Tell A Thousand Lies Page 8

  Warmth flooded my chest. I could do worse.

  I gave a small nod in the direction of my grandmother, a smile quivering on my lips. Unable to address my husband to-be directly, I said to Ammamma, “I will never be able to come back?” The finality of it hit me. I started to cry.

  “No, Child,” Headmaster garu said gently. “Not for a while, anyway. Maybe, in a few years, who knows? But I can assure you, you won’t find a better boy. Twenty-one years old, and already very responsible. He will take good care of you.”

  “Ammamma,” I said. “If I leave...?”

  “Yes, Child?”

  “What will happen to Malli’s alliance? And the devotees?”

  Ammamma’s shoulders slumped.

  “Let us worry about this, Child,” Murty garu said. “You worry about getting away.”

  To Ammamma he said, “Seetamma garu, we must move fast.” He gave me a gentle push. “Get ready.” To Lata he said, “Gather up a few clothes for your sister, a toothbrush, some essentials. Quick, Child.”

  In the bedroom, I grabbed my best half-sari with sweaty palms, then thrust it aside. As a married woman, I wouldn’t be needing them. Instead I pulled out the four saris I shared with Lata, packed one away and wore the other one. The other two I left for Lata.

  Lata rushed about the room gathering things.

  In a few minutes, I was ready.

  Ammamma took my hand and hurried me out.

  Lata thrust the bag in my hand and gave me a tearful hug. Today – in our shared terror – would be the closest I’d feel to my twin.

  “There’s no time,” Headmaster garu said. “The devotees will start to queue up soon.”

  “Can I come, too?” Lata asked Headmaster garu.

  “No, Child, you need to stay back with your grandmother. But Hyderabad isn’t that far. You can visit when things settle down.”

  Ammamma handed me some money. “It’s not much, I know.” She looked apologetic.

  “What about the Goddess money?” Lakshmi garu said. “The jewellery, the saris...”

  At Ammamma’s look, her voice trailed away.

  “Take this,” Murty garu said, giving me a figurine of Lord Vinayaka – the destroyer of obstacles, creator of new beginnings. From their altar at home.

  I looked at Murty garu’s bushy white eyebrows, his kindly eyes brimming with emotion. I bent to touch his feet. He was taken aback, but I could tell he was pleased. “Please take care of Ammamma,” I whispered to him.

  Murty garu nodded.

  Ammamma gave me a fierce hug and kissed me on the forehead. “Be happy,” she said, voice breaking. She unclenched my fist and put something in, covering my hand with hers.

  I opened it to see her diamond earrings – the only jewellery she had left of her mother’s. I clung to Ammamma, unable to let go, trying to absorb her warmth, and her love.

  “Come, Child,” Headmaster garu said. “Time to leave.”

  I gave Lata another quick hug. Heart thumping, I ran to the car and slid into the back seat. I curled up in a foetal ball on the floor of the car as it tore out of the village.

  Chapter 14

  I Am Married

  Headmaster garu sat in the back with me while Srikar sat up front with the driver. After what seemed like hours, Headmaster garu leaned over and tapped me on the shoulder. My heart almost stopped. “You can get up, Child,” he said. “We are safe now.”

  My muscles burned as I struggled to the seat. I saw we were on the two-lane State Highway.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “We have a few more hours to go.”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice. Soon Kondal Rao would be mobilizing his men to track us down.

  “Here,” Srikar said from the front seat, handing me a bottle of water. A lock of hair fell over his forehead. He smiled lopsidedly, causing my heart to trip.

  I smiled back, feeling a little shy. I took the bottle and gulped down half its contents. Returning the bottle, I leaned back and closed my eyes. The events of the last few days seemed to have a touch of unreality. Now that I knew I had no powers, that first day seemed scary, when all those devotees – some of whom I’d known all my life – had stormed into my grandmother’s house. When I thought of that throng of people desperate for a glimpse of me, I felt a shudder rip through. After a while, my mind seemed to drift away.

  The next thing I knew, we were stopped at a roadside tea-stall. I could see Srikar through the window of the car, sitting on a sagging cot, drinking tea, two flower garlands by his side.

  Garlands! He does intend to go through with the wedding.

  I made my way to the bathroom, washed my face, reapplied the red bottu on my forehead and re-braided my hair. At the tea stall, I stood hesitantly, not sure what to do.

  “Breakfast?” Srikar asked.

  I nodded, and started to reach into my purse.

  “It’s okay,” he said, smiling.

  I flushed and dropped my hand.

  After some tea and a plate of steaming, mouth-watering upma, we were off again. We reached Hyderabad around 9:00 in the morning. People rushing to offices, children in uniforms rushing to schools, scooters and motorcycles rushing somewhere. Rush, rush, rush. I felt a sudden rush of loneliness. How would I manage without Ammamma and Chinni?

  The driver navigated the lanes and by-lanes until we stopped at a small temple.

  I got down and tried to walk the cramp out of my leg.

  “Are you okay?” Srikar asked.

  I nodded.

  We went past the temple, to an official looking building in the back.

  “What is this?”

  “Registrar’s office,” Headmaster garu said. “You’re getting married here.”

  The high arch of doorway led into a long dank corridor with rooms on either side. The doors had various nameplates nailed to them. Headmaster garu led us into the third room on the left.

  I looked about in dismay. The small room was high ceilinged, with years’ worth of cobwebs swaying from above. A scarred desk sat in the middle of the room, behind which was a man wearing thick framed spectacles.

  Headmaster garu stood in front of the official, but the official continued to read his novel.

  “Can you help us?” Headmaster garu asked.

  “What do you want?” The man looked annoyed at the interruption.

  “These youngsters are here to get married.”

  The man sighed, pushed his spectacles to the top of his head and dragged out a dusty register. “Girl is eighteen?”

  I froze. I was only sixteen.

  Headmaster garu nodded, flushing.

  “Boy is twenty-one?”

  Srikar handed him his driving license.

  The official pushed some paperwork at us. “Come back in a month’s time.” He went back to his book.

  Headmaster garu cleared his throat. “Why don’t the two of you wait outside?”

  Fifteen minutes later, Srikar and I went back in.

  The man pushed a register at us. “Sign here.”

  Srikar signed.

  “Now you sign,” he said to me.

  “Then what?” My dismay made me bold enough to question an elder.

  “Then you’re married.”

  Getting married without Ammamma, Chinni or my sisters by my side was bad enough. But to have this bored official perform our marriage... “Headmaster garu?”

  “Yes, Child?”

  “Can’t we get married in the temple outside?”

  “Hanuman temple.” The official grinned.

  Just my luck the nearest temple was that of the bachelor god’s. Defeated, I signed the register.

  Srikar knotted the pustela taadu – a turmeric coated thread, two gold coins at the base – at the nape of my neck.

  Headmaster garu gave us the garlands.

  Srikar bent his head.

  I placed the garland around his neck.

  He did the same.

  We were married.

  Headmaster garu dropped
us off at the auto-rickshaw stand. “May God watch over you.” He got into the waiting car. I watched teary-eyed as this last link to the village was cut off.

  After the car left, we got in an auto-rickshaw to take us to the flat of Headmaster garu’s friend, because we couldn’t go to the flat Srikar shared with his friends; it was too dangerous. I looked at the passing traffic, heart heavy. This wasn’t how I’d envisioned my wedding, the start to my new life. It hurt so much that I ordered myself to stop that sort of thinking. I tried to imagine the life I was heading to, instead of the one I’d left behind.

  I reminded myself that now that I was his wife, I must address Srikar only as “Yemandi” – that oblique reference married women had used to address their husbands since the beginning of time.

  Chapter 15

  I Set Up Home

  January 1987, Hyderabad

  My new husband and I entered our new home together, right foot first for good luck. I felt a pang. Someone from Srikar’s family should have been at the doorway, tray in hand, lighted lamp and sweets welcoming us. Someone from mine should have been a few steps behind, supporting me as I stepped into my new life.

  I entered our tiny one-bedroom flat, not sure what to expect. A front room, a miniscule kitchen to the side, a tiny bedroom. No bathroom.

  In the bedroom, cobwebs swayed gently in the breeze, in rhythm with the dust motes. I walked over to the window. Branches of a mango tree pushed against the rusted mosquito netting nailed to the window frame. Dust sat on the built-in shelves in the wall, a layer so thick it was a wonder the shelves hadn’t crumbled under its weight. A piercing sound startled me. The building shuddered in its wake. I pushed my head against the mud-encrusted mosquito netting, which gave way, raising a wave of dust. I leaned out. Railway tracks ran parallel to the apartment building, on which a train was groaning past.

  Then it hit me. Here I was in my own house, married, ready to start life with my husband, when I had never expected to marry. A frisson of pleasure fought its way through my apprehension. I promised myself I would be the very best wife possible. I would cook for Srikar, clean for him, make sure there was never a speck of dust anywhere. His clothes would be spotless, his lunch box filled with the tastiest food I could prepare. I would tightly shut my eyes, do my wifely duty. I would somehow make up to him for my dark skin.

  “Pullamma,” Srikar said. “I need to go down and talk to the landlord. After that I’ll go buy milk, and a few other things. I will be back in an hour. Do you need anything from the market?”

  I shook my head with a combination of embarrassment and pleasure. From now on, even in the minutiae of daily living, our lives would be entwined.

  After Srikar left, I pulled out a small hand towel from my bag and started to clean the cement shelves. Another wave of dust rose up, only to fall heavily to the floor.

  Just like that, I collapsed.

  What am I doing here?

  I sank to the floor, struggling to contain my tears. How would I manage? What did I know about being married, anyway? Where were Ammamma and Chinni when I needed them? I dropped my head on my knees, breaking into sobs. Though every person I knew, other than Ammamma, had given up on my marital prospects, I’d harboured secret hopes of getting married. The wedding I’d imagined hadn’t been anything like the rushed affair of this morning. In my dreams Ammamma and Chinni would be by my side, supporting me; they’d accompany me to my new marital home, helping to ease the transition. And here I was, in a new place, trying to start off life with a man I hadn’t known twenty-four hours ago.

  It took some time before I was able to drag myself off the floor. I didn’t want Srikar to find me like this. I didn’t want him to regret marrying me. Using the edge of my sari, I wiped the dampness from my face, then went back to dusting. A few sneezes later, I could almost tell the colour of the shelves. I dug into my handbag for the idol of Lord Vinayaka that Murty garu had given me. I bowed my head, closing my eyes in prayer.

  “Hello!”

  I turned.

  A young woman stood at the door to the flat, a friendly smile on her face. Though she wasn’t tall, she was shapely, with braided hair that came down to her waist.

  I felt gawky next to her effortless grace. I forced myself to smile back.

  “My name is Geeta. Are you going to be living here?”

  When I nodded, the other woman clapped her hands childishly. “I’m so glad. It will be so nice to have another young woman in the building.” She leaned forward. “You are not from the city?”

  I shook my head.

  “From the village?”

  I nodded.

  Geeta frowned. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

  I laughed. No one had ever said that of me. “Now that I have a new friend, I will have to, won’t I?” I felt good, positive even. The stresses of the past few days drained away. I promised myself I would make a good life here with Srikar.

  “Where is your husband?” Geeta asked.

  I felt warmth flood me when Geeta said husband. “He’s gone out on some work.”

  Geeta leaned forward, a curious look on her face. “When did you get married?” The sacred thread around my neck, freshly coated with auspicious turmeric, gave me away. If I had been married longer, the cotton thread would have dulled in colour, or been replaced by gold if we could afford it.

  “This morning.”

  “Aiyyo!” Geeta squealed. “Newlyweds! I knew it. You have to come to dinner at my house.”

  “Are you sure?” I was hesitant. “You don’t even know us.”

  “Oh nonsense,” Geeta said with a flick of her hand. “We’re going to be neighbours, aren’t we? Good time to come. My in-laws are away, visiting their other son.” She took my hand. “Come, I’ll show you where I live.”

  We walked out into the narrow, grimy corridor overlooking the weed-choked front yard below. Our flat was one of eighteen in Madhuban Apartments – a fancy name for a building of three-room tenements. There were doors on either side of our apartment. “I live on your left,” Geeta said. “So you’ll come?”

  “I will have to check with my husband,” I said, trying hard not to grin foolishly.

  Chapter 16

  We Make Friends

  On the way to the city, Headmaster garu had decided it would be too dangerous for Srikar to return to his old job. Before he left to go back to the village, Headmaster garu cautioned us against retaining old ties. He said to Srikar, “Stay away from your old flat. I’ll arrange for someone to pack your belongings and bring them to you.”

  Someone had already packed his belongings and left them outside our door by the time Srikar returned. As Srikar carried the suitcases over the threshold of our new home, he said, “I only bought what we’ll need right away. Tomorrow we can buy the rest. Then I will have to start searching for a new job.”

  “Yemandi?” I said hesitantly, feeling a little strange to be joining the ranks of married women, and addressing my husband thus. “Uh… I made a new friend. She has invited us to dinner.”

  “It’s good you’re already making friends,” he said, placing the suitcases by the wall. “But don’t say anything about our circumstances. She’s going to want to know why we’re here on the day of our wedding, when we should have been with our families. Just smile and evade the question.”

  I nodded. “Can I ask you something?”

  Srikar nodded.

  I took a deep breath, trying to gather up the courage. “Why did you marry me? That, too, without a dowry?” The primary reason was to protect me from his grandfather; that much I understood. But I wanted to know if he felt pity for me – the dark, dowry-less girl.

  “I found out my grandfather was up to something in your village,” Srikar said. “I was scared this might be another Renuka garu-like situation, so I came to see for myself. I was part of your audience.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “How could you? There were hundreds of people clamouring for your attention. I did
n’t come up to you. I just watched from the side.” He paused. “Despite your obvious terror – or perhaps it was only obvious to me because of what I knew – there was a quiet dignity about you that drew me. Marrying you was no hardship.” Smiling gently, he put an arm around me.

  I smiled back shyly, feeling warmth spread in my chest.

  ><

  We knocked on Geeta’s door at 9:00 that night. “Come in, come in,” she said, smiling widely.

  Her husband, the stocky Murali, wore a collared, button-down shirt with a lungi wrapped around his waist, in lieu of trousers. You make quite a pair,” he said to Srikar. “Like day and night.”

  “Good, isn’t it?” Srikar said with a smile. “Every household should have such a balance.”

  “Of course, of course,” Murali said. “Please come in.”

  Murali wasn’t being rude, I knew. More than a few people would have commented on the contrast in our complexions. Still, it rankled. With a determined smile, I walked in.

  Geeta leaned over and whispered, “How did you manage to snag such a cute husband? Good dowry?”

  I shook my head, smiling. It would be many years before I learned to be offended by such intrusive questions. For now, it was just the way things were.

  Over a noisy dinner, with Geeta’s two children shouting to make themselves heard, Geeta regaled Srikar and me with the happenings in our new locality – which milk-diluting milkman to avoid, where to get our clothes ironed without having holes burned in them, who sold the best rice, and so on. Murali seemed friendly, though not nearly as talkative as his wife. I sent up a silent prayer for both Srikar, and my new friends. I thought of my old friend, Chinni. I hoped she was happy, too.

  I hope Kondal Rao isn’t harassing Ammamma! Don’t think about it, don’t, don’t.

  Headmaster garu’s last piece of advice, before returning to the village, had been to not look back, so I forced my thoughts away from the village. God had been kind to me. I couldn’t let my blessings go to waste.

  ><

  Dinner was over, and we were back in our flat. I huddled by the window, watching as my new husband unrolled the mat and spread out a bed-sheet on top. My face felt hot and numb.