Nitya

As I stand on the balcony, the cool evening breeze brushes against me, but it does nothing to soothe the emptiness inside me.

The sun is setting and the sky is a canvas of fading colors. In distant memory of my past, I remember how I used to watch the sunset in awe, appreciating the nature's art. But now, the beauty feels almost mocking. The burst of colors reminding me of how gray my own life has become. The loneliness and the darkness brought by it gnawing at my soul.

I did not have much expectations when I got married. I had only hoped for a happy married life where I would do my best to fulfill my responsibilities and get the affection and kindness from everyone in return.

I had thought I would be a wife and a daughter-in-law, but I have been reduced to being a maid of the house.

The routine of chores never ends. Scrubbing floors, washing dishes, cooking meals, washing clothes—that is all I do all day, every day

Taunts from Maaji and Chachiji are also never ending. The sting from their words, laced with contempt and disapproval remains in me for a long time after they have been spoken.

"Does not know how to do anything properly," Maaji had muttered earlier, sighing in annoyance when the cup of tea accidentally slipped from my hand while serving her. "Didn't your mother teach you anything?"

She shouted at me for breaking an expensive cup, but did not heed to the burn from the hot liquid on my left foot.

Looking down, I notice the skin is still red. A small blister has also formed at the corner, just above the ankle.

But the sting from that burn is nothing compared to the ache in my heart. The ache that blossoms anew every time I think of him—my husband.

He is my life partner, someone who had vowed to be by my side and support me.

I remember it, but he seems to have forgotten. Because he has become a distant figure, who barely acknowledges my presence.

Yet, I cannot bring myself to approach him. Not after what happened ten days back.

The memory is still fresh. The scar left by it that refuses to vanish. I remember his harsh words, the anger in his eyes when he spat them at me.

"You and our relationship are only burden to me, nothing else."

The way he had clutched me, rough and unforgiving, leaving the bruises that took days to fade but the angst from it is still within me.

He has not uttered a word to me about that night and has not tried to do it again.

The fear rises in me every single night as I wonder if it would be the night when he would demand the intimacy. Demand to claim his right on my body as my husband.

I do not know what I will do if he again tried getting intimate with me. His fury that night had been terrifying and the fear from it still grips me, paralyzes me.

That same fear might make me submit to him if he came close because I am afraid of triggering his rage again.

If I just laid down beneath him, closed my eyes, and let him have his way with me, he might not hurt me. Right?

"Where is it?"

Prathamji's angry voice cuts through the air, jolting me out of my thoughts.

My heart pounds as I turn to see him. I had not even heard him entering the room.

I step out of the balcony and inside the room, slightly limping due to the sting from the burn over my left foot.

"W-where is what?"

"The box!" He shouts, his face contorting with anger. "It was in the top drawer of my cupboard, but it's no longer there."

I gulp, gazing at his furious face. I remember the box—small, black, with intricate golden carvings. The box I had moved earlier while cleaning his cupboard. I had thought I would keep it back after I finish cleaning the drawer, but forgot to do it.

"I-I was cleaning th—"

"How many times do I have to tell you not to touch my things?" He interrupts.

I tremble due to his loud voice. "I am sorry," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to—"

He steps closer and I move back, panic rising in my chest.

"Didn't mean to what?" He snarls, his eyes blazing with fury. "To ruin everything in my life? To mess up with everything significant to me?"

Gazing at his angry face, I am unable to hold back my pain any longer. It's too much. Just too much.

The sobs come in waves, shaking my body. I lower my head, feeling ashamed to be this vulnerable in front of my husband who does not care about me.

Silence envelopes us for a few moments, only my quiet sobs filling it.

"Give me that box," he mutters, and I whip my head at him at his slightly softened voice.

I notice that the anger in his eyes has dimmed slightly, but I can still sense the tension radiating off him like heat.

Nodding at him, I wipe my tears and limp to the table beside the door. I had kept the box inside its bottom drawer earlier.

After I take it out, I hand it to him, and he almost snatches it from my hand, a frown marring his face as he regards me.

"Why are you limping?"

I accidentally spilled hot tea on my foot earlier," I answer.

Giving me a curt nod, he turns and puts the box inside his cupboard.

Then, he turns back to me. "Never touch my things again."

Saying that, he leaves the room, and a fresh wave of tears spill from my eyes.

What were you expecting, Nitya? That he would care for your wound? That he will lovingly berate you and tell you to be careful next time?

I shake my head, limping to the bed and sitting on the edge.

Silly, silly girl. How can you expect that from him after he has already told you he never wanted you as his wife? How can you expect him to care when he is also one of the reasons for your pain?

I snap out of my reverie and immediately stand from the bed when Maaji storms inside the room.

"Yahaan baithe kya kar rahi hai? Raat ka khana kya teri maa aake banane wali hai?"

("What are you doing sitting here? Will your mother come and prepare dinner for us?")

Her words pierce through me, sharp and biting.

"Pure din kaam karne ke baad thodi thakan hogayi thi. Isliye main yah—"

("I was exhausted after working for the whole day. That is why, I—")

"Shut up," she barks, interrupting me. Her tone dripping with disdain. "Madamji only wants to rest and not work. Such lazy daughter-in-law we have gotten."

"I... I have been working for the whole day," I tell her, my voice teary. "Please, Maaji, why do you always keep taunting me?"

Her eyes narrow, and she steps closer, her expression hardening. "Don't you dare talk back to me," she snaps. "You are nothing but a burden to this family. I had to accept you as my daughter-in-law even though I didn't want to, and this is how you repay me? By disrespecting me?"

I lower my head and do not say anything. I want to scream, to tell her I never wanted to be accepted this way in the family where I only get anger from my husband and taunts from my in-laws. I want to say how exhausted I am, both emotionally and physically.

But I bite my lips and swallow my pain. I know anything I say will only make things worse for me.

"I will go and prepare dinner," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

She scoffs, turning away. "Do it fast. And because you have been lazy, you will prepare three vegetable dishes for dinner along with rice and roti. Make something sweet too."

Nodding at her, I drag myself out of the room, each step feeling heavier than the last. The ache in my body and the pain on my foot protests with every movement but I push through it.

After I enter the kitchen, I start preparing the ingredients. I chop the vegetables, feeling the knife heavy in my hand as my heart feels in my chest.

Putting the chopped vegetables in the sizzling pan, I slowly stir it, recalling the time when I used to enjoy cooking. But now, it's just another task for me, a duty that I need to perform.

*****

Once I finish preparing the dinner, I tell Maaji and start setting the table as she calls everyone.

My movements are mechanical and I will myself to not let my turmoil show on my face. After all, it won't matter to anyone. To them, I am just a girl who cooks and cleans, the one who must silently endure their taunts and anger.

I watch as everyone, including Prathamji, take their seats. The clatter of cutlery and the murmur of conversation fills the dining area as I serve them food.

I might as well be invisible to them except for the instances when they tell me to bring another roti, refill their glasses of water. Apart from giving orders, no one acknowledges me, do not even glance at me as I limp back and forth from the kitchen.

From the snippets of their conversation that I hear, I understand they are discussing an upcoming family function of a relative close to them. Prathamji also chimes in occasionally, his voice not as harsh as it was earlier, but then, his angry voice has been reserved only for me. I have never heard him raise his voice with anyone else in the family.

"Nitya," Prathamji suddenly says, looking at me, and I slightly tremble.

"Y..yes?"

Did I make any mistake? Is roti not hot enough? Did I put too much salt in the dish or too less?

I wonder about what I must have done wrong in the few moments of complete silence that descends after he calls my name.

"Go to the room and organize the center table. I wanted to tell you earlier, but forgot. It has gotten too messy, and I cannot seem to find my important files."

I frown, gazing at him. Just earlier, he had shouted at me, telling me to not touch his things. And now, he wants me to organize his files on the table?

Why?

"But you to—"

"You have now started to talk back to your husband too?" Maaji interrupts, glaring at me. "Just go and do as he says."

Still confused, I nod at her and head to the room.

*****

Sitting on the couch, I am arranging Prathamji's files on the table, when the door opens.

I frown, looking at the plate of food on his one hand and a small bowl on the other.

He clears his throat and steps closer to the table.

"Eat something first," he says, placing the plate over the table. "Then, apply this paste on your foot. It is for your burn."

Too stunned, I look at the food on the plate, the paste on the bowl, and then at Prathamji, unable to understand what was happening.

"What are you staring at?" He asks after a few seconds of silence. "And why are you not eating?"

I stand from the couch. "Umm, I first need to clean the kitchen and wash the dishes. Maaji has specifically told me to do that every night before eating dinner."

"Don't worry about it," he tells me. "You do not need to do it tonight."

"But, Prathamji, I nee—"

"I don't want any more discussion on this," he says, cutting me off. "Just eat the food, apply the paste on your foot, and sleep."

After he leaves, I take a deep breath, feeling tears prick at my eyes. Perhaps it is because I have been devoid of love and care for all these days that just a crumb of kindness from him has made me emotional.

Sitting down, I start eating as everything that has happened since my marriage replays in my mind. It is a relentless loop of pain and sorrow, blending into a blur of angst.

This is the second time Prathamji has been kind to me. The first time being when I had fever.

Last time, I had rejoiced due to it, feeling hopeful about love and trust seeping into our marriage. But this time, I neither rejoice, nor do I hope for anything.

"I had to get married to you because of your brother. I became stuck in a relationship which I never wanted in the first place."

His words play in my mind and my heart clenches painfully in my chest.

I do not know why he brought food for me or the paste for my wound, but it surely is not because he cares for me.

Finishing the food, I leave the empty plate on the table. I would have taken it to the kitchen and washed it, but I am just too exhausted, and the pain on my foot has risen too.

Sighing, I take the paste from the bowl and apply it over the reddened area on my left foot, hissing occasionally due to the sting from it.