Madelyn
Following a scandalous end to her marriage, Anjali and her two sons leave their home in Delhi and return to her parents residence in the town of Leelapur at their order. But Anjali has little idea what they have planned for her.
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It is midnight, but I am not asleep. The cabin is dark, yet I can sense the position of everything because of the closeness. We are on a train from Delhi to the tiny Haryanvi town of Leelapur, which is our hometown. We generally make this trip on car, but we travel by rail this time because of the changed circumstances.
There are four beds in the cabin – an upper one and a lower one each on two opposite sides. I’m on the lower bed on one side, Mother is on the other, my brother Rajat is on the bed above me, and a stranger is on the fourth bed. The stranger looks to be a man in his late twenties, not so older than Rajat, and I caught him stealing glances at Mother when he thought no one was looking, but the pathetic young guy I am, I did not dare confront him.
I look at Mother. She appears to be in deep sleep, in a state of peaceful slumber. It is relieving to see her like this, because the past week has been hellish for her, and she has been particularly anxious about this visit to her parents. Everyone in the family is upset about what she did, and even Rajat thinks it is all her fault. It appears that I’m the only one in the family who is on her side. Mother married and had Rajat and I when she was young, so despite the two of us being young adults, Mother is quite young. I believe that so she should be judged so harshly.
Restless, I run my fingers through my hair. It has gotten quite long now – long enough to be tied into a nice ponytail of decent length. Grandma and Grandpa have never seen me with my long hair, so I shudder to think about what they will say when we arrive at their doorstep tomorrow. Mother has always encouraged me to grow my hair if that is what I wish for, but the people of Leelapur are of a different nature, and a boy with long hair will not be treated with such kindness. Yet, I am not worried about myself or my hair, because tomorrow, all the attention will be on Mother. It is her I worry for.
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The train came to a halt at Leelapur a little after 6 AM, right on schedule. Rajat was the first to wake up, and so he woke up Mother and I. Rajat carried all the heavy bags down onto the platform, and the smaller ones were handled by Mother and I.
Grandpa’s car was waiting at the station exit by the time we got there. Even in the rare times before that we travelled by train, Grandpa was usually there to receive us, but today it was just the driver who came. Mother took shotgun, and Rajat and I sat in the back. The car began on the one hour journey to home, and Mother fell asleep, again. I was falling asleep too, and I would have had Rajat not interrupted me.
“What do you think Grandma and Grandpa will do to her? To Mother?”
I ignore the question. It is a question that I wonder about too, but Rajat is the last person I want to discuss with about this.
“Y’know, I spoke to Father.”
“What did he say?”
“He says he has moved on from this, and is focusing on his job and stuff. He also had something else to say, though.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re not going to like this, but apparently what Mother did is nothing new for her. Apparently she has cheated on him before too.”
I do not say a word. This is something Mother already told me, but I am not supposed to know a thing.
“You probably won’t believe a thing that Father says, but suppose it is true. Would you still support Mother?”
I nod.
Rajat snorts. “God, you’re incredible.”
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The car stops at the gates of the house. It has been years since we last visited, but the house is exactly as I remember it. It is a magnificent white structure, a pearly white that would make no one suspect that it was built decades ago. The colonial design might, however, give the impression that this is ancestral property, but it was built by Grandpa himself. Grandpa did not come from wealth, but sheet hard work and a little bit of luck, as he puts it, helped him make enough to build the house before Mother was even born.
As we enter the gate, we see Grandpa and Grandma at the door. Like most grandparents, they normally wore broad smiles on their faces around Rajat and I, but today their expressions were stern and calculating. When we came closer, a hint of smile showed on Grandpa’s face. He opened his arms and hugged my older brother. Despite the circumstances, Grandpa has lost no love for his favorite grandson. Grandma meanwhile turns to me and Mother, but her face does not bear anything that resembles a happy emotion.
“Anjali, I hope that the train was alright?” she asks.
“Yes Mom… it was all good.”
Grandma’s gaze shifts to me. “Divya, you look so different now. Is that a wig you’re wearing?”
I run my fingers through my hair, brushing the front strands out of my face. “No Grandma… it is my real hair.”
Grandma shakes her head. “Tsk tsk, you young people and your fashion trends. I don’t think I myself have ever had hair as long as this mess that you have on your head. Anyway, come inside.”
We enter the house but head straight to the dining table. Breakfast is ready, and we’re starving. I never liked visiting my grandparents’ place, but I have always loved the food. It is not Grandma’s cooking, but the cooking of the house-help who’ve served in the house for as long as I can remember.
Grandpa is seated at the head of the long table, with Grandma and Rajat seated on either side of him. Mother and I sit towards the opposite end. We took the seats naturally, almost as if everyone had simultaneously decided that this is the best arrangement.
“So, Anjali,” Grandpa begins, “what is the current situation? With the paperwork, I mean.”
Mother tenses up. Her face displays a mixture of sadness and exhaustion. She had slept throughout every leg of our journey, but she still has dark circles of tiredness under her eyes. She may have wished to rest longer on reaching here, but Grandpa seems to be eager to jump into the heart of the matter.
“I… signed the papers.”
Grandpa sighs with relief. “Finally, okay that is good. And… have you thought about the other matter?”
Grandpa said ‘other matter’ with such weight that makes me wonder what it is. I look at Mother for answers, but her eyes are pointed down at her food.
“I… have.”
“And?”
“I… need more time to think about it.”
Grandpa gets up from his chair and lays his hands with such force on the table that the sound ripples throughout the room. “Anjali! You can’t remain single for the rest of your life! Besides, we already said yes to a prospective groom.”
I gasp. It can’t be. I always assumed that something was going to happen eventually, but I didn’t think that Grandpa and Grandma were already looking for re-marriage prospects.
Mother is also surprised. “You found someone?”
“Yes. We did.”
“Oh. Who is this suitor?”
“Do you remember Ramchand uncle? My friend who owns the big farm on the other side of town, the one who’d come to meet us every month when you were little?”
“Yes… I remember him. So his son?”
Grandpa hesitates. “No… not his son. The suitor is Ramchand uncle himself, and he is coming over to our house to meet you this evening.”
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After breakfast, Grandma called who she claims are the best stylists in Leelapur to the house. The mission was, in her words, to make Mother look like a woman who just graduated college and is ready for marriage. They took Mother inside one of the many rooms in the house and got to work on her. She nearly fainted when Grandpa revealed who the suitor is, and she seemed to be in a trance-like state even when the stylists arrived. Truth be told, I can’t believe what is happening either.
Rajat and I are in another room. We are both long ready. I required a bit more time to ready my hair. Grandma instructed me to braid it so that I looked presentable, and braid my hair I did, because I knew I had no other choice.
“Maybe they’re looking to marry you off to a dude too,” Rajat laughed.
I shrug. “I wouldn’t put it past them. I think Grandma would rather have me present like a girl completely than be a guy with long hair.”
Rajat snorts. “Probably. You do make a pretty girl.”
There is a bit of silence. The situation is messed up by all means, and even though I’m trying to act that it is normal, my inner self cannot make sense of what we are going through at all. Rajat, however, seems to be unaffected by it.
“Rajat,” I say, “don’t you think we should step up?”
Rajat winces. “What do you mean?”
“Mother… she is in a state to not do anything. She clearly does not like the idea of getting re-married, but she isn’t going to say a word in the state that she is in. Should we be the ones to talk to Grandpa and Grandma about it?”
Rajat frowns. “How do you know that Mother is opposed to this?”
“Rajat… c’mon, don’t be obtuse. She clearly does not want this.”
“Oh yeah? But, what if this is the right thing for her?”
“What?”
“Divya, the cheating has pretty much ruined her reputation both in the eyes of family and our neighborhood in Delhi. Her getting married would save her image.”
“Why?”
“A single woman in Delhi with a past history of adultery… if she stays unmarried, she’ll sleep with the entire neighborhood in a year.”
I gasp. “Rajat, you did not just say that…”
“I did, and I stand by it. What are you gonna do about it?”
I do not say another word, because I know that if I did, I’d be beaten to pulp.
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Mr. Ramchand arrived earlier than scheduled. Mother was still inside, getting dolled up by the stylists, but someone had to keep Mr. Ramchand entertained, and that job fell to Rajat, I, and Grandpa.
Mr. Ramchand is a portly man. He is short in stature too, which makes him rather cartoonish, but he had such physical presence that he would, I think, stand out anywhere he went. He wore a dress that seems to fit him rather tightly at the neck and waist, and his pants look like they are on the verge of bursting due to the pressure of containing his enormous figure. He also wore a broad smile, and he occasionally scratched his body at all kinds of places. Put simply, he seems to be a living example of the old adage that money doesn’t buy class or good manners.
The fact that this man could be marrying my mother is terrifying. On entering the house, he opened his arms in wide embrace and smiled towards me and Rajat.
“Hello! I’m Ramchand, but you can call me just Ram or just Chand. I’m here to ask for your Mother’s hand in marriage.”
Grandpa, arriving behind him, chuckles. “Ramchand, these are Divya’s kids. Rajat and Divya.”
“Oh jolly! A son and a daughter, how wonderful!”
Grandpa sighs. “Actually, Divya is a guy too. They’re both sons.”
“Oh! I would have never guessed with the hair and the pretty face. Apologies, Divya!”
“Er… it is alright, Mr. Ramchand.”
Rajat, who has been silent this whole time, speaks. “Mr. Ramchand, if you’d like, we could show you around the house.”
Mr. Ramchand grins. “That would be wonderful!”
With Rajat in the lead, we show Mr. Ramchand around the house. He asks a silly question here and there, but we reply with sincerity. Every now and then a question is asked about Mother, and Rajat and I reply carefully, not because we’re afraid of judgement from Mr. Ramchand, because he seems like anything but a judgemental person, but because we’re afraid of what Grandpa would say.
We finish the tour, and return to where we started. Mr. Ramchand presses on with more questions, when a door opens and out comes Grandma and Mother, whom I almost do not recognise.
She is dressed from head to toe in a tradition Indian clothing – a blouse and saree colored a regal red with streaks of gold. Her face, which was in the morning completely devoid of any life, is glamorous now, set with a layer of foundation that does not obscure but compliments her fair skin, and mascara and lipstick that do not scream for attention but command it. But what catches my gaze the most is her hair.
Mother’s long black hair, which goes down to her tailbone, is done so that it sits down not plainly like it usually does but in immaculate ringlets. The top layer is gathered at the back and tied and braided. Flowers are placed across the length of the hair in a deliberate pattern, to top of the look.
Grandma’s vision of making Mother look twenty years young has been implemented with success, and maybe too well that one could mistake Rajat and I for being her brothers and not son.
Mr. Ramchand beams. “Anjali! My goodness gracious, how are you? You look like an absolutely princess!”
Mother is slow to react. Her physical appearance has had a full makeover, but she looks to be in the same dazed state that she was in when Grandma took her inside.
“I’m… fine, Ramchand uncle. I’m glad to see you again, too.”
Mr. Ramchand smiles. “Now, let us talk.”
And talk they do, or at least, mostly Mr. Ramchand did. He has more questions to ask, and Mother but mostly Grandma answer. The questions that were asked to me and Rajat mostly were of a playful sort, but the questions he asks now are questions that are more normal for a suitor to ask. Questions about her ability to cook, questions about her eating preferences, questions about her sleeping preferences, and so on.
“I’m satisfied with all your answers, Anajali,”
Mr. Ramchand says, “but I must now ask questions about a more intimate topic – religion. Do you believe in the existence of the One, Anajali?”
Mother hesitates. We all know the real answer to that, but just as with most of the questions asked so far, Grandma offers the answer that Mr. Ramchand want to hear. “Yes, she is indeed. She is a devout follower of the One and his teachings.”
Mr. Ramchand scratches his chin. “I see… that is very nice to hear. So have you been to Puvanath Temple? For your cleansing, after the… what led to your divorce.”
I wasn’t paying close attention to the conversation, but the mention of Puvanath Temple has piqued my attention.
“No, we have not,” responds Grandma.
“Oh.” The ever-present smile vanishes off Mr. Ramchand’s face, and for the first time today, he looks let down. “That is a shame. I really am a devout follower of the One, and while I am a respecter of one’s freedom of religion, I would feel as though I had sinned myself if my wife-“
“Ramchand,” says Grandpa, “we will leave for Puvanath at once.”
Mr. Ramchand smiles. “Oh that’s good, what a relief!”
I look at Mother and I look at Rajat. Neither of them show signs that they’re thinking of the implications. About what a visit to Puvanath for a cleansing entails.
“Okay Ramchand, what do you think?”
Mr. Ramchand clears his throat. “I’ve made my decision. Actually, I have made my decision when I first set eyes on Anjali today, seeing what a magnificent young lady the girl I once knew has grown into. Subject to the completion of your trip to Puvanath, I’d be delighted to take her hand in marriage. Does tomorrow work?”
“Tomorrow for what?” asks Grandma.
“Well… for the wedding.”
Grandpa chuckles nervously. “Really?”
“Yes. I’ve already invited all my friends and family over, and they are on their way to Leelapur as we speak. I hope that isn’t a problem, right?”
Grandpa hesitates. “But the venue and all the arrangements?”
Mr. Ramchand waves his hand. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve already taken care of it. I’ll send you the details when I get back home.” He gets up and walks to Mother. Then, he takes her hand.
“Anjali, I hope you dress just as beautiful tomorrow as you did today! I’m sure you’d look gorgeous tomorrow, once the cleansing is done and your skin bears the shimmer of the One’s good grace.”
Mr. Ramchand kisses Mother on the cheek, and I am overcome with an intense feeling of nausea. Mother is speechless, displaying no signs that she is processing anything that is going on whatsoever.
Mr. Ramchand goes to the exit, waves his hand in goodbye. The door shuts behind him, and this time, Mother completely faints.
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