Nitya

I try to keep up with Dhritiji as she darts from one store to another, buying clothes for me, even though I feel I have bought enough clothes to last me for months.

When I told her about Prathamji allowing me to work, she excitedly brought me out here, about an hour far from our village, to buy the clothes for me to go to work. I had never heard of—or come to—this place before, but Dhritiji said it is the closest market from the village where we can find decent clothes with good quality.

And she was not wrong. This place indeed has so many markets, each with beautiful clothes, that we would not have found in the village.

But we have been here for the last four hours now, and I am starting to get tired as well as nervous.

Maaji had been miffed after knowing Dhritiji and I were going out. She wanted to stop us, but Chachaji intervened, letting us come out of the house. But we had told them we would be back within four hours. But it has been more than four hours now and Dhritiji still wants to buy more clothes.

"We should head home now," I tell her.

"What's the rush, Bhabhi?" she says, turning to me briefly before entering another shop. "Let's buy few more clothes for you, and then we will return home."

I bite my lip, feeling nervous at the thought of what Maaji would say when we return home late.

The main reason behind me not wanting to anger her is wanting her permission to go to work.

Although Prathamji has told me he will handle everything, I am still anxious about her reaction.

That is also why I said yes to coming to this shopping trip with Dhritiji. Prathamji had said to me that he would be talking with Maaji today, and I did not want to be there when they had that conversation. But now, he must already have talked with her. So, I want to get home in time to know what is the final decision regarding this matter.

I notice Dhritiji sifting through the racks, picking out the salwar suits.

"How is this one, Bhabhi?" She asks me, picking a beautifully embroidered green salwar suit from the rack.

"It's beautiful," I reply. "Are you buying that suit for yourself?"

She shakes her head. "No. We are here today to buy clothes for you, not for me."

I frown at her. "But I do not wear salwar suit anymore."

"But why, Bhabhi? This will suit you."

"Maaji and Chachiji might not like it," I tell her, recalling how particular they are regarding these things. They berate me even when my pallu slightly slides from my head. I wonder how much they will shout at me if I wore salwar suit.

"Not only them, but Prathamji also might not like it. Let's go home now, Dhritiji. I have bought enough sarees, and I do not want to buy these suits."

She holds up that green salwar suit against me and examines it in the mirror. "See how much it suits you. You can at least buy this one, right?"

"But, Dhritiji, I really do no—"

"If you do not want to wear it in front of Taiji and Maa, then don't. But you can wear it in your room. Believe me. Bhaiyya will like it."

"But what if he does not like it?"

"If he does not like it, you can give it to me. I will wear it," she says, and pushes me to the dressing room to try the suit before I can protest further.

*****

Finally, after about an hour, Dhritiji feels we are done with the shopping. So, paying for the clothes at the store, we head out of there to return home.

Dhritiji is chattering happily beside me, but I am only half-listening to her, humming and nodding at her time to time, while my thoughts keep drifting back to how the conversation regarding me working had gone between Prathamji and Maaji.

The worry about it gnaws at me so intensely that I do not notice the uneven stone on the street.

So, when my foot hit it, I stumble and lose my balance. The shopping bags slip from my hand, and I tumble to the ground.

"Bhabhi, are you fine?" Dhritiji asks, reaching out to help me.

But before I can take her help and regain my footing, I hear the roar of an engine. Looking up, I see a car speeding towards me.

I try to move, but it was too late. The car whizzes past me, grazing my left arm, sending a sharp pain shoot through it.

Dhritiji screams, and I also feel a jolt of terror.

Hissing due to the pain in my arm, I clutch it, feeling the sting from the scrape and the warm blood trickling down.

"You are hurt, Bhabhi. We need to go to the hospital," Dhritiji tells me.

"Yes, we need to," I agree feeling more blood pouring out of the wound. "I might need stitches."

Dhritiji quickly gathers the fallen bags, not letting me help when I tried. Once she is done, we head to where our car is parked, and drive to the hospital.

*****

Entering the house with Dhritiji, I notice Prathamji pacing in the living room.

When he sees us, he glares at us. "You two were supposed to be home hours back. What took you so long?"

I gulp, slightly flinching at his harsh tone.

"Sorry, Bhaiyya," Dhritiji says. "We would have returned sooner, but then, the accident on the road-"

"Accident?" Prathamji interjects. "What accident? Are you hurt?"

Dhritiji shakes her head. "Not me, Bhaiyya, bhabhi is hurt. A car passed through her grazing her arm after she fell on the road. We went to the hospital right away and Bhabhi needed four stitches on the wound. That is why we got a bit late."

"How did you fall on the road?" Prathamji asks me, and holds his hand up when Dhritiji begins to speak.

"I am asking her, not you," he tells Dhritiji, and turns to look at me. "Tell me, Nitya. How did you fall?"

"I tripped on the stone by the road," I reply, and he shakes his head at me.

"You can't even walk properly, and want to work in a sewing factory?" He asks, his tone icy. "What if you had an accident there too?"

A jolt passes through me due to his cold words. I cannot seem to understand him. At times, he is considerate and kind, but then, he suddenly switches being cold and indifferent at other times.

"Tell me. Are you sure you will be able to handle yourself properly in the factory?" He questions, his voice clipped.

"It was not Bhabhi's faul—" Dhritiji tries to interjects, but Prathamji stops her.

"Go to your room, Dhriti. I need to talk with Nitya," he says, and for a moment, Dhritiji seems like she wants to argue with him, but she sighs, squeezes my shoulder in reassurance, and walks to her room.

Once she is gone, Prathamji steps closer to me. "Which arm?"

"Left," I reply, knowing he was asking on which arm I sustained the injury.

He slightly slides my pallu from the left arm, gazing at the bandage there. The wound was wrapped by the doctor in the hospital after the stitching and the dressing.

"You didn't answer me," he says, sliding the pallu back in place. "Will you be able to handle working in the factory?"

"I... I will be careful, Prathamji," I tell him. "I will try my best that no accident happens there."

"You better," he says. "One more accident, and I won't allow you to walk out of the house."

His tone is cold and his words pinches as well as scares me, but I frown at the expression on his face. He seems pained, as if he is recalling something horrible.

"Are you fine?" I ask him, but he does not reply.

Instead, he gathers the shopping bags from the sofa, where Dhritiji had kept them, and heads towards the staircase.

"Come to the room. You need to rest," he says, and nodding at him, I silently follow him.

*****

Late in the night, I find myself unable to sleep.

My arm throbs with a dull, persistent ache that seems to grow worse with each passing minute.

No matter how I position myself on the bed, I cannot find any relief. I twist and turn, trying to get comfortable, but the pain is relentless.

I still when Prathamji stirs beside me. He opens his eyes and blinks, looking at me with a frown on his face. "Are you fine?"

"Sorry, Prathamji. I didn't mean to wake you. But my arm... it's hurting."

He sits up on the bed and helps me sit up too. "The doctor had prescribed you painkiller, right? Did you take it?"

I shake my head. "I have not taken it yet. I had thought I would take it in the morning."

"No wonder it's paining. Where have you kept the tablets?" I point to the top drawer on the bedside table and he climbs down from the bed to walk to my side.

Then, taking out the tablet, he hands it to me along with the glass of water.

Once I gulp down the medicine, he gently slides my pallu from the left arm to examine the bandage.

"The dressing is soaked through with blood," he tells me. "We need to change it."

I nod, and he takes out the first aid kit from the drawer.

Sitting beside me, he carefully unwraps the old bandage. I wince as the bandage slightly tugs on the stitches.

"This might sting a little," Prathamji murmurs after he takes off the bandage and starts applying the antiseptic.

I bite my lip, trying to hold back a whimper of pain. His movements are careful, and despite the pain, I feel a sense of comfort in his care.

He is turning out to be an enigma to me. At times he behaves as if he does not give two hoots about me, but then there are times, like right now, when he is so caring.

Done with the dressing, he discards the old bandage, and returning from the bathroom after washing his hands, he places the first aid box back in the drawer.

"You have taken the painkiller and I have changed the soaked dressing too. Your pain should lessen in a few minutes."

"Thank you, Prathamji," I tell him, but he gives me a stiff nod.

"Thik se nahi chal sakti thi tum? Agar tumhe kuch ho jata toh?" He suddenly says, and there is something in his voice that pricks at my heart.

("Couldn't you walk properly? What if something had happened to you?")

Is he looking pained because he is worried about me?

I feel warmth rising within me due to that thought.

"But nothing happened to me, Prathamji. Please, don't worry," I tell him, feeling smile tug at the corner of my lips.

The feeling that he cared about me has strengthened my hope of us building a lasting bond with each other.

I know he has said that he will never accept me as his wife, but that might change with time. He has started caring now. Perhaps one day he might even start lov-

Prathamji's voice interrupts my thoughts.

"Kabhi kabhi sab kuch badalne ke liye bas ek pal hi kaafi hota hai," he says with a faraway look on his face. "Pata nahi kab kaunsa hadsa tumhari zindagi chheenle. Isliye, agli baar se dhyan rakhna."

("Sometimes even one moment is enough to change everything," he says with a faraway look on his face. "You don't know which accident can snatch your life from you. That's why, be careful from now on.")

He is gazing at me when saying that, but the look in his eyes is such that it makes me feel as if he is lost in some thoughts. Something that is causing the hurt which is currently etched on his face.

"What are you thinking about, Prathamji?" I ask him, curious to know.

But he averts his gaze from me and clears his throat. "It's nothing. Try to sleep now. It's already too late."

Saying that, he walks to his side of the bed and lies there with his back facing me.

I stare at him for a while, wanting to ask him the reason behind his distress, but I am not sure if he will answer me.

Perhaps I can ask him when he does not seem so morose.

Thinking that, I too lie down, hoping to get some sleep before my arm starts throbbing again.