Nitya

With my hands clasped tightly in my lap, as I sit on the couch in the room, my mind races with anxious thoughts.

What must be happening downstairs? Will Prathamji really be able to convince everyone to let me stay in this house?

I feel nervous as well as helpless in my current situation. Such is my condition that I will have nowhere to go if instead of Prathamji convincing his family, Maaji, Chachiji, and Chachaji convinced him to throw me out of the house.

I stand up from the couch and walk to the door. Standing there, I could hear the voices coming from downstairs, but they were muffled, and I was only able to catch a few words. One of them being my name taken repeatedly.

Part of me wants to go downstairs, to listen to what they are discussing, but I know that will only make the matters worse.

Prathamji had said he would handle it. So, I will need to wait for him to do it.

But what if he is not able to convince the elders? Will they really throw me out of this house?

That thought causes my heart to race in the fear of returning to my village. Not only will that cause villagers there to taunt me and my upbringing, I will be constantly poked and relentlessly asked about what happened. And no matter what I will say, the conclusion they will come to will be me not being able to fulfill my duties of being a daughter-in-law and not being able to satisfy my husband.

I sigh as another thought rises in my mind.

Babuji will not let me stay there.

During my bidaai, Babuji had made it clear that he will not let me inside his house if I came running there after doing anything wrong in my in-laws' house.

When he will get to know what happened here, he will definitely think I am the one in the wrong. Actually, even if nothing had happened, even if I would have been thrown me out of the house without me doing anything, then too, he would have blamed me for it.

My heart clenches painfully at the thought. Fathers are supposed to protect their children. But I never got the protection from my father. Only his taunts and his disapproval just because I am a girl.

I am not sure if Yash bhaiyya is in the village or not. He often goes to the city, and if he is not here, only Maa definitely won't be able to convince Babuji to let me in the house.

Perhaps I can ask Prathamji to help me in getting to the city so I can meet Bhaiyya there.

Sighing, I shake my head, and will myself to not think about it. There is no use thinking about it because it will do nothing other than making me sad.

Suddenly, the door creaks open, and I look up, expecting Prathamji to enter the room. But it is not him. It's Dhritiji entering the room with a sympathetic smile on her face.

"Are you fine, Bhabhi?" She asks softly.

"What is happening downstairs, Dhritiji? Have they reached a decision?"

She sits on the edge of the bed and signals me to sit beside her. Once I sit, she holds my hand and squeezes it in reassurance.

"Pratham bhaiyya is standing up for you, Bhabhi. And the way he is doing it, I am sure he won't let you go anywhere."

Due to her words, I feel a surge of relief wash through me. Along with the relief, a small hope also flickers within me. "Is Prathamji really standing up for me?"

Dhritiji nods. "Haan, Bhabhi. Aap dekhiyega. Bhaiyya kisiko bhi aapko yahan se nikalne nahi denge."

("Yes, Bhabhi. I am sure Bhaiyya will not let anyone throw you out of this house.")

Hearing her, a warm feeling rises within me and tears spring to my eyes.

"I know things might not be smooth between you and Bhaiyya. But please try to give him some time, Bhabhi. I am sure he will come around," Dhritiji tells me and I frown at her.

How did she know about it?

Before I can ask her about it, she stands up to leave.

"One minute, Dhritiji." I stop her. "How do you know about it?"

She opens her mouth, but closes it without saying anything. Uncertainty clouds her face as she regards me thoughtfully for a few seconds before speaking. "It's better if you talk with Bhaiyya about it, Bhabhi. It is about him and I know he will not like it if I told you anything without his permission. I am sorry."

With my frown deepening, I give her a slight nod. Although I want to know what she means by it and what she knows about Prathamji, I also agree that it will be better if I ask him about it.

*****

Prathamji enter the room a few minutes after Dhritiji leaves.

I quickly walk to him, my eyes searching his face for any hint of what transpired downstairs.

"What did everyone decide?" I ask, my voice trembling with anticipation.

"I have handled everything. You do not need to worry. No one will throw you out of the house," he tells me.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"Mera saath dene ke liye shukriya, Prathamji," I say, my voice filled with gratitude.

("Thank you for supporting me, Prathamji.")

He nods, but his expression remains stiff. "Bhale hi main tumhe apni patni nahi maanta, par tum meri zimmedari ho. Usse nibhane se main ab pichhe nahi hatunga."

("Even though I have not accepted you as my wife, you are still my responsibility. I won't shy away from fulfilling it anymore.")

His words dim my slightly dim the hope blossoming in my heart. The hope of our relationship getting better. Yet, I find myself believing that this is a turning point for us. A start of something real between us.

But his words do serve as a stark reminder of the gaping distance that still is in between us.

"May I tell you one thing?" I ask hesitantly.

"Yes? What do you want to say?"

I chew on my bottom lip, unable to figure out how to tell him what I want to say. What if he took it in the wrong way and got angry with me?

"Tell me, Nitya," he urges, now looking curiously at me.

"Umm, the thing I want to say is....," I pause for a moment, taking a deep breath, before continuing. ".... I know things between us are far from being better, and the reason behind it is you being forced into this marriage with me."

He stiffens, his jaw clenching as he peers intently at me. "Why are you bringing this up now?"

"Please, hear me out, Prathamji," I request him.

He sighs, rubbing his fingers over his forehead before giving me a small nod. "Tell me. I am listening."

"I know you are unhappy with this marriage, and I understand why you cannot accept me as your wife. But please, Prathamji, can't we at least try to make things slightly better between us. If not as husband and wife, we can live together in this room cordially, perhaps as friends?"

In the silence that stretches between us after I finish speaking, I notice Prathamji gazing at me with a guarded expression on his face.

At least he is not glaring at me and is not shouting at me.

I take a small comfort from that thought, waiting anxiously for his response.

After a few seconds of that heavy silence, he gives me a small, almost imperceptible nod. "I will try."

I smile at him. "Thank you."

He nods again and turns to leave the room. "I have some work so I will need to go out for a while. I will be back in a few hours."

After he leaves, I sink on the couch, feeling a mixture of emotions—relief, gratitude, and a lingering sadness.

Relief because I will not be thrown out of the house. Gratitude because Prathamji agreed to be at least friendly with me. And lingering sadness because I still am not sure how things are going to work out between us or if it will ever work out.

"I will give it one more try," I whisper to myself, a sense of determination settling in my heart.

Although I am not sure if Prathamji will ever accept me as his wife, perhaps, with time and effort, we can try to find something else in our relationship. If not love, we can at least have respect, companionship, and maybe even a deeper understanding.

I feel a prick in my heart when I realize I might never get the love of my husband, and I take deep breaths, trying to lessen the angst brought about by that realization.

*****

Late at night, I hear the door to our bedroom open, and see Prathamji walk in, looking tired.

When I sit up on the bed, I notice him frown at me.

"Tum soyi nahi ab tak?"

("You have not slept yet?")

"I was not feeling sleepy," I reply. "Did you have your dinner?"

He shakes his head. "No. By the time I finished the work, the cafe near the factory was already closed."

I climb down from the bed. "I will heat up the food for you."

"No, you don't hav—"

"I want to do it, Prathamji," I say, interrupting him. "This way, I will also get an opportunity to thank you for supporting me today."

He sighs, but nods. "Ok. I will freshen up and come downstairs."

*****

After heating the food, I am setting the table when Prathamji arrives there.

When he sits, I start serving him. "I have made palak paneer today. Do you like it?"

He nods, and says, "I am not picky. I eat almost everything, except for the bitter gourd. Don't like it."

"I also do not like bitter gourd much. But I used to eat it when Maa made it. She was strict about it, always saying that we should not be picky about food because everything has its own benefit."

Finishing to serve, I set the plate in front of him.

"Thank you," he says, giving me a small smile.

Warmth flutters within me due to the domestic simplicity that we are currently sharing. I know this is a small step, but still, it fills me with hope of things really getting better between us.

Prathamji is about to put the first morsel in his mouth when he stops and looks at me. "Have you eaten?"

I sit up straight on the chair. "I forgot to bring water. I will go and get it now."

Standing up, I am about to go to the kitchen when Prathamji stops me.

"There is a jug filled with water right her, Nitya." He points to the jug on the table. "Tell me now. Did you eat or not?"

I feel slightly nervous as I recall how angry he had gotten last time when I had told him I waited for him every night before eating dinner.

When I hesitate and do not say anything, he sighs.

"You have not eaten?"

I shake my head, fearing his anger.

"Serve food for yourself too. We will eat together," he says, and I am surprised hearing him.

"I will eat lat—"

"Do it fast, Nitya," he interrupts, looking pointedly at me.

Nodding at him, I serve food for myself too, and as we start eating, I cannot help but keep smiling. I feel this simple act of sharing a meal has bridged a small part of the distance between us. I know we still have a long way to go, but still, this is a start.