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Every year on Karva Chauth, thousands of married Hindu women across the world fasted all day and, before sunset, prayed to Goddess Parvati for the longevity of their husbands and their marriages. Sheetal didn’t just plan to fast and pray, she intended to beg for a miracle cure.
Most Indian women assumed that by the age of thirty, they would be happily married with children and a bustling household. However, at thirty-one, divorced, and alone, Naina didn’t merit a position in society, which is why she spent Karva Chauth isolated in her room. Sheetal didn’t wish Naina ill, but she didn’t need the shadow of a divorcee’s failed marriage to fall on hers. Logic ordained that she take precautions. So, while heading upstairs to dress for the evening puja, she opened Naina’s bedroom door a crack, saw her asleep on the bed, and headed down the north wing toward her bedroom.
With Naina out the way, she had to make sure Mummyji kept her distance from today’s celebration, because if the shadow of a widow fell on any married woman during such an auspicious occasion, bad luck followed.
As the wealthiest among her group of friends, Mummyji maintained her dignity by hosting the married members of the Royal Society Ladies Group and their daughters-in-law for the annual evening prayers at the Dhanraj mansion. However, during prayer time, she maintained physical distance from the celebrations by waiting behind the dining room’s curtained, sliding patio doors. After the prayers, Mummyji rejoined the group to socialize and bid the women goodbye before they returned home to their husbands. Because Megha celebrated this year’s Karva Chauth at the Dhanraj’s, her husband, Raj, would be dropping in later that evening to celebrate Karva Chauth with the family.
“Were you spying on me?” Naina called down the hall.
Sheetal lengthened her stride, entered her bedroom, and closed the door. She paused a moment to make certain Naina didn’t follow, then pulled a heavy embroidered magenta and silver sari off a hanger, an extravagant sari she’d asked Mama to have custom made for her in accordance with tradition where the woman’s family paid for the clothes and jewels she wore on Karva Chauth. Though Sheetal carefully managed her expenses and bore guilt for the expense Mama and Papa had incurred for this year's attire, the conviction that tonight's puja would change life for the better presented a huge consolation.
Sheetal covered the crescent of her lips with magenta, applied glittery pink blush-on, and slid rungs of matching pink-and-diamond bangles along her wrists. She pressed a mango-shaped bindi, half the size of her index nail, between her eyebrows and frowned at her reflection in the mirror. Too small. She peeled off the glittery sticker and replaced it with another, double the size, with elaborate diamond work outlining the edge. Better. And makeup? She sighed at her dull complexion, applied another coat of lipstick, and darkened the blush-on to give the impression her marriage held strong. She sprayed her bun and bangs.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Bhabhi?” Megha called.
“Yes?”
“I’m ready. Do you want to go down?”
Sheetal opened the door and took a step back. Megha was stunning. She’d dusted her whole-wheat complexion with a shade of natural taupe foundation, applied a neutral eye shadow, and dark red lipstick. Rubies, emeralds, and diamonds glittered along the Jaipur Kundan necklace Sheetal had purchased from Diamond Pearl. Red and green enamel pools embedded in the chunky gold necklace swirled into one another as precious stones dotted their banks. Chandelier earrings dangled above the gold temple border of Megha’s sari.
Because of her pregnancy, Sheetal had tried several times to talk Megha out of fasting. Although Megha had insisted that the ritual validated her happy marriage to Raj, she’d conceded to Sheetal’s wishes with a light lunch of fruits and milk.
Jealousy roiled Sheetal’s heart. She owned one extra Karva Chauth to her credit. How could Megha be happier? Maybe she could share in or rub off some of Megha’s marital bliss. “I need some more time. Why don’t you come in?” She swung the door wide with the hope Megha would enter and flood the sterility of her bedroom with some of her wedded bliss.
“Thanks, but I’ll wait outside.”
Fifteen minutes later, the women made their way down to the Japanese garden. Sheetal couldn’t believe the cobweb of miniature lights that adorned bonsai trees and threaded from one Japanese maple to another. Mummyji had managed to outnumber the leaves with light bulbs. In her apparent quest to outdo last year’s decorations, Mummyji had imported fluorescent, waterproof lights from Japan that now outlined the bottom of the koi pond. When Mali Kaka, the gardener, heard what Mummyji had ordered, he declared the fish would boil before moonrise.
Last year. five servants had decorated the garden. How many had Mummyji involved this year? Eight? Ten? Would Mummyji ever forego these show-and-tell displays that unraveled Sheetal’s attempts to save money?
Multi-colored dhurries had been arranged around an open square where colorful rangoli powders formed intricate henna-like designs. A decorated red, green, and gold chowki, centered in the square, provided an ornate seat for the Goddess Parvati.
Mummyji rushed from the dining room and hurried toward them. “Hai Ishwar!” Her white sari billowed. “So much time you take, I tell you. How will I get any work done at this rate? No value for—”
“No one’s even here yet,” Megha cut in.
“Well, obviously not.” Mummyji frowned. “I just wanted all of us ready ahead of time since we’re hosting the event. Now stay here, I tell you.” She whirled and marched off.
“We always host the event.” Sheetal leaned against a tree.
“Nothing’s changed, huh?” Megha muttered. “She just gets worse every year.”
Speaking ill of any family member, especially the in-laws, would work against her, so Sheetal kept quiet.
“You’ve changed, Bhabhi.”
So much about Megha had changed too.
Megha tapped Sheetal’s shoulder. “Are you ignoring me?”
Sheetal waved a hand toward a table that held gold-brushed and silver plates ladened with numerous religious objects, including mounds of rice, grains, and colorful powders. “Our puja thalis are ready.” A diya—an earthenware crucible—containing a cotton wick and filled with oil graced each thali, as did a small metal karva, an urn of water that held a fresh flower, one coin, one cardamom pod, and one clove. The karva’s mouths were sealed with a red cloth tied at the neck by a yellow-and-red thread. Each thali also held the folded sari each married woman would offer her mother-in-law at the conclusion of the prayers. Tiny gold bells spaced at five-millimeter intervals dangled from the edge of Sheetal’s thali, whereas Megha’s thali bore silver bells.
Fifteen minutes later, twenty-two women dressed in glamorous pink, orange, and maroon saris entered the garden carrying their thalis. Their pallus swayed to their sashaying gait, and red sindoor powder marked the part in each woman’s hair. As the women added their thalis to the table, rungs of glittering bangles tinkled up and down their wrists. Intricate mehndi designs that incorporated leaves, tendrils, and petals adorned their hands.
Sheetal sighed. She’d forgotten to call the henna girl to decorate hers and Megha’s hands. She’d been distracted by Mama’s chemo, her commissioned paintings, and planning for Megha’s baby. Well, she’d have to do a better job next year and remember ahead of time.
Some of the married women her age, plump and out of shape, tried to hide the width of their bodies with sari pleats fanned across their chests. Sheetal’s regime of cardio-fitness, Pilates, and a healthy diet controlled her weight, although she still hid dollops of post pregnancy flab and stretch marks behind her petticoat.
“You know, little Sasha took her first step yesterday,” a shrill voice broke through the surrounding chatter.
“Why, how lovely!” Prerna squealed. “You guys should come over for dinner sometime so we can meet up.”
“Oh, and you won’t believe this,” someone said, “but ever since that awful stock market crash, Dinesh refuses to go anywhere. He comes home from work, eats, sleeps, and acts as if sticking to a routine will reclaim the loss. You think that’ll really do the trick, Sheetal?”
Rakesh had been living in debt for eight years but showed no desire to mend his habits. Sheetal smiled. Anything she said held the potential to make tomorrow’s headlines. She wove between groups scattered about the garden, her heart heavy with regret. She should have invited Kavita. At least, she would have had a friend, even though Kavita had betrayed her, too. A hand caught her shoulder and pulled her aside.
“Surely, you’ll understand my dilemma.” Vinita pouted. “I just don’t know how to keep Ronit away from video games. He’s going to fall behind in class. You have an eight year old, too. How do you handle the technology craze?”
A knot fisted her heart. “Yash is usually on holidays when he’s here, and Stonewall has strict rules against video games.”
“Oh yes, I forgot.” Vinita waved a hand in the air. “He’s at boarding school. Must be so lonely without him, no?”
Sheetal swallowed.
“Will you see him soon?”
“I’m going to Mansali next week to bring him home for Diwali.”
“Alone?” Vinita raised her eyebrows and four other women turned to look.
“Rakesh doesn’t have time.”
“Well, have him make time,” another woman remarked. “You certainly can’t travel alone.”
“One of the servants will accompany me.”
“Tch, tch, tch.” Vinita shook her head. “You’re asking for trouble travelling to Mansali without a man. The number of thefts I hear about, and so much instability in Dholakpur. Anything can happen.” She leaned close and whispered, “So much violence. So many cases of rape.”
Sheetal turned away. Her attention drifted to the clearing at the far back where her sari had caught on fire.
“Now then, I tell you.” Mummyji pulled Sheetal away from the group and turned to Prerna. “Your mother-in-law’s not here?”
“She’s at home sick with a cold,” Prerna said.
“Why, that’s terrible, I tell you.” Mummyji shook her head. “She’s the only other person who knows the prayer by heart. How on earth are you all going to do the puja?”
“Who else knows the prayer and stories?” Vinita asked.
“Why, me, of course.” Mummyji smiled.
A debate ensued and the women agreed that Mummyji should recite the prayers as long as she stood well out of sight behind the curtained patio door. Mummyji agreed and headed toward the dining room as Janvi brought out an idol of Goddess Parvati and positioned her on the chowki.
The women collected their puja thalis, lit the diyas, and formed a circle around the goddess. As one, they settled into lotus positions, and Mummyji began narrating the centuries-old story of Karva Chauth. The women passed their thalis, sparkling with lit diyas, to the right while Mummyji described how seven brothers tricked their queen-sister, Veeravati, into praying and breaking her fast by creating an illusionary moon on Karva Chauth. As a result, Veeravati’s husband, the king, died. In an attempt to appease the goddess and win back her husband, the young widow fasted and prayed to the moon every month on Chauth, the fourth day after the full moon. Pleased with the queen’s devotion, Goddess Parvati revived the dead king.
Story after story unfolded over the next forty-five minutes, revealing the significance of Karva Chauth and Lord Ganesh, the remover of obstacles. Hope and warmth flickered with the sway of the thalis passed from woman to woman. Sheetal took care to rotate the burning diyas away lest the flame come too close, then held her breath, closed her eyes for two seconds, and prayed that the blessings of the thali in her hand enter her marriage before she passed it right. She delayed the queue, but desperation drove her to persist.
After a day of swallowing saliva to keep her throat moist, she yearned for water. A promise of my husband’s food and protection. She passed a thali right. A promise my husband will be faithful. She shuddered and took another breath, but the stagnant lake of her marriage throttled her. Let the light of this person’s happiness shine into my life. She gulped and passed a thali right.
One wish. Surely, she was allowed one last desperate wish. On the seventh full rotation, she closed her eyes and tightened her grip on the thali in her hands. Let all the love from this woman’s marriage pour into my life. Give me her happiness. I want her marital bliss. Once. Just once. I want it all. A chilly breeze brushed the hairs on her arms. She raised the thali to her forehead as a sign of respect, lowered it, and opened her eyes. Silver bells skirted the perimeter. Megha’s thali!
Dread filled her heart. No. This was wrong. All wrong! She quickly passed the thali and took her own in her left hand as the sun dipped behind the trees and raked in the last of the day’s light. She had to take back the wish before the sun disappeared. The sky turned a shade of gray. Too late.
“Let the offerings of this Karva bring long life to my husband,” Mummyji’s voice wafted with the cold breeze, “and may my bhagya, my joyful state of married bliss, be everlasting.”
Sheetal raised her gold thali to her forehead as the others did. The plate’s edge touched the sindoor in her part and she gulped.
“May my death precede that of my husband,” Mummyji continued, “so that I can enter the chitta, the funeral pyre, as a bride.”
In the nightmare before her wedding, she had dressed in bridal attire, perambulated the sacred fire behind her husband, and just before completing the seventh phera, stepped into the fire and burned alive.
A hot wetness rolled down her cheek. The thali tilted left. Its contents slid. Her back grew hot. Very hot. Sheetal looked over her shoulder. Her thali hit the ground.
"Arrey dekho!” a woman screamed.
Sheetal jumped to her feet.
The women shouted for water and help.
“Bachao!”
“Her pallu. Hai Ishwar!” Mummyji screamed. “Her sari pallu is on fire!”
A storm of dhurries beat down on her. Her lungs clouded with dust and she fell to the ground. Everything in sight spun, from gray skies to sparkling lights to a tessellation of dhurries and the hoops of sari hems.
“She’s in shock,” someone declared. “Her pallu accidentally touched the diya.”
“Oh! What bad luck!” Mummyji exclaimed.
Mummyji’s bad luck.
The odor of burned fabric roasted the air.
“No damage to her, thank God,” a deep female voice rose in sympathy. “But how unfortunate this should happen on such an auspicious day.”
“Oh my!” Vinita gasped. “Bad luck. Truly bad luck.”
Sheetal’s head spun. The pallus of the women’s saris filled her sight. All Mummyji’s fault for conducting the prayers and casting her widow’s shadow.
“Choti Memsahib.” Janvi unraveled her from the cocoon of dhurries and patted her midriff with cold, wet towels. “You’re so lucky to be alive.”
Sheetal coughed. Not luck. Bad luck. An omen from the gods.
***
Sheetal had called Rakesh several times that afternoon but he didn’t pick up the phone. At ten-thirty, she reasoned that he should arrive home at any moment and made her way to the Marquette Dining Room.
Through the sliding glass doors, she spotted Raj and Megha standing in the garden in a halo of moonlight. She angled toward the wall, hid behind a panel of curtains, and peeked past its folds. Raj, dressed in sparkling cream and burgundy kurta pajamas, watched Megha perform the final puja to mark the end of Karva Chauth.
Supporting the puja thali in her left hand and a steel sieve in her right, Megha raised the sieve and peered at the moon through the silver mesh. Then she placed the sieve on a nearby bench, dipped the third finger of her right hand in red kum kum powder, then into grains of dry rice, and flicked the mixture toward the moon. After offering the moon a libation of karva water, she lifted the sieve and looked at Raj through the mesh.
Sheetal’s chest constricted with the abyss of Rakesh’s absence. He must be on his way home. Perhaps he got stuck in traffic, she reasoned, aware that most husbands returned home on time to celebrate Karva Chauth with their wives.
Raj lifted the karva, and Megha pressed the edge of her right palm against her lower lip. He tipped the karva over her open palm and water flowed toward her mouth and trickled down her chin. She drank seven sips, then Raj slipped a piece of sweet meat between Megha’s lips.
Sheetal’s stomach growled as a warm wetness rolled down her cheek. Where could Rakesh have gone?
Raj reached for Megha and they locked in an embrace.
Sheetal clenched her sides tight at the salt of her own tears.