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Sheetal returned from Mama’s and the servants immediately whisked her into the Marquette Dining Room where Mummyji and Naina ate breakfast. “You are here at last!” Mummji jumped to her feet, and the chair reeled back. “He almost choked my Naina early this morning. Six servants, I tell you, had to drag him from the corridor to the room. They refused to help him change into fresh clothes. What a way, I tell you, to start the new year.”
Naina raised a hand and touched her throat. “He tried to strangle me.”
What a shame he didn’t. Sheetal bit her lip. Naina’s throat had no bruise. Mummyji overdramatized everything that concerned Naina.
The buffet breakfast’s sterling silver chafing dishes graced the length of a hutch. Sheetal’s stomach growled and she lifted the lids one by one. However, the grilled tomato-chutney sandwiches, steaming fluffy white idlis, light green coconut chutney, and poha—flattened and spiced rice flakes sautéed with mixed vegetables—didn’t whet her appetite. Instead, the thick scent of citrus detergent overwhelmed her. Mummyji must have rung in the new year with a wholesome round of cleaning.
“What am I to do?” Mummyji pumped both hands on her hips. “You leave your husband, a drunk, I tell you, to....”
Sheetal nicked a corner of the triangular-sliced sandwich and popped it in her mouth but tasted nothing. She helped herself to some poha and took a seat.
Mummyji sat down again. “You don’t think before spending the night at your parent’s home just to put up some painting.”
“It’s not some painting. It was my mother’s portrait.”
“It’s Him, I tell you. This sick husband of yours who is alive and breathing who you should be taking care of. Your responsibility lies here with him and this family. You think I am sitting around here for fun? Ashok put me in charge of the whole mansion and estate in that will, I tell you, for a reason. Can you imagine the responsibility I must carry forward because he is no longer alive? I must live that responsibility every day.”
“My mother still lives in my heart.” Sheetal shoved a spoonful of poha in her mouth and chewed, but the yellow rice flakes tasted bland. The spoon fell from her grip and clanked on the plate.
Laal Bahadur, the chef, peeked out of the kitchen door. “Food is not good, Choti Sahiba?”
Mummyji’s expression darkened. “You ask her, Laal Bahadur, but you don’t ask me if the food is to my satisfaction?”
“It’s fine.” Sheetal smiled. “But I think I burnt my tongue last night, so I can’t taste much.” She turned to Mummyji. “I’ve been struggling for ten years to live with Rakesh, but he’s—”
“And obvious—no? How successful you are. Or your marriage wouldn’t be in a mess.”
How dare she! “All this time, you’ve treated me like I don’t exist and I’m invisible. Now, suddenly when things go wrong, you hold me responsible?”
“Like every married woman, you are responsible for your husband and the state of this family.”
“As Rakesh’s mother, even if you are his stepmother, perhaps you should claim responsibility, too. After all, this is your family and your responsibility, isn’t it?”
Mummyji scrunched her face.
When Sheetal entered her bedroom, the thick, heavy stench of liquor and urine caused her to mask her nose with a hand. Rakesh lay on his back in the middle of their bed dressed in last night’s tuxedo. Sunlight spilled through open curtains and illuminated the truth. The rust of the Dhanraj label had finally tarnished him. Bluish-gray bruises circled his eyes and his sallow skin clung to his temples, nose and eyes while sagging near his ears. If only the media could see the flamboyant, titanium knight in all his glory. Sheetal inched closer. Saliva drooled from the corner of his mouth and hung off the curve of his blood-crusted chin. His jacket lay in folds as if a size too big. Had he lost more weight along with his mind?
Since none of the male servants had wanted to help Rakesh out of his soiled clothes, Sheetal left him in his filthy attire and made a mental note to have their bed sheets stripped and burned.
Anything proved easier than dealing with Rakesh Dhanraj. She had done more than her share of caretaking for one lifetime.
***
A month later, Sheetal worked on the seventh in a series of twenty desert paintings for the Solange Art Gallery and signed each work “Sheetal” without the Dhanraj label.
Roshni wheeled in the evening coffee and handed her an envelope from Stonewall Preparatory School. She had instructed Janvi to serve her evening coffee upstairs because she didn’t want to waste any more time holding one-way conversations.
Sheetal dropped three cubes of sugar into the cup, added warm milk, and stirred. She sipped, set down the cup, and peeled open the envelope. The invitation for the annual spring concert on April fifth requested parents to make their reservations in advance.
Six more weeks until she saw Yash. At least, he answered her questions with monosyllables now. He must be busy studying for mid-terms, which explained why he ended their phone conversations quickly.
She went to the Japanese garden to give Rakesh the letter and found him and Megha sipping tea. “This came in today’s mail from Stonewall.” She offered the invitation to Rakesh but he didn’t bother to look at her or it.
Megha sipped chai in silence and didn’t acknowledge her presence either.
“The concert is six weeks away. We should make reservations. I can stay on until Yash’s finals are over and bring him home.” Sheetal resolved to complete as many paintings as possible before leaving for Mansali and then complete the remainder after her return.
“I won’t be going,” he said. “I have to be in Delhi for a meeting with Tashukomo Electronics that day.”
Sheetal caught herself before she exhaled in relief. She drew her hand back and fidgeted with the invitation. She’d get alone time with Yash. “You promised Yash you’d go. He’s—”
“I don’t have time. Anyway, you’re happier on your own.”
***
Three days later, Sheetal was working on a desert painting when the landline phone rang. She waited for someone to answer the call, but after six rings, she marched to the sofa and grabbed the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hallo?” a woman said. “Hallo? Calling from Mansali, Stonewall Preparatory School, for—” Static crackled.
“Yash?”
Sheetal’s heart flipped. “Hello? Yash, Beta. Is that you?”
“Sheetal?”
“Arvind?” She tightened her grip on the receiver and prayed no one else picked up the downstairs extension. “Is Yash—?”
“That’s why I’m calling. I tried calling your mobile but you didn’t pick up.”
Sheetal patted her waist for the sari pouch. “I-I must have left it in the room. What’s wrong? Is Yash all right?”
“He’s...he’s having trouble.”
“What trouble?” She crossed to the window.
“He can’t focus so he’s falling behind in class.”
Impossible. She scanned the driveway then glanced at her watch. Six forty-five. Rakesh would be home soon. “Maybe the rehearsals and practice are too much for him.”
“What rehearsals?”
“The spring concert. I received the invitation. There’s only six weeks left before the show, plus the children are studying for midterms right now.”
“He can hardly talk clearly,” Arvind’s voice crackled through the static. “Can barely manage full sentences and—”
“What do you mean?”
“He was pulled out of the concert weeks ago.”
“He must have been nervous from stage fright.” Or perverts? Her mind raced. Were older boys hurting him?
“The organizing committee gave him several chances, but Yash refused to—” Static interfered. “I know because I’m one of the organizers. I saw him, Sheetal. He wouldn’t open his mouth. He refuses to talk.”
“Perhaps he can’t take the pressure after the overdose incident.”
“This has nothing to do with the pressures of concert or schoolwork.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s about you.”
“I know. I broke my promise to him. I told him I’d let him stay home and enroll him in school here. You shouldn’t call me.” She looked over her shoulder, relieved to be alone. “I’ll be in so much trouble if anyone finds out.”
“How much more trouble, Sheetal?” his voice stormed through the static. “I know what He does to you.”
“Who?” The breath tightened in her throat. “Who does what to me?”
“Rakesh.”
Sheetal’s attention flew down to the black iron gates, still closed. They would swing open any second to admit Rakesh.
“I know what he does to you.”
Static crackled.
“I...I can’t talk. Don’t call again.”
“I know everything.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She lowered her hand. Ruby bangles tinkled down her wrist, reminding her of the blood that had covered her wrists months ago.
“Rakesh hit you.”
Sheetal pressed the bindi on her forehead.
“You can’t live like this, Sheetal. It’s wrong.”
“I—”
“He’s insane.”
“The business. He’s— There’s too much pressure in the office.”
“He’ll kill you one day. That’s what he’ll do next.”
“He’s sick.”
“You need to leave. Get away from him.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Listen to me, Sheetal,” he bellowed. “Find a way. Any way, and leave him.”
“I can’t.” Her head throbbed. “I’m married.”
“Can’t you see what he’s doing?” Arvind’s voice hardened. “He will kill you next time.”
“I—”
“I know everything, Sheetal. Yash told me.”
She numbed.
“He was there, Sheetal. He saw Rakesh—” Static crackled.
“How could he when he was sleeping?”
“...whip...belt...blood...from your bedroom, open doorway...saw him beat....” Arvind’s words exploded with static.
Sheetal tightened her grip and closed her eyes. What did Yash see? How much did he— It didn’t make sense. “Why didn’t he say something? I’ve been calling him every weekend.”
“Say what? To whom?” Static crackled and Arvind paused. “Sheetal? Are you there?”
“Yes. I—”
The iron gates swung apart. Rakesh’s black Lamborghini entered and rolled around the curve of the driveway.
“I have to go.”
“He’s petrified. He stammers when he does talk and fidgets all the time. He’s nervous and shaken up. If there’s no improvement, you’ll be called to take him home.”
No.
“You have to find a way out of this mess.”
A plan. She needed a plan. But first, she had to establish herself enough to stand on her own feet and become independent. She needed time.
“Leave Rakesh and come with me.”
He was out of his mind. “I can’t. I-I have to go. Rakesh will be here any second.” A click sounded followed by static. She hung up, rushed out the door, and peered over the balcony just as Rakesh entered.
Naina, seated comfortably on the Bradford Browns beside the telephone, glided her fingers back and forth over the hump of the receiver.
Rakesh looked up at Sheetal, grunted, and walked off.
***
That evening, the family had started eating dinner when Rakesh stormed into the Marquette Dining room carrying a black vinyl folder and headed straight for Sheetal.
Goosebumps puckered her arms. An account of Arvind’s phone calls? A file for divorce? Custody papers for Yash?
Megha on her right, and Naina and Mummyji seated across the table, stiffened in their seats.
Rakesh rounded the table’s corner and halted behind her. “I need some papers signed.”
He was going to take custody of Yash.
Mummyji tore off a piece of chapati, folded it into a shovel, used it to scoop vegetable gravy from one of the mounds on her plate, and shoved the food into her mouth. “What now?” she asked and chewed.
“I need half your company shares. The two of you.”
Sheetal exhaled. “The two of you” referred to Megha and Naina. She didn’t own a share of the company, which was fine because she was sole heiress to Papa’s shares of Induslink Corporation.
Before his death, Ashok Dhanraj had divided the shares of Dhanraj & Son among Rakesh, Naina, and Megha. Megha and Naina owned fifteen percent each and Rakesh owned seventy percent along with commercial real estate in Raigun. Mummyji owned the Dhanraj mansion and estate, valued at seven-hundred-and-fifty-million rupees. However, the caveat that she remain a widow and manage the family, mansion, and estate locked her into the role of a caretaker. If she neglected her duties in any way, she risked losing her entire inheritance.
Mummyji clapped in excitement. “Are you going to certify a profit? An increase in earnings for you, I tell you? Hai Ishwar! Just the thing we need with so much remodeling to be done. The kitchen, dining room, and sofas are so old, I tell you.” Her eyes widened with greed until her eyebrows almost touched the strands of white hair crowning her forehead. She lifted another forkful of food to her mouth.
“There’s something you need to know,” Rakesh said. “I mortgaged the mansion, estate, and some of our other properties to finance Naina’s wedding. I’m having trouble paying the interest and I’m running short of cash. I default any longer and the bank will take over.”
“Ai-ee!” Mummyji gasped. “Hai Ishwar! What does that mean?”
“We might be out on the streets if we don’t sell our shares. Look, I did what I could to tide us over, and now you two need to sell.”
“Sell her shares?” Mummyji’s jaw dropped and a ball of mashed food almost rolled off her tongue.
“Tashukomo Electronics is ready to buy a stake in Dhanraj & Son. It’ll mean a fifty-fifty partnership. If you both sell at least half your shares and I do the same, I can meet them at the halfway mark.”
“But the shares are all Naina has,” Mummyji said. “You can’t expect her to give them up. Hai Ishwar! Why, you already mortgaged my inheritance. I’ll have nothing left.”
Because Naina was Ashok and Pushpa’s love child, Mummyji lived with the assumption that she was entitled to Naina’s fifteen percent.
“What do you think I’m stuck and struggling with? A three-hundred-and-fifty-million debt.”
“I told you so many times to pay attention to the business. But no. Always more interested in wasting time at parties and clubs. How could you let this happen? How do you expect us”—she glanced at Naina—"to survive with nothing?”
“If we pool our shares, we can live as we do now and still have a comfortable life.”
“Why my shares?” Naina interrupted. “Find some other way.”
Mummyji narrowed her eyes at a spot three feet above Sheetal’s head. “Pool all the shares and you and your wife will have full control. How will we know what is going on behind our backs, I tell you? You already mortgaged my property without telling me. What else will I and my Naina have left but our jewelry and clothes? Or will the bank take that too?”
“You make it sound like I’m throwing you on the streets,” Rakesh said. “We’re in this mess because of Naina and because I spent so much on her wedding.”
“Who told you to spend?” Mummyji crossed her arms. “I certainly didn’t. I told you to forget that Black Pagoda idea because of all the bad luck it brings. Look what it did to my daughter. Returned nine months later, divorced and homeless. Hai Ishwar! I told you, but did you listen? No.”
“I never asked for an expensive wedding.” Naina tore a piece of chapati, scooped some gravy, and dangled the food above her mouth like bait.
“I don’t care what you did or didn’t ask for. We’ve got to pool together,” Rakesh insisted.
“Your idea. Your problem. Your shares, not mine.” Naina dropped the food into her mouth.
“Of course not,” Rakesh’s tone calmed. “Why should you give your shares away? How could you? If I remember correctly, you were busy reeling in your wedding dowry while I was putting together a fucking wedding for you.”
“Mummy!” Naina turned to Mummyji. “Did you hear what he said? Remember how he tried to strangle me? I nearly died!” Tears rolled from the corners of her eyes. “You almost—”
“Stop crying!” Rakesh shouted. “That’s all you women are good for. Turning on the water works when things don’t go your way. It’s what you spent your whole fucking life doing and got away with.”
“That’s no way to talk to her,” Mummyji raised her voice. “It’s not her fault you can’t manage your anger issues. The expense of the wedding was your decision entirely, I tell you.”
“I did it for you. For her. And what did I get left with? A huge debt. Did either of you ask for a simpler wedding or something less extravagant? You didn’t even make your marriage work. Nine months is all it lasted. One hundred million for each fucking month of married life.”
“Such language!” Mummyji yelled. “Not her fault she couldn’t adjust. She’s been brought up as a Dhanraj, with all its privileges.”
“Then she should have got used to theirs, privilege or not. She married into their family, not the other way around.”
“It’s over and done with,” Mummyji said. “Who cares now, anyway?”
“Nobody,” Rakesh answered. “Life moves on. Look at Ajay. He remarried and had two children.” He pointed to Megha. “Megha is expecting her first baby. She accepted the family she married into. Only Naina’s been rotting for ten years because she can’t do anything with her life.”
“Nothing wrong with my Naina. She’s as good as any woman to have children.”
“Really?” Rakesh’s voice lightened. “How? By cloning herself? I don’t see anyone marrying her.”
“Mummy!” Naina turned to Mummyji. “Just look—”
“Brat.” Rakesh grunted. “All I want are these papers signed by tomorrow.” He dropped the folder on the dining table and threw a pen across. “Ditto?”
“I have nothing to do with this and Naina doesn’t either,” Mummyji said.
“Those shares will be useless if we don’t pay back the debt,” Rakesh warned. “You’ll be left with scraps of paper.”
Megha wiped her fingers on a napkin, signed the papers, and handed them back to Rakesh.
Raj’s government-level income might be Megha’s back up, but clearly her security lay in Rakesh’s hands.