. They appeared to approve which infused him with a sense of immense content for no apparent reason. “I can’t go home without bangles on my arms. I wouldn’t be considered married,” she explained.

“Is sahib your
marad?”
Interjected the shopkeeper, claiming Rihaan’s attention for the first time. The shopkeeper happened to be a pint-sized old woman with a lined, leathery face, bright beady eyes and a toothless smile.

“Yes, I am her
marad.
We just got married,” he affirmed, nudging Naina who reluctantly dipped her head.

“Then he must make you wear these bangles, the smaller the better, so you’ll have a wonderful honeymoon!” the crone cackled, her shriveled frame convulsing with delight.

“Might as well comply. I happen to be very superstitious in some ways,” he muttered softly, proceeding to manipulate the baubles of colored plastic around Naina’s dainty hand with distinct glee. Her features screwed up in distress but she didn’t utter a whimper.

What the heck’s gotten into me?
He checked himself, tossing aside what he had and replaced them with a larger size. Then after arraying his new bride’s arm with an abundance of color, he paid for the purchase, failing to notice the gleam of regard in her eyes. “Give us your blessings, they are worth a lot more than fake superstitions.” He told the old woman who was clearly taken aback by his generous tip.

Then turning to Naina, he asked, “What now wife?”

She colored, appearing markedly disconcerted and made toward the auto-rickshaw stand.

He yanked her back. “No, that’s not what I had in mind.”

A few minutes later they were on their way.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Naina looked at Rihaan, concerned.

“I’m perfectly fine. Couldn’t have asked for anything better.” He let out a contented sigh, allowing his head to sink back into a pillow of fresh straw, and his worn out body to stretch along the length of the traditional
tanga.
With eyes closed, he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with a mixture of the sweet hay and horse dung. The jerking rhythm, the clip clop of horse’s hooves, punctuated by the shrill cries of the
tangawallah
as they made their way through the busy thoroughfare was strangely comforting.

***

“This is bliss, pure bliss,” he said.

Naina smiled, shaking her head as she turned her attention to the outside. The streets of her hometown were still the same—little had changed in this relatively remote outreach of the Hindi heartland. True, technology hadn’t spared anybody; even the lowly
chaiwallah
and the maid conducted their business on cell phones. Television had brought the world to every doorstep and the light bulb had swapped places with the customary lantern. Yet the attitudes of the populace remained constant; they continued to exist in perpetual darkness.

Her morose contemplation was abruptly interrupted when a young boy caught her eye. He stood in the middle of the street, waving to her vigorously while pointing upward, sporting a carefree grin on his nut brown face.

She followed the directive without much interest and found herself catching her breath. The cloudless blue sky had metamorphosed into a canvass of dazzling art. Myriad kites in all colors of the rainbow frolicked high above, tethered to invisible hands. They played an innocent game, vying for prominence in a battle of superiority and skill.

Craning her head, she watched a bright red and yellow kite climb higher and higher; it’s progress seemingly unstoppable, when suddenly a roar erupted from the crowd—the kite had been snagged. She saw it drop like a wounded bird in mid-flight and gasped.

“What’s up?” Rihaan asked. “Anything wrong?”

Naina started and glanced over her shoulder, not realizing that all along she’d been subject to his surreptitious perusal.

“No, it’s nothing,” she said, her voice short.

“Fine,” Rihaan retorted. “You’re welcome to your miseries. But please help me out of mine. I’m dying to meet my in-laws!”

The flash of anger in her eyes deepened his grin which infuriated her even more, but she chose to look away so he wouldn’t see her expression.

“Hold on!” Their driver let out a shrill warning just as he took a sharp turn and began climbing a steep incline.

Rihaan reached over and made a grab for Naina’s waist. She didn’t struggle as she was too preoccupied with her own thoughts. Holding her close, he stared at her face while the rickety cart lumbered up the hillside.

The scenery was rustic and the situation tranquil, yet it couldn’t belie the upheaval in both their hearts.

Relationships

R
ihaan couldn’t pass up an opportunity to tease Naina. He chided her, “You made a big mistake by not getting your family’s blessings for our marriage. At the least they had a right to know.”

“They wouldn’t have agreed,” she said, brusquely pulling away from his grasp.

“Then why tell them now and invoke their anger?”

“It has to be done. Or… I’ll never be free.”

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“You wouldn’t.”

His inclination to probe further was hampered; their journey had come to an abrupt end. The carriage had drawn to a halt just outside a tall arched entryway that led into a wide open courtyard overlaid with cobblestones and surrounded on all sides by low brick and stucco walls. But what struck him dumb was a stunning ancient edifice that towered five stories high; a structure of rare and exquisite craftsmanship who’s red and pink limestone walls mirrored the brilliant colors of the sunset. He’d never seen the likes of it—except perhaps on the internet.

“The Rathod palace; my ancestral home,” Naina explained simply, coming to stand beside him. “The only one that remains standing; a gift from a local Nawab in the 18th century. We come from a long line of well-known
zamindars
but there’s apparently some royal blood running somewhere.”

He dropped suddenly to his knees exclaiming, “I plead to you, princess! Punish me however you will for I’ve sinned, but please spare my head.”

She stepped back and bellowed with wild laughter. Her face flushed a deep red and tears trickled down her cheeks. “Very funny. But I’m not a princess. Even if I was, I’d be a very unlucky one.”

Thus, plunging him into a deeper mystery. She stalked on ahead and up a long, wide flight of flagstone stairs to the main entrance. On the way, they passed a small group of tourists who watched them go by with envy.
Curiouser!

And as soon as the smartly turned out
Durban
laid eyes on Naina, he bowed low and threw open the heavy double doors.

Rihaan was impressed. “You must be bloody rich and
you
worry about paying rent!”

“My family’s pride weighs heavily on my brother’s shoulders,” she said softly, eyeing the coat of arms above the entryway that displayed the rising sun. “Everything is mortgaged to the hilt.”

“I don’t believe it.” He tilted his head up, taking in the magnificent domed foyer of the grand old
haveli.

“The government takes care of most of the upkeep,” she said glancing at him. “You saw the tourists outside. They also pay Shamsher Singh’s salary. The family has been relegated to the old
zanana
quarters, including the men.” She simpered. “My mother would’ve been tickled pink.”

She moved on, not giving him any time to absorb the grandeur as he had to scramble to keep her in sight. He tracked her up a claustrophobic spiral staircase, then through a confusing network of corridors framed with decorative arches and lined with colorful miniature paintings as well as fine latticework
jharokhas
affording an unparalleled view of raspberry skies that one could enjoy from almost utter seclusion.

Though nothing seemed amiss on the surface, on closer inspection he could make out cracks in the plaster and peeling paint. “Then why continue to live here?” he asked, looking over her shoulder as she peered through a beehive window pane. A puff of breeze brought her veil skimming across his face, instantly transporting him to a tropical paradise replete with exotic fragrances and unlimited possibilities. He curbed his desires.

“My brother believes he’s going to restore the Rathod name to its former glory and that I’m going to help him do it,” she said, craning to look up at him.

Her complexion was awash with a patina of gold and unknown treasures lurked in the depths of her black irises. He had to focus to answer her. “Uh…how?”

Rose lips curved into a bleak smile, “You shall soon see.”

***

Meanwhile at the local temple, Balraj Singh Rathod waited impatiently for the pundit to end his litany of complaints and petitions so he could take his leave. It was getting late and he was eager to get home. He, along with his wife, had just concluded the annual rite of distributing food and alms to the poor and needy; an event that over the years had lost its significance, and that seemed true for almost everything he did now. After making a cursory promise to take care of the repairs; one he had no intention of keeping, he beckoned irritably to his long suffering wife, before climbing into the chauffeured car he couldn’t afford.

It’s all a matter of keeping up appearances now, Srimati Rukmini Devi thought wistfully, studying her husband’s proud profile as he gazed out of the window. His hawk-like features were unrevealing, but she knew he was much aggrieved; embroiled in deep financial and personal conflicts, most of his own making. She had seen it all coming. But her sincere attempts at caution had been thwarted with such harsh derision that she’d stopped trying.

There had been a time, long ago, when this same man had promised her the sun and the stars. But then calamity struck; many said brought on by the
Devi Ma
herself.

Beginning with the death of her mother-in-law and perpetuated by misfortune and greed, it pitched brother against brother, dispersing the family like leaves from a dying tree. Thereafter her husband, afflicted by the curse of gambling, managed to squander away most of their fortunes.

But two years ago when Balraj persuaded her young sister-in-law (who she loved like the daughter she never had) to come back home, Rukmini believed he had turned over a new leaf. But it was not to be. She had misread his intentions. And though she dearly wished to see Naina again, she prayed fervently she wouldn’t return.

***

Rihaan saw Naina hesitate briefly in front of a heavy teak door before she pushed it open and ushered him inside. All at once he was besieged by an amazing solace as one does upon stepping into a temple. The reason was directly apparent.

In the center of the room, on a raised pedestal, amidst a cloud of incense smoke, stood the portrait of a woman of exceptional beauty and grace who bore striking resemblance to the girl who accompanied him. Mind racing with curiosity, he knelt on a floor cushion behind her, but chose to save his inquiries for later. He wanted her to have this private moment with her mother.

But the moment proved to be brief as the door snapped open once again and footsteps hurried in.

“Naina! You are back!” a woman called.

“Bhabhi!”
Naina was on her feet in an instant, fondly embracing a pleasant-faced woman who seemed obviously pleased to see her.

“I can’t believe you are here, especially after what happened last time,” the lady said tenderly stroking Naina’s cheek.

“And who is this?” she asked, turning to bestow a benevolent smile upon Rihaan.

“Yes, do enlighten us, dear sister. I’m curious, too,” a commanding voice boomed from behind where they stood. “And pray, why are you dressed like a bride on our mother’s death anniversary?”

A startled Rihaan swung around. His gaze alighted on a tall man of imperious carriage, clothed in pristine white, who had just stepped into the room.

Ignoring Rihaan, the man took his seat on a low divan and focused on his sister.

“The occasion called for it. Mother would have approved.” Naina looked at Rihaan who smiled encouragingly at her.

“What occasion?” the man said. “Oh… I know!” His sober face lit up. “You, my beautiful little sister, has changed her mind. You have come back to honor your engagement and get married to my dear friend, Thakur Shekhawat’s son.”

“No, I haven’t changed my mind.” Her voice shook, but she continued bravely. “The engagement was nothing but a cruel deception so you could use me as a tool to remedy your errors and get back the property you squandered away. But I won’t suffer for your sins. You can’t intimidate me anymore. I’m married now and this is my husband, the love of my life.” She came up to stand next to Rihaan who obliged by placing a secure arm about her shoulders.

This brought the man springing to his feet. Anger distorted his fine features as he fixed Rihaan with a glare sharp enough to slice him into pieces. “Absolutely impossible! You cannot marry outside our clan. He’s not a Rajput. Look at him. He’s not even a man!”

Rihaan fingered his clean shaven face. “Yes, that’s true. I don’t have a moustache, but I’m seriously considering growing one.” He laughed. But no one appeared ready to share his amusement. He read the silent appeal in Naina’s eyes.

He cleared his throat. “I’m not a Rajput nor could I ever pretend to be one. Naina and I met by chance when I was in New Delhi for a conference a few months ago.” He looked down at her. “Something clicked. I went back home to New York, but couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her eyes wouldn’t let me sleep; they haunted me constantly.” He was surprised at how easy it was to lie. “I proposed and fortune favored me. I came back and we got married.”

They were all staring at him as though he’d lost his mind, including Naina. Maybe he had because he didn’t sound like himself at all; more like a love-struck imbecile!

“I don’t believe it,” her brother said. “You’re lying. She hired you. Go on, accept it!” He sneered.

There was no way Rihaan could let Naina down. All of a sudden he had a brainwave. He dug his phone out from his pocket. “You want proof? Here it is.” Thank God for his snoopy mom who had shared the entire wedding on the internet.

A gamut of emotions flitted across Balraj Singh’s face, ranging from stark disbelief to disgust, and then profound vexation as the video played out. But it wasn’t enough.

“Naina, you can’t do this to me, your own brother. Besides, I’ve given my word. We Rajputs never go back on what we say. You should know that!”

But she stood tall beside Rihaan. She was a Rajput, too. “Not at the price of my happiness. No, brother. And if you really do love me you’ll forget your pride and let bygones be bygones.”

“That’ll never happen as long as I live!” he thundered and pointed to the door. “Leave before I do something I won’t regret. Now!”

“As you wish.” She took Rihaan’s hand and together they left the room.

***

The shadows had begun to traverse up the far walls of the courtyard. The temperature had plummeted, setting the stage for a very pleasant evening. Rihaan sat on the low stone seat that circled a gigantic tree which he had been informed was a Jacaranda.

“It’s fed by an underground spring that also supplies our well,” Naina said.

He watched as she took a slow turn, pausing at frequent intervals as if to commit things to memory.

“It’s odd, I’ve never missed this place as much as I’m going to now,” she murmured staring up at the tree’s dark canopy. “My mother used to thread the purple flowers into a tiara for me every spring.” She sighed. Then seemed to snap out of it. “Let’s go. If we hurry we should be able to catch the last bus for Delhi.”

“Go? You must be kidding.” With a short laugh, he leaned back crossing his arms behind his head. “I’m not going anywhere right now. Actually, I’ve begun to fall in love with this place and its people.”

He snuck a sly glance at her. “Besides, I’m hungry enough to eat a camel!”

Aghast, Naina exclaimed, “Have you lost your mind? Didn’t you hear what my brother said?”

He responded with a shrug of nonchalance. “He wouldn’t hurt his own brother-in-law.”

“Balraj Singh Rathod is not in the habit of doling out empty threats. At this very moment he’s probably scheming to intercept us, abduct me and finish you off!”

“But what about the law?” Rihaan asked.

“He’s a law unto himself.” She grabbed his arm. “C’mon, hurry up. I don’t want your death on my conscience.”

Rihaan didn’t want to believe her, but she looked damn serious. He stood up and tagged behind her as she skipped the main gate and ran toward the back.

“STOP!”

Turning as one, they saw someone hurrying towards them. The person’s identity was masked by deep shadow.

“Keep moving!” his wife urged frantically at his side.

But before he could follow her down the narrow staircase, the voice rang out again, now a lot closer.

“Please stop, I beg you!” the woman called.

It was Naina’s sister-in-law. The woman paused for breath. “I…can’t let you…go like this and… I barely got to meet
damaadji.”

Naina smiled apologetically. “Sorry,
bhabhi.
You probably understand why. Rihaan, meet my eldest sister-in-law, Mrs. Rukmini Devi. And
bhabhi,
this is Dr. Rihaan Mehta, my husband.”

Rihaan bowed gallantly.

Rukmini blushed. “I regret I couldn’t welcome you properly.”

He shrugged. “It happens. Family politics. I’ve seen plenty of it in mine. One of the reasons I’m here today.”

Casting a doubtful smile at him, she grasped Naina’s hands and threaded an ivory bangle on both her arms. “Your mother’s gift to me; now they are yours.”

“Oh
bhabhi,
I’ll miss you so much!” Naina embraced her warmly. “Are you upset with me?”