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Using her right hand, she reached with nerveless fingers to take the cell phone and almost dropped the receiver with Arvind still on the line. “I...I didn’t know you were here, Rakesh. You’re home early.”
“Meeting fizzed. I came for you.”
She curled her left thumb over the receiver in an effort to locate the disconnect button, but Rakesh grabbed the receiver from her.
“Who you talking to?”
“Yash,” she blurted.
“On a weekday?”
Why was Rakesh home early? “He wanted to know when we will leave for Mansali. He misses us.”
“I miss him, too. Did you tell him I won’t be there?”
“He’ll be heartbroken. You didn’t go last time.”
“Never know. He’s the compère, right?” He pressed the receiver to his ear. “Hello?” He paused. “Anyone there? Hmm. Seems like he hung up.” He walked off with the receiver.
***
Ten days before her trip to Mansali, Sheetal entered her walk-in closet and opened a folding door that concealed her travel gear. She reached for the twenty-four-inch, soft-top V.I.P. suitcase she’d taken on the previous trip but halted when her gaze fell on the scar that had occurred when the coolie jumped from the train. The V.I.P. had sufficed for a week-long trip and survived the drop impact, but she needed something more durable.
Three Louis Vuittons stacked side by side had contained all her personal belongings when she’d moved in after marriage. The only other time she’d used them was when she left Rakesh for Mama’s place to escape the Dhanrajs for a while. That’s all the triplets were good for: travel in comfort and style.
She slid the door further open and noticed a black, twenty-eight-inch, hard-top Samsonite sitting in a corner. She grabbed the handle, rolled the suitcase forward, and lay it on the floor. This should be strong enough. She knelt beside the suitcase, unclasped the metal latch, flipped open the lid, and removed a string-bag crumpled in a corner. The Samsonite would suffice for a two-to-three-week trip, but how on Earth could she pack her life inside its cavity? Her chest tightened. Could she really leave?
Maybe she could move in with Papa.
No. Rakesh would be at her throat constantly and demand custody of Yash.
Maybe she and Yash could go into hiding with Kavita and Gaurav. Kavita had proper amenities and more room in her new, two-bedroom flat. Surely, Kavita could accommodate her and Yash for a while. Besides, Rakesh would never look for them in northern Raigun, the middle- and poor-man’s enclave. Or would he? When Megha eloped, Rakesh had cruised every street corner and alley around Raigun University’s campus for days. He entered seedy bars and almost got run over by a lorry. Not just that. He’d spied on her and Arvind at The Broken Fort. Of course, he would hunt her down.
She packed in the privacy of her closet, trying hard to limit noises, in case Rakesh entered the bedroom. Half an hour later, her clothes were stacked five inches above the suitcase’s rim. Unlike Megha, there would be no return to lost luxuries. She piled on more saris, shawls, and footwear and lowered the lid but it wouldn’t close.
“Sheetal?” Rakesh called from his closet. “Ready in twenty-five minutes. We need to be at the charity dinner by seven. Don’t be late.”
Dinner! She raised a hand to her forehead. How could she forget?
She grabbed an armful of clothes from the suitcase, dumped the extra clothes on a shelf, shut the Samsonite, wheeled it behind the folding doors, pulled an ironed sari off a hanger, changed, and began pleating the silk.
“Are you ready?”
Her fingers trembled and the pleats pooled on the carpet. What if Rakesh noticed her distress? She made a fist, took slow, steady breaths, re-pleated the sari, and tucked the folds into the waist of her petticoat.
This idea of running away didn’t make sense. Arvind had asked her to run away on the day of her wedding and was asking her to do so again. People like him, maybe that’s all they knew, to run away and leave troubles behind. People like her with a family, child, and social obligations couldn’t just leave it all. There had to be another way.
She sat down at her dresser to apply her makeup just as Rakesh entered her walk-in closet.
“What’s this?” He thrust out his hand and thumped the trinket box on the dressing table, his eight-carat diamond engagement ring a contrast to the colored glass.
“Something I picked up in Mansali from a vendor. It’s so colorful.”
“Too gaudy, bright, and cheap. Best left here so I don’t have to look at it every night before I sleep.” He spun on his heels and left, slamming the bedroom door on his way out.
Sheetal got halfway down the stairs when Rakesh approached, headed back up, taking the stairs two at a time. “Forgot something important. Wait for me downstairs.”
Sheetal reached the ground floor, surprised to find Mummyji seated on the Bradford Browns.
“Such a shame, I tell you. Naina’s not well or she could have joined you at the charity dinner.”
“It’s a public event,” Sheetal said.
“And what’s the saying, I tell you? Charity begins at home. Hai Ishwar, if you wanted, you could have—”
“Where’s Naina?” Rakesh hurried downstairs clutching a brown packet.
“What do you want?” Mummyji crossed her arms.
“Same thing you do. I want her settled in her own family.”
“You suddenly care for her? What’s wrong with you? What are you up to now, I tell you?”
“Why would I have spent all that money on her wedding in the first place if I didn’t care? There’s nothing more I want at this point than to see Naina where she belongs. With a family of her own. I’ll do what it takes to make sure that happens.”
“Like?”
He handed her the packet. “Ayurvedic tea. If nothing else, maybe this will work.”
“Never heard of such a thing, I tell you. Who ever heard of cure with tea?”
“It’s from a reputable pharmacy. Alternative medicines take longer, but they’re effective and worth the effort if Naina’s cured for good.”
“Hmm.” Mummyji held the packet between two fingertips and swiveled it this way and that. “Bharat Chaiwallah. Never heard of them, I tell you.” She handed the package back to Rakesh.
“They are reliable people, knowledgeable in Ayurveda, medicinal, and herbal teas.”
Mummyji snickered. “I don’t understand your sudden bout of affection for my Naina, I tell you, after all these years.”
“If I was up to something, I wouldn’t have thrown her a nine-hundred-million rupee wedding. It’s always been the best for Naina, the most expensive for Naina, the most elaborate for Naina. Now, all we need is for her to get on with life so we can get on with ours. But you’re always suspicious.”
“Hai Ishwar!” Mummyji scrunched her nose. “What else did you expect, I tell you, after the way you behaved last time? You nearly choked her to death.”
“I was drunk. I-I didn’t know what I was doing. I said I was sorry.”
“I don’t remember you saying so.”
“All right, I’m sorry. There. Said it.”
Did he mean it?
“I don’t think she’ll touch any of this tea business if I tell her you—”
“Tell her a friend from your club gave it to you. Make up something. As long as she gets better, there’s a hope of her getting back with Ajay or someone else and we can live in peace.”
“I don’t see how—”
“You want the world thinking she’s cured and normal. But you don’t want treatment. You don’t want gossip. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life taking care of her, either. Do you?”
Mummyji straightened. “How dare you assume I want nothing to do with her, I tell you. She’s my daughter.”
“Look at your life,” he softened his tone. “You can’t go anywhere you want when you want. You’re tied down and stuck between these four walls because of her. I know how tired and frustrated you must feel. Look at how exhausted you are and how desperately you want it all to end.”
Mummyji sank against the back rest as Rakesh droned on.
“You deserve much better. I know I’ve been unfair and wrong for many years, and it’s time to set aside our differences for all of us so we can finally be free.” He coaxed the brown packet back into Mummyji’s hands.
“Do you really think she will be...normal again?” Mummyji’s voice cracked.
“We have to try.” He grabbed Sheetal’s wrist and rushed her toward the front door. “We’re running late.”
Sheetal lengthened her strides to keep up, hope growing in her heart. Was he really going to set things right for all of them? Did he also feel he had wronged her? Was he willing to make amends between them?
A servant swung open the door of the Lamborghini, but Sheetal raised a hand. “You said just now it’s time to set things right for all of us, so we are free.”
He strode around to the driver’s side.
Sheetal looked across the Lamborghini’s hood. “What did you really mean?”
“How does it matter what I meant? You don’t care, anyway.”
Colorful saris and salwar kameezes, swanky ties, dark suits, and waiters dressed in black and white carrying trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres blurred with couples on the dance floor. Aromas that wafted from the buffet of international cuisines mingled with rare perfume fragrances.
Sheetal walked beside Rakesh for an hour with her hand resting in the crook of his elbow and greeted the glitterati of Raigun. When, at last, she wiggled her fingers to loosen her grip, Rakesh tightened his hold.
She forced herself to relax. She mustn’t trigger suspicion.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“No. Why?” High-pitched laughter escaped her lips. “Just look at everyone. The food and décor is so well organized. Aren’t you having a good time?”
“I can’t speak for anyone else, but you seem to.”
“Really? What makes you say so?”
“Because”—he took out his mobile and flipped it open—“you’re not yourself.”
***
After Rakesh left for work the next morning, Sheetal flipped open her suitcase for the twentieth time and added an extra salwar suit, a new sari, and a can of hairspray. She should throw in extra safety pins, a bottle of moisturizer, and another pair of sandals. She skimmed hundreds of saris dripping off hangers. Pallus adorned with sequined trimmings and net work dangled gold and silver tassels. She ran her fingers along each, mourning the delicateness of a life she had to let go.
Twenty-four hours before the train’s departure, Sheetal decided to clean up and organize her studio one last time. She put away several clean brushes that had been left to dry on a dirty towel and began to gather scattered tubes of paint and used rags before she stopped abruptly. If she cleaned up, Rakesh would grow suspicious. She replaced the items, then ran her fingers over the edge of the nineteenth painting for the Solange exhibition. To think, she could have stood in the company of Tagore and Husain, waiting at the doors to international fame.
Her heart fisted in her throat. For so long, she had accused Mama of giving away everything Mama had worked so hard for, and now here she was doing precisely that.
She grabbed the painting of the Himalayan Mountain propped against the windowsill and was about to put it away when Kannada’s comment made her stop. Didn’t he say the painting was too dark and depressing?
Sheetal selected two more mountain paintings and positioned them against the wall in a spot of sunlight. Kannada had probably examined her work in the wrong lighting or from the wrong angle. Or maybe he’d had a bad day and that upset had influenced his opinion. She retreated ten feet and studied the pieces. The skies, backgrounds, and mountains really were dull—almost black in some parts. She brought the other three rejected paintings into the sunlight and her heart sank. Kannada was right.
Shuffling footsteps in the corridor outside her studio door and the odor of stale chutney caused her to turn.
“Eh-na?” Naina asked. “You leaving again?”
“Tomorrow.” She quickly added, “But I’ll be back.”
“I’ll be going too.” Naina lingered in the doorway. “You’ll see.”
“Where?” A mental asylum?
“They called,” she sneered. “Ajay is ready to marry me again.”
Sheetal blinked, unable to believe what she’d just heard. “What about the children?”
“Mummy promised to send fifteen servants and a nanny for those children, along with a better dowry.”
Fifteen servants and another dowry? Where did Mummyji think she was getting that kind of money? “They need a mother, not a nanny or a dowry.”
Naina crossed her arms. “I know.”
“You can barely handle yourself. How will you care for them? You’re putting two innocent lives at risk.”
Naina brushed her fingers through the air.
“How can you be so selfish?”
Naina’s eyes widened. “Me? You send your own son to boarding school. Your career is all you care about. That’s why you got rid of him, na, for yourself. And you call me selfish? Look, na, who is talking.”
Bile crept up Sheetal’s throat. “How can I keep Yash here when he’s not safe? He almost died.”
“Almost. Didn’t, though.”
“You left your pills around. How will you keep two children alive when you almost—”
“I didn’t. I didn’t kill anyone. He told me to.” She barged into the studio and closed the door. “He watched from behind the curtains the whole time. And I”—she broke into sobs—"had to give Papa the cup or Rakesh threatened to take away my shares of the company. Papa died because of me.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “But it wasn’t my fault. He made me do it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I didn’t either, but Rakesh wanted the company and said it was the only way.”
“Only way to what?”
“Get rid of him.”
“Who?”
“Papa.” She grabbed Sheetal’s shoulders.
Sheetal numbed. “Rakesh wanted to get rid of your father?”
Naina nodded. “He made sure I gave Papa the cup while he watched from behind the curtains.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “He watched Papa die by my hands. The doctors said it was a heart attack, but I know there was something in that tea that caused the heart attack.”
“Why would he do such a thing?”
“He wanted control of the company.” She tightened her grip.
Rakesh had a temper and an insatiable greed for power. But murder? There had to be a mistake. “This cup you gave—”
“He made me give it and said Papa had better drink it or he would take everything I owned and I’d be poor and homeless for life.”
“Does Mummyji know?”
Naina shook her head and released Sheetal.
“Why didn’t you tell her—or anyone? Say something before now?”
“Rakesh threatened to hurt, even kill me, if I told anyone. Don’t you see? Don’t you think I want to get better and be normal like you? But I can’t risk therapy. What if I speak the truth by accident? I’ll be convicted of murder.”
Naina’s depression had nothing to do with being Ashok’s favorite, as Mummyji claimed.
Sheetal took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “An autopsy must have revealed the—”
“Rakesh ordered an immediate cremation and lit the pyre himself. He said autopsies went against the family’s religion.”
Since when did Rakesh care for religion? This family had none.
“Both doctors agreed Papa suffered a heart attack.”
“Why are you telling me now, after so many years?”
“I tried so hard to spend some time with you alone. But you wanted nothing to do with me and you were always running away.”
“That’s not true.” Sheetal bit her lower lip.
“Whenever I try to talk to you, na, you always had to go somewhere or be someplace.”
Sheetal gulped. “Why are you speaking up now?”
“Because Rakesh tried to strangle me the other night.”
She’d secretly wished Naina had died. Now, she regretted that wish.
“When you married into this family, na, I tried to warn you that he was having an affair, but Rakesh wouldn’t let me come near you. So, when you went to your mother’s house for two weeks, I destroyed all your artwork. I slashed your paintings and ruined your studio in the hope you’d see the damage, be horrified, and you’d never return. But you’re so foolish you came back and stayed. And you believed him over me.”
Her heart fisted in her throat. For so long, she had thought ill of Naina and cursed her. Yet, all Naina had wanted was to save her from a life of self-destruction.
“Even now, he’s having an affair with—” She stopped.
Sheetal’s knees buckled and she sat on the table’s edge. “With whom?”
“I...I can’t say.”
“Why?” How long had he been cheating this time? “Speak up.”
“He’ll hurt me like before, or worse. You have to believe me. I wasn’t trying to harm Yash. I never would. I made a mistake. But my father’s death wasn’t an accident, and now he’s after you.”
The room spun.
“Can’t you see, na? My suffering has always been because of Rakesh. I don’t want to marry Ajay again after all I’ve been through, but it’s my only way out. Once Rakesh gets you, it’s over.”
Chills shuddered up her spine.
“I...I know what you’re planning,” she whispered, “I heard you on the phone. You have to leave, Bhabhi.” Naina’s breathing grew heavy and her face inched closer. “Get away from here before it’s too late.”
Sheetal closed her eyes to wrestle the turmoil and confusion. So, Naina had eavesdropped on her conversations with Arvind. She couldn’t trust anyone here. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie, Bhabhi.”
“I—”
“I’ve watched you struggle for too long. You stay and you’ll end up worse off. Think of Yash’s future.”
“You’ve hated me all these years. Why are you suddenly trying to help?”
“How can I hate you when I look up to you? You’re the one who hates me. You have everything, you are everything I can never be.” Her breathing thickened. “You are independent, strong, you even run your own business. But none of this will last. He will take away everything you’ve built. I know Yash almost died because of me.” Naina touched Sheetal’s arm. “But you, his mother, are the only one who never blamed me for what happened.”
Sheetal cringed. She’d never hated herself more.
***
Sheetal was about to leave her bedroom when Roshni handed her a yellow Manila envelope. Sheetal flipped the envelope but there was no return address. She shut the bedroom door and peeled open the envelope’s flap. Could this be the escape plans or tickets from Arvind? Her heart raced as she tipped the contents into her open palm. A CD slid out. Sheetal peered inside the envelope but there was no letter, no card, or other indication of the sender’s identity. She popped the CD into the deck and hit ”play.”
Nothing.
Sheetal swiveled the volume knob, sat on her bed, and pulled her knees to her chest. A loud thump like an amplified heartbeat bounced between the walls.
Muffles. Static. Clicks. Thuds followed, as if someone were trying to position the instrument for recording.
Silence. Groans. The groans faded. Then deep, heavy panting filled the room. Long, extended exhales followed by quick, short rasps, then two male voices, one slightly higher in pitch than the other, came in a rising crescendo. The sound of kisses, at first faint, then louder and more pronounced, filled the room. Deep moans of pleasure caused bile to rise up Sheetal’s throat. Heavier breathing and panting now folded one into another until Sheetal could no longer distinguish the voices. Foul language cursed the air, and a gruff male voice commanded the other to hold and squeeze him in all his private places.
“Ditto.”
The hairs on her skin stood on end.
Rakesh with another man? Impossible. Her mind was playing tricks.
The moans and groans of two men making love continued to fill the room. Sheetal jumped off the bed, disgust crawling through her nerves.
“Ditto. I’m fizzed,” Rakesh’s voice boomed. “What a fuck!”
Sheetal sank into a heap on the floor. She was going to be sick.
***
The next morning, Sheetal packed all her significant papers and documents in the suitcase: a bank book, hers and Yash’s passports, and Yash’s birth certificate. Then she went to the bank and withdrew all her savings and jewelry, and asked for assistance to close her account.
She checked the jewelry Mama and Papa had given her in the dowry and stashed the pieces in a handbag. Four months ago, she’d offered to sell her assets to help Rakesh. What a fool she’d been.
She pushed the empty safe deposit drawer back into its hollow cavity, handed the key to the clerk outside the vault, and signed the log.
Puneet Gupta, the bank manager, came rushing from his office. “Madame, are you not happy with the bank’s services? A member of my staff just told me you are closing your account here.”
“Oh no,” Sheetal assured him. “I’m withdrawing for personal reasons. But I’ll open another account when I need to.”
She left with enough travelers’ checks, bank drafts, and foreign currency to tide them over for several months.