The car honked for the third time. I stood at the porch of what once was my house, now it was just my father’s. Mine was somewhere in Kolkata. My parents said it was a two storeyed one—huge and well endowed.

But, I cared less.

Isn’t it funny how a day can modify your address, or even better your identity! From a Sen to a Basu, the change was as quick as a chameleon.

Another honk and I was hauled back to Earth. “Be fast, it’s getting late!” someone shouted, craning his neck out of the automobile window.

“Yes, we have to reach before noon and it’s already 7!” his uncle backed the person up.

Since the day prior, the groom’s side had been nothing but onerous. As for Siddhartha, my husband, he spared zero talks. Maintaining a dignified silence, he stood in the distance, an umbrella protecting him against the rain and my burning gaze. Anyone would assume he gave us privacy, but he squirmed and fidgeted, often tapping his foot on the ground at irregular intervals. Consistent clearing of the throat and fleeting vacant glances indicated he would take the first opportunity to jump into the car had it not been the sensitivity of the situation.

Please, just a few minutes more!” Baba and Ma folded their hands in a namaskar, their faces marred with a shadow of humility as if getting their daughter married was synonymous with a heinous crime.

The whole scenario unfolded as an engaging movie being played inside a theatre where one needs to pinch himself to know whether he’s a part of it or not. I needn’t pinch, I knew I was part of the play but, I was lost.

Why all this negativity? I’m a pessimistic mess!

Ma rushed forward—eyes wet, words choked with pent up emotions; the enormity of the situation was overwhelming. With senses numbed and insides embittered, I tried to act normal, but isn’t normalcy an acquired idea? What is normal to the spider is chaos for a fly.

Embosomed in her loving embrace, I cried like a kid. The tears cascaded down my cheeks, graced the chin and got lost somewhere within the bulk of my red silk blouse.

“Love and respect everybody, do not say anything even if you don’t like it.” She looked at my bland face, trying to gauge any hint of a reaction. “Seek their permission for whatever you want to pursue and most important, always try to please your husband.”

So, that’s it?

Tears pooled with more vigour as reality descended.

Is it all that will define me from now on?

I whimpered with strong jerks and Ma’s gentle hands attempted to pacify.

Was she not aware that my deep anguish was a result of my shattered dreams?

Or, did I go wrong and misinterpreted thinking in the changed world hugs and kisses would define the new normal?

I am a bloody idiot!

At any point I toggled between optimism and hopelesness, my resolve transient like another cold spell, my mind a potion of clashing herbs. And that’s probably the most maddening yet fascinating part of it. The mind uses itself to understand itself.

The rain hurled assaults, somehow it sensed my mood, the tempest arising out of crippling affliction resounded in every roar and through every slit in the sky. I mimicked a melting candle, approaching death at a steady pace. With painful steps, I trudged towards the awaiting car, its drooping flowers now lying in a battered mess. A sparkling ray of light and then an ear-splitting sound, the sky screamed in restrained agony.

A signal of an impending disaster!

What am I thinking?

I might have been jittery and plain anxious. Siddhartha was as amicable as any decent man! I wondered where all my apprehension came from. In the throes of an emotional outburst, I either cooked all sort of sentimental nonsense or my long dumped past was playing strange antics of its own.

As I hopped in, Baba's grieving face set in deep lines raised questions in my heart.

Drop the act!

He staggered towards my husband, a hunch had overtaken a straight physique.

“Take care of my daughter, you’re her guardian now.”

His glazed eyes got etched into my memory. I brushed away tears, courtesy a trespassing rain drop.

The deep affliction that troubled his stolid visage, was it self loathe for that desperate attempt to get his daughter married and be relieved of the burden or some genuine fatherly concern?

Siddhartha came forward and with folded hands whispered something. Whatever it was, Baba’s face smoothened and my mother blessed him. As the car finally roared towards the new destination, deep fatigue built for days settled over my weary orbs while Ma’s wails of severance breaking the monotony of the downpour faded into the distance.

                            *********

13/1B Chetla Road, Kolkata-700027—this was the new address, my new home.

But, home is where the heart is, I wondered where my heart lay—back at Swarupnagar where unmarried girls were a liability, or here, where the difference in standard was too loud to ignore.

“Ma, how come you say I better not come here? Can their house be mine in an instant? I barely know them!”

“Shhh! You'll get used to it. Every girl goes through this phase, you’re not an exception..at least you know your would-be husband’s name, I learnt your father’s name after I got married.”

What a society we live in! The degeneration is real when these things are normalised.

Why do women have to go through this cycle?

 Is it because they say we are tough nuts to crack?

A huge thermocol board set in glittering gold highlighted with a touch of blue and pink stood at the front gate. Declaring our reception in bold letters, it was prettified with floating love signs in bright red—the colour of pure blood. Orange garlands of freshly-picked flowers spiralled their way to the top of columns, the crest of which boasted wreaths of yellow marigolds. Lights and ribbons hung from the ceiling and decorative fabric woven in pleats heightened the decor. Soft, red carpets paved the way as guests arrived with gift bags, the intensity of splendour spoke of the amount of money they had spent on grandeur alone.

A faint smell of curried mutton lingered in the air, the spiciness from sautéed ginger-garlic added to the aroma, people gorged on succulent chunks of meat like maniacs. Instrumental versions of yesteryear classics gave a romantic touch. On any other day, it could create a sweet background hum but, given the inner turmoil, the extravaganza of melody and harmony unleashed an attack on my eardrums.

Baba and Ma and half of Swarupnagar arrived with gifts; they were as cheap as the withered refuse of a blind-alley stall. Embellished with zari ribbons and bows, the trays wrapped in coloured cellophane stood in succession displaying the items in horizontal rows—some demanded, some given voluntarily. Garments and jewellery, bed and mattress hugged the limelight ready to be admired, and more than required, criticised.

“Can you show us your hands? You’re not wearing snow powder, are you? My son does not find brown women desirable!”

“No, no..my daughter has a very pale brown complexion..it won't be much problem, she's natural.”

I sprang out of the disgusting memory. The unnecessary showcase and the way it attracted crowd like a magnet reminded me of those months before marriage where I paraded eager and enthusiastic customer bases like a decorated mannequin.

I scoffed at the reaction from my husband’s family.

“Oh! Here is the wedding tatva?” People clustered around the displayed items as hyenas scavenge for food.

“Look at the texture of these sweets! Substandard village stuff!” An aunt from my in-law side pointed with a condescending sneer.

She presumed she was being inconspicuous, my parents wouldn’t hear.

What a shame! We did hear.

City-breds have a wider viewpoint—that was my notion. What I failed to realise—the grass wasn't greener on the other side, they appear to be; an illusion ready to be shattered. I wasn’t sure whether I ought to cry or laugh. Cry, as my years of meticulously placed cards were falling one by one or laugh because those splintered smithereens were pushing me towards reality.

“You’re so beautiful! More than anyone can ever be!” Ma gave a warm peck; her touch the same—oozing motherly affection. Baba stood beside and flashed a wistful smile. A plaintive cry stuck at my throat pined for release, I fought hard to suppress but emotions often play tricks. I burst into soul-deep sobs.

How else could I emote—the dawn of the realisation I had become a guest in my own house caused a stir.

Now I won’t be able to even see them as I wish!

No one except Ma, Baba and my smudged mascara stood witness and I prayed from the core of my heart it remain that way.

                               *********

My in-laws had named their house Vasudha which means Mother Earth; it bore a strong connection to the charming rusticity of the countryside. The whole building was a mansion compared to the ram shackled one I lived in. Yet, I missed my accommodation— the wooden doors whose colour had turned from brown to black. The bed though uncomfortable and hard, carried a certain scent of the suburbs—the one unique to Swarupnagar synonymous with its dusty roads, extensive fields and an old deserted platform where the station master’s droopy eyes still sparked gentility through his broken spectacles. I missed the fresh air, the vast expanse of tender greens that ran miles and laboured hard before embracing the turquoise blue of the sky above. I knew I would long to see the magic of twilight, here the sun could only peep from behind gigantic structures of concrete and enormous advertisement boards.  

And as I sat on a plush bed, skittish and anxious with its soft mattress dipping under my weight, I tried to force some ease into my poor nerves. The circulated cool coming from the air-conditioner wasn’t helping, the sweltering April air coated my back with beads of sweat and moistened the interiors of my sequinned blouse. Outside was a ruckus—an odd combination of giggling voices, loud remarks and overdone banters. The rituals were long over, it was 10.30 in the night. However, the family's atrocious attempts at dry humour and forced camaraderie gave off the vibes of an early evening.

 
The creaking door opened with a slow, torturous moan and in stepped my husband in a kurta pyjama. His sharp face illuminated by dozens of scented candles weaved a wild interplay of light and dark, the vagueness of his features gained more prominence once he came forward. Naturally arched eyebrows, an aquiline nose and robust shoulders all complemented the V of his frame. The light peach of the sequinned kurta melded well with his pale yellowish skin, a sharp contrast to my olive ones. His eyes met mine, we looked at each other for a few seconds, unblinking and undisturbed. I observed they weren’t as stormy as the previous days.

They could be hiding a message!

What was he trying to convey? What did I attempt to divulge?

Do not touch me! I’m too scared?!

Or, I cannot accept this liaison?

 
I closed my eyes to ease the growing nervosity, my toes curled on their own accord and the clenching in the lower abdominal muscles refused to cease. Cold spiderlike fingers ran up and down the spine.

“I..I..” he gulped, it was as subtle as a feather brushing by.

My senses went on high alert and the air thickened with tension.

“I..I mean to..” he stopped, came and sat a foot away, the bed uttered a minute protest. Sweat had made patches under his arms.

A thousand questions prowled through my mind.

“You mean?” I passed an inquisitive glance while in reality I gave a damn. My raised eyebrows echoed years of well-practised make-believe.

He licked his lips. A dying smell of smoked cigarette attacked my nostrils each time he sighed or spoke.

“Do-do you mind if I come closer?”

I hate your guts. Come closer and I'll strangle you.

I attempted to tame my hyper imaginative mind, but it was tumbling out of control. Murky frames of myriad outcomes hurricaned inside my head, I answered with a timid nod.

 
The bed squeaked and his approaching built hurled me back to senses. Within the green Benarasi saree and a burly blouse, a slick stream of perspiration dripped. A touch of hand rang alarm, a breath near my face doubled the fear. My palms rolled into fists, armed to strike. Yet, I kept the façade up.

Nothing to worry about, I wasn’t another Virgin Mary!

Or, was it because..

“Are you nervous?”

What?!

He’s jesting for sure!

I definitely am!

“N-no.”

Mono syllables substituted single sentences. I raised my head and managed to look straight at him, the composure had worn off, his eyes were as turbulent as the seas, a mist forming glazed his vision.

He blinked.

Is he hiding things too?

I sat ramrod straight on the edge of the bed, jaws set. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his trousers and produced a dainty ruby ring from its pockets. The tiny red rocks set with a bright green emerald in the centre glided smoothly into my ring finger, the gold band glistened with a mild afterglow, just like the one which follows passionate sex. My hands entwined in his pulled me into a forgotten realm of desire and need—things I had sacrificed at the altar of a dilapidated past.

A tug and a pull..I was hurled into his hard chest, my face inches away from his dark brooding eyes..our breaths intermingling creating a tingling sensation, my pink lips prominent against his pale brown ones. The storm was rising and I got caught right in the eye of it.

“There is nothing innocent about the way I want you..my needs are wanton, my taste exotic and my desire wild”, he said.

I swallowed the excitement, heat pooled within my thighs.

The worst feeling is always an anticipation of the unknown. Memories have wings, they can drift back and forth, right now they were haunting. Shards of fragmented recollections seized my sense of reality and a light brush of gentle lips welcomed me into the blissful abode. The touch wasn’t foreign, it whispered promises of yesteryears, of known bond and mutual feelings. I reciprocated with ardent fervour. Diving into the ripped remains of reminiscence, I scavenged for the source of those memories.

A nibble, a bite.

Am I hallucinating?

This isn’t right, is it?

I panted and puffed, craved air, I could pass out, my breathing was laboured. It wasn’t exactly what it was bound to feel, the hunger was evident, the greed pronounced, the want vociferous. I tried to push but to my dismay found Siddhartha's hands at the back of my neck, the other clasped around my waist in a tight grip; I was immobilised.

I love your appetite, I yearned to say but his expertise knew no bounds. He had done this a thousand times over, it was crystal clear but, could I complain? I enjoyed every bit of his exploration. He gorged on my lips, my half-shut lids were heavy with induced seduction. His lure couldn’t be neglected, I was too weak. I wanted to return back the favour but he was my first..and I was a sloppy mess. I opened my eyes..

He gazed right at me, or did he?

No!

Siddhartha was blank, he was vacant, he was expressionless!

What was I thinking? Did he just kiss me right now?

Wasn’t it…

I shoved him off, but he was strong.

This wasn’t what I was prepared for!

His tongue inside my mouth crippled my system, the metallic taste of blood assaulted my buds, I wanted to be rid of him.

“Get off of me!” I shouted.

His hands drew circles on my palm, his slight stubble rubbed over my chin, his mouth left wet kisses on my neck and…

He bit me, hard. My neck pinched and I grimaced due to the pain. His stubble caused friction and I grappled for air. My arms were pinned to the sides and he grunted like a maniac. He wasn’t enjoying it! He was just going on, as if a veil of numbness shrouded his conscience. My body repelled, his advances unwelcome, I attempted to throw him off.

Why did I even think of that person? Now of all times!

His memories, his touch, every imprint on my body had lingered and no matter how much I forced myself to repress, they proved to be overpowering, as stubborn as my trashed dreams.

I had dug my own grave!

And now every nerve of my being was getting torn apart in restrained agony. Siddhartha was a stranger and in a vulnerable state, I gave him access!

His forceful exhalations blew away those wild tendrils from my face, his eyes had a fanatic bareness.

My kameez soon met the dupatta at the corner, his unrobed body hugged mine, the feeling was  insane and I was dripping with ecstasy. If elixir was real, I could boast I had drunk it. I wanted to be lost in the drug, given an option, I would be lost in it everyday, without a second thought.

I punched, clawed, screeched and attempted to scream. Siddhartha came as my worst nightmare, I wanted the torment to be over. A ripping sound, a thud, a grunt and my thighs were forced wide apart. As his coarse kisses turned rougher, I squirmed under pressure. His boorishness was no match for the tender folds of my body, his persistent gnawing formed bitter, red clots while the vice-like grip left nasty marks.

It pricked like thousand needles when he entered, why was it so torturous yet enticing? Was it because I was tasting the forbidden apple?! I moaned in pleasure and he cupped my bosom, my nails scratched his smooth back, he gasped at that and gave more forceful thrusts..he loved it, there is pleasure in pain.

My senses hyper, breath ragged, everything around me turned murky as his throaty sounds resonated the empty room. His eyes radiated nothingness, his gestures were animalistic, he wasn’t a human! He was a wild boar! A sharp pain coursed through my body as he penetrated deep inside, my helpless cries dying against his collar while continuous persisting thrusts ached my insides.

Tears rolled down, my nose jammed while I  writhed under. Nothing reached my ears except sounds of gruff exhalations, my panting and scuffling noise from a beastly copulation.

I farthered my legs to allow more access, rhythmed with his movements, he climaxed, the seed was sown.

A spasm of fear crossed my face, I kicked, pushed and gave a vigorous shove, he was thrust on the opposite side, the spell was broken.

Siddhartha looked at me in disbelief. He pushed his hair back from the forehead, held his chest and jerked a sharp breath. His eyes darted across the room and witnessed in numbed horror my dishevelled state. I lay on my back, eyes wide open, puffy, red from incessant tears, lips swollen from the constant bites. My blouse was torn, heaving breasts damp, full of saliva, bite marks, nail prints adorning them.

Freezing on the spot, he sat there wide-eyed, wrinkled trousers hanging loose around his torso. Perspiration coated his thick eyebrows while pearls of sweat glistened on his forehead. Trembling, he wrapped his hands around himself and mumbled some gibberish. A strenuous minute passed, the tick of the clock grew louder, a dog gave an agonising howl. The air smelt of sex, of rape, of abuse, fear and deep anguish. Another arduous minute went away, each tick richocheting off the dead walls. With a sudden start, Siddhartha stood straight from that hunched position, panted and  quivered and with a final glance at my bedraggled frame, scampered away.  

 
A day that ought to splendour in whispers of multiple promises and pleasure was plagued with pain and trauma. The flowers that prettified the bed, lay mocking in disarray. And inside a ten by ten room in the heart of Kolkata, a young woman lay bleeding, naked, ravished and raped.

                             ********

Tatva- Bridal trousseau gifts.