The Accidental Wife (8 page)

“Whatever she does, you have no business getting any ideas about her. She’s my wife and I want to make sure you get that fact crystal clear!”

His friend grinned. “We shall see about that. No woman is immune to Rudy’s charms.”

“Rudy!”
Rihaan blistered, his hands bunching into fists, ready to shatter his friend’s impertinent jaw. But his honorable intentions were laid asunder by a small group of females who suddenly manifested in front of him.

His giggling sister pushed Naina to the fore. She was holding a small bowl with something in it. “Here!” Rima said. “Since you chose her, you get to be the guinea pig.”

***

Naina’s hands trembled as she held up a spoonful of
kheer
.
Please say it’s okay. Please!
Her dark eyes implored silently.

Rihaan’s face twisted into an expression of disgust. “You better taste your handiwork, too!” He reproved before placing a loaded spoon into her mouth.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “But it’s fine!”

“Did I say it wasn’t?” He grinned, teasing her.

“Wow!
Kya baat hai!
Dulhe miyan bahut ishmart ho gaye hain! (It’s awesome! The bridegroom has become very sly!)
Look how he makes our
bahu
blush!” Rashmi
chachi
laughed, as Naina’s gaze sought the ground.

Shobha pulled her into a bear hug.
“Bahu
, I was just playing with you. I knew you were perfect for my Rihaan as soon as I laid eyes upon you. But what can I do,
aadat se majboor hoon!”
(I’m a creature of habit!)
Then looking at her bewildered son, Shobha said, “Now what are you waiting for, won’t you touch my feet?”

The rest of the evening went by in a rush—meeting and greeting relatives, receiving gifts and seeking innumerable blessings with Naina bearing the brunt of it all.

It was close to midnight when the last of the guests had finally taken their leave. Naina was ready to collapse under her own weight.

***

Rihaan relented. “My wife needs to sleep.” He announced to no one in particular. Poor girl, she has come to help me after all.

There was an outburst of laughter. Everyone seemed to find them terribly amusing as a couple.

Naina glanced at him clearly confused, then her cheeks caught on fire. No one complained when they excused themselves and hurried upstairs.

***

“OMG… What a family you have!” Naina exclaimed as soon as he shut the door behind them and she began peeling off her sari.

He stared rapt.

“Turn around! This isn’t a striptease,” she said pushing him against the wall. “And no peeking!” she warned when she saw him glancing at the mirror.

He grinned, reluctantly obeying her instruction. “Yes, they are a bit crazy and overwhelming. My mother is the worst. Your pic must be all over the net by now.”

“So you never shared Deepika’s photograph with her?”

“No, I wanted to keep it a surprise.”
Thank Heavens I did.

“Here…take your
amanat,”
she said, handing him the jewelry she had discarded.

“Don’t you want to keep any of these?” he asked separating the dainty anklets. Their tiny bells made a pleasant tinkling sound.

“Why? Do you think I’m doing this for some kind of payment?”

“No, I just felt…” He was chagrined.

“Keep your feelings to yourself. I don’t want anything that wasn’t meant for me. Maybe you’ll find use for it in the future, when you consider having a relationship with someone other than your work.” She headed over to the balcony.

“You are leaving?”

She looked back. “I’d better, I think. Before it is too late.” Her eyes filled with a deep melancholy. But it seemed like a momentary illusion when she smiled brightly. “Besides I have a job and students who depend on me. I can’t afford to go on a vacation.”

He didn’t hear a word she said. Her face absorbing all his attention. She looked like a dream. Perhaps that was exactly what she was—an impossible dream.

He followed her to the railing, automatically repeating the act of the night before. It was becoming a routine. “But what will I say when they ask me about your whereabouts in the morning?”

Rudy was right. A girl like Naina was not for the likes of him. But somehow the notion seemed to rile him.

***

She peered up at him. He was holding on tight to her arms and did not seem to want to let her go. A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed before replying, “Think of something. You’re brainy enough, aren’t you?”

He didn’t respond to her question. “Please, Rihaan, let me go…”

His grip grew tighter as she began to struggle to free herself. He then let go, making sure she was safely on the ground, before briskly turning away and disappearing inside his room.

“Rihaan, please understand,” Naina called after him, her eyes filling up with involuntary moisture. But when he didn’t respond, she steeled herself, and headed out onto the street where her scooter was parked.
It’s better this way. We were never meant to be.

At the gates, she looked back and waved to the empty balcony. “Good bye for the last time.”

Not Just A Pretty Face

I
t was a miserable Naina who rode away into the darkness. Fortunate were those who had chosen to quit the streets and go home for this girl was on a rampage; she was fighting a losing battle with herself.

“Yes, I know. I’m being a regular bitch!” She iterated aloud as her scooter swerved dangerously toward the edge of the street. She recovered in the nick of time. Had she not, a few hundred famished sewer rats would have had the pleasure of a surprise feast.

“I’m a callous, insensitive, unyielding, merciless, pig-headed, vile bitch! A black spot on mankind!” she blistered. “Why didn’t my heart melt at the sight of his dejected face? Why didn’t I shed tears? Maybe that’s going a little too far…but still!”

She breezed through a red light. “But there wasn’t any other way. It had to be done. The thread of connection that had begun to take shape had to be snapped, however harsh it may seem.”

But least was I prepared for the effect it would have on me,
she mused, driving straight into a deep muddy puddle, effectively bringing the vehicle to a spluttering halt.

“Where the
hell
am I?” She muttered to herself, looking around apprehensively as an eerie silence enveloped her.

The street was deserted… Well, not really—if she took into account the numerous nondescript mounds of flesh splattering the sidewalk; those of innumerable homeless humans and their beasts who took their chances against the elements every day.

One of them stirred, appearing to find her of some interest, hence propelling her into instantaneous action.
Miserable wretches!
she thought.

The engine finally coughed, then engaged with a steady purr. She pushed ahead. Soon her desperate eyes lit on a familiar landmark—
Nirula’s.
Home wasn’t far.

She fell to brooding again, her mind still a quagmire of activity. The turn of events had left her completely rattled. She hadn’t presumed Rihaan (being the MCP he was) would come pleading to her door, especially after becoming victim of such a humiliating farce. Nor had she expected him to be so beguilingly na
ï
ve in worldly matters. Deepika was simply the pits as far as she was concerned.

Yet Naina had chosen not to stay with him. The only reason for her appearance today was to buy him some time. A relationship like theirs was bound to fail. It was Deepika he had proposed to wed, not her. She had just been a stand-in, as he’d said. A role that could have been played equally well by any other girl. There was nothing special or unique about her.

A fresh wave of moisture adrift down her cheeks was disposed of with a swift rub from the back of her hand.
He’ll be fine. He has a loving family and they’ll find him a bride who suits him perfectly.

With that notion, Naina made her way back to her lonesome abode.

But to dispatch Rihaan from her mind wasn’t an easy task.

Pausing outside her apartment, she stared at the spot where she’d discovered him earlier that day trying to put on an act of nonchalance, and she couldn’t prevent a smile. He’d reminded her of a puppy who had lost his master—hazel eyes forlorn yet full of hope.

“Stop perseverating, Naina!” she chided herself. “Rihaan isn’t a puppy, nor are you his savior! He’s a grown man highly capable of taking care of himself!”

But am I?

Refusing to pursue the thought, she threw open the door.

It was pitch black inside, but Naina didn’t turn on the lights. Instead she chose to find her way about in the dark—an exercise she often indulged in when returning home late. An attempt to hone her instincts, to sharpen her brain…a vital skill for any woman, especially one who’d chosen to spend her life alone.
Alone! What a depressing thought!

She walked into the bedroom and turned on the bedside lamp. Her head drooping like a wilted flower, she sunk down on the hand woven
dhurrie
on the side of the bed; a rare impetuous fling with luxury, but the bright splash of color failed to lift her spirits. The solitude of the apartment which in the past had afforded welcome solace from the hue and cry of her daily routine, now seemed to aggravate her sense of isolation and despair. What did the future hold? Would she ever find someone she’d want to share her life with every day? Or would she perish alone? Would she ever find love and have a family of her own? None of the omens appeared to portend such a likelihood.

This is terrible! I’m being made to pay dearly for my one impulsive error for which I’ve no one to blame but myself. And I’m calling the poor guy na
ï
ve?
She rolled over in bed, in a desperate attempt to get comfortable…

This won’t do! I need to get a grip, find my focus, get back to my life where there’s no place for men or family! I’m a single woman and thus will I remain.
“Yes!” she concluded, closing her eyes with a determined nod.

But sleep receded too far away from reach.

Family isn’t really a bad idea, particularly one like Rihaan’s, she mused. Even his mother, who resembles a consummate bully at the outset, seemed to harbor a softer side.
It’ll be fun to parry wits with her for sure
. Naina smiled.

And then…, the very image she had been struggling so hard to fend away; that of the teasing gleam in Rihaan’s eyes that made her heart skip a beat before leaping ahead into a mad dash. What did they mean to communicate? A mutually shared daring secret?

“No! Stop it, Naina! You can’t go on like this! You just can’t!”
She sat up with a wretched cry, her body drenched in sticky sweat. Despite it being a muggy night, she had cocooned herself in oppressive folds of the cotton sheet—a flimsy defense against the hordes of voracious airborne parasites that migrated inside, who regardless of her dedicated and indefatigable application of much touted repellents she routinely squandered half her paltry income on, seemed to find her flesh particularly irresistible.

“Now who am I trying to fool?” she laughed wryly before getting out of bed and padding to the bathroom where she doused her face with cold water.

Oftentimes, the restless psyche is driven to find comfort in a favorite distraction and so was Naina’s. But the consolation was tepid at best. She soon found that out while slowly flicking through the slides of the most recent photo essay she had done on the street children of Delhi, which she had submitted to
Landscape
a few weeks ago. She had yet to hear from them. It was the most ambitious and difficult venture she’d undertaken, and dangerous, too. Investigative journalism for a lone woman is not child’s play, especially when she’s trying to ferret out the merciless exploiters of innocence who operate in underground networks as convoluted and ruthless as any drug cartel. Fortunately she had the sense to reign in her enthusiasm in time or would have paid a dear price for her curiosity.

“It’d have been a different matter altogether if I was working with some kind of back up; I’d have dragged each and every one of those sniveling bastards to court and put them behind bars forever.
No!
Cowards like them don’t deserve the dignity of a trial, they should be lynched in public, each one of them!” She said so with vehemence enough to upset her still full cup of cocoa all over the laptop keyboard.

With a horrified scream, she scrambled to salvage the precious device, when her eyes fell on the date on the desktop calendar.

A chilling dread settled into her bones. It was that time of year again.

She’d been trying to ignore it like she did every year, hoping if she did so long enough, it’d just recede and drop out of sight. But no, it always came back—all the pain and hurt she had worked so hard to erase—back in stark Technicolor and with uncanny precision.

Her gaze shifted to her reflection in the large poster frame that hung over her bed and she cursed the day she was born.

***

It was monsoon in the desert—a time to rejoice and celebrate. The local populace had been parched of good tidings however transient they may be. It was that time of the year when evanescent showers brought temporary relief from the hundred plus degrees of scorching heat. A time when Lord Shiva danced the
tandav
in the heavens and peacocks strutted proud and arrogant on the ground.

It was a time of hope—when the desiccated wells glistened with more than a hint of moisture, so the perennially suffering women of the villages could cut a mile or two off their daily treks for water.

And…
It was also a time to rejoice twice over, because almost twenty-three years ago to this day, the Rathod household had welcomed their first and only girl child.

But the celebrations didn’t last long.

Naina almost believed in the stories she concocted. They did vary from time to time, albeit slightly. Her most favored was the one she had narrated today—that she was an orphan and didn’t really have much in the form of family. For her, the term felt alien. From what she had seen, family meant unconditional love, trust and support. No member would ever be considered an obligation nor would he or she ever be subject to intentional harm or used as a pawn on a chessboard for another’s personal gains.

There was once a time when Naina felt she had a real family, when she had felt loved. That had been long ago when her mother was still alive. She passed when Naina was perhaps five or six, but she didn’t recall the circumstances exactly. However, she did remember her mother—her beautiful, wonderful mother. Her revolutionary, trend-setting, modern woman mother. The one who had rebelled against the tradition of
parda
and refused to restrict herself to the
zanana
quarters. Indeed, after the death of her in-laws, she had taken it upon herself to abolish the practice altogether, even daring to converse freely with the male guests who visited the house. She was the mother whom Naina’s father had fallen hopelessly in love with and who’s only daughter’s birth had been celebrated like royalty.

Though several of the memories were vague, Naina fiercely held on to them. She wove them together with whimsical threads of affection and kept them securely locked away within an area of her brain from where she could retrieve them at will. For they conveyed to her that her birth wasn’t an accident, that somebody had wanted her and loved her; treasured her existence.

But just as the joy of the monsoon rains was fleeting, so were those moments of happiness.

Her mother succumbed to a sudden unknown illness right after she welcomed her eldest daughter-in-law home. And with her death, Naina’s family fell apart. Her grief stricken father, blaming his only daughter for his loss (she being the natural target), banished her from his sight. Then a short while thereafter, having resorted to drown his sorrows in bottles of bourbon, he too perished.

Thus of her family, all that remained were those who considered her an unnecessary accessory, a mistake, and a weakling. Except perhaps her beloved brother, Yuvraj, (second out of a total of four) who had left home for the city to train to be a teacher, and then decided to stay there.

“Because city life agrees better with me,” he told her.

But she had believed it to be otherwise—he wished to shield his young family from his prejudiced and overbearing clan who routinely sneered at his progressive ways. So, it came as no minor surprise when just before her thirteenth birthday, Naina found herself handed over to his care and dispatched to the city as well. Perhaps, her brothers thought it a better option than keeping her in a small town where her adolescent beauty and uncharacteristic streak of defiance made her a dangerous liability to have around.

As a consequence, she received an excellent education unlike the usual lot for most women in her community
and
she also grew independent, thereby essentially banning herself from the traditional marriage market.

Naina had just begun to believe the ties were permanently severed when a couple of years ago she received a summons to attend the anniversary of her mother’s death. “Let us forgive and forget,” she had been told and she had acquiesced gladly—after all, blood is thicker than water, isn’t it?

Sadly it isn’t, particularly if you are a lowly woman born in a misogynist society.

If mother was alive, she would never have allowed this to happen. But she isn’t. I’m all alone.

Naina blinked away her tears. “But alone doesn’t mean helpless, does it?” she said aloud to herself.
Think, Naina, think!

There was only one way out; perhaps a desperate move—but she didn’t see any other way.

***

The following morning, after whiling away as much time as he could in bed, Rihaan joined the rest of the brood at breakfast. It was probably best to face the situation head-on, as dodging it would only land him in a worse pickle than he was in.

He’d barely taken a seat at the table when the interrogation began—his mother had never suffered from jet lag. “Where is my
bahu,
Rihaan?”

“Still sleeping?” His Aunt Rashmi piped in with a knowing wink.