Sarah

I was accosted by a large pot-bellied man as soon as I came out of the lab after going through general health checkup and giving a cheek swab.

“Saaraa?” he had a funny way of pronouncing my name, but I checked the urge to correct him.

“Yes?”

“Niharika. Your mother had wanted to name you Niharika.” His English was labored; he was obviously more comfortable in Hindi or Marwari.

Almost simultaneously I spotted the employee standing obeisantly at some distance. The man talking to me needed no introduction now.

“I have no father or mother; I am an orphan, Sir,” I didn’t stay to observe his reaction and walked to the employee instead, “If it matches, you can call me at the same landline number, when the time for donation comes. I should not be contacted otherwise.”

“God willing, it will definitely match, child.”

“I am not your child. My name is Sarah Jacob. Have a good day, Sir.”

“Let me arrange to have you dropped back.”

“My taxi is waiting.”

God forgive me for being vengeful, but it felt good. Oh yes – it felt good, to be able to dismiss these people without so much as a glance back.

“Saaraa wait,” the large man moved with surprising swiftness and stood tall before me, “Your work for Protim Roychowdhury?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Are you going to marry him?”

“None of your business.”

“Listen to me child. I am guilty of a lot of abominable acts, but I still can’t let you knowingly fall into a pit. That man is already married.”

“I know. I tutor his daughter.”

“And not widowed or divorced.”

“Thank you, for proving a second time in my life, just how disgusting you are. Stay away from me, or I will call for security.”

My rebuke to him hadn’t wanted for strength, but if he had intended spoil my enthusiasm about my upcoming wedding, he had succeeded in that. How odd it was that I had never talked to Protim about his first wife. I had just assumed that she was dead. Could it be otherwise? No! He wouldn’t do that to me. Oh God! If only I could fly into his arms right away and have all these aspersion blows away. But I must suffer several hours of road journey before that could happen. I couldn’t possibly discuss this on mobile he had so solicitously pushed in my hand as I was leaving.

—

Protim

It wasn’t her love or fidelity that I distrusted. How could I distrust that faithful, devoted creature? The weakness was in me. The darkness was in me. The horrible secret was mine. I had dismissed Chanda’s apprehensions, but that didn’t make them less potent. When it was too late, I knew that my impatience was my undoing. If only I had been willing to wait, and at least made myself legally eligible, she would have come around her religious convictions. But I wanted her. Not a few years later, but then. Love is not only blind, but foolish too. And when passion gets the upper hand in all the feelings that make love, foolishness starts bordering on dementia. I was demented. Oh! Who in their right mind would not have seen that?

But I wasn’t thinking of all this when I saw her back at my house. My only feeling was of relief and exuberance. She was back, yet again. She would be mine, forever. The wedding was in a week…

She willingly came into my arms, when I reached out for her. But there was a hesitation in her bearing.

“What’s wrong?” I had to ask.

“It’s silly, really,” she looked contrite. What for?

“Talk to me.”

“Yes. That’s what it is. I just need to hear it from you and then the notion would not even cross my head ever again. Ananya’s mother… Strange that we never talked about her. But she is dead, right? What was her name?”

Have you ever been dunked into a water tank without warning and kept in it until all the air has been let out of your stomach? If you have been, you would understand just what I was going through behind my stunned silence and blanched face.

Her face grew into a mirror of my own, when she realized that I hadn’t replied promptly and settled the matter for her. It was not good news, and she knew it.

I hadn’t been particularly nice and straightforward with her through the time I had known and courted her. I had laughed at her, had ridiculed her and had manipulated her. I had made her suffer through Debjani’s presence in my house, I had let her feel insulted, slighted and ignored. I had driven her to tears, all in my attempt to secure a place for me in her heart. When she was away visiting Father Jacob, I had promised myself that I would never torture her so and just beg her to accept my feelings. And yet, when she had come back, I hadn’t been able to stop myself from pushing her to the extreme, I had played with her feelings until she had been pushed in a corner and had to confess it all. It had worked out fine for me; I had her words before I opened my heart to her. But how she had suffered!  I ill-used her to get her. And yet now, when a little manipulation, a little lie could preserve her happiness, I could not get myself to say it. The trust in her voice, the devotion in her eyes, they didn’t let me lie and my tongue stayed stuck to the roof of my mouth. And through that cavernous silence of mine, the truth was revealed to her.

“She. Is. Alive. Your. Wife. Is. Alive.” She uttered each word slowly and distinctly as if she was unsure she would say them right.

—

To be continued