The wedding ceremony was the very next day.  The earlier the better, their parents had declared. Even though the plan was to keep it simple, both families had too many relatives in the city, who could not have been avoided. Doing anything then would have meant a huge scandal. He went through the ceremony, his heart sinking with every passing moment. He hadn’t expected her to be immediately comfortable as his wife. But he had hoped that with time he would be able to ease her into it. That seemed impossible now. Impossible and cruel. But he needed some time to figure a way out. Probably dissolve the marriage – an unconsummated one should not be difficult to…

“Let her be here,” he heard Piyali telling someone as he dragged himself to his room at night, “She is used to sleeping in this bed.”

“But Boudi, Kaki asked me. To bring the baby to her for tonight,” The newly appointed aayah, Champa, presented her case in a flat, bored voice.

“Let her be,” Mukundo added his voice, “Piyali is right. She is used to sleeping here.”

“As you say, Dada.” She retreated. He bolted the door after her.

She had worn a maroon lehanga for the ceremony. But right now she was wearing a baby pink saree. He had never seen her in a saree before and could not help noticing how feminine and mature she looked wearing one. And how vulnerable.  He also noticed her stiffen once they were left alone. He willed himself to not feel offended.

“I am extremely tired. You must also be. Change and go to bed. Sumi would wake us up several times at night.”

Emotions of relief and fear hit her simultaneously. Did it mean that he cared for her too much, or did it mean that he intended to remain indifferent to her? All things considered, she decided, it was better for that night, avoiding having to figure out their relationship. She rummaged through her suitcase, found a simple cotton night dress, changed in the bathroom and lied down on the empty side of the bed, baby Sumedha safely separating them. She wondered if she should switch the light off. She didn’t have to, because Mukundo reached out to the switch on his side and the darkness descended to mark the closure of her wedding night.

As Mukundo had warned, they were woken up thrice by Sumedha. Both of them had practiced sufficient nappy changing and feeding to do it fine even while struggling to stay awake.

—

The outward rhythm was easy to set into. Not much had changed really. She was already staying with them on weekdays. She still did that. She still visited her father over the weekends. Sometimes she took the kids along. Sometimes Mukundo himself drove them there. At night, she put Aditya to sleep in the nursery and set up the child monitor. Sumedha slept on their bed, between them, keeping them safely apart. They had started taking turns at changing the nappies and feeding her at night.

But the heart ached.

Piyali had left her past with Pronab behind. But it looked like her past with Mukundo had also been left behind. The camaraderie was gone. They didn’t play chess, or discuss politics, or practice music together. And the future didn’t seem to hold anything either. She could not resign herself to the fact the Mukundo would not love her as a woman as she had hoped to do. That the children were fine was her one solace, but she was lonely. She had to do something!

“Ouch!” she had underestimated how hot steel utensils can get on the stove.

“What the hell, Piyali!” Mukundo rushed to her and dragged her hand under the tap, switching off the stove with his other hand, “What are you doing in kitchen?”

She was startled to find him there too. “What are you doing in the kitchen?”

“Didn’t see you at the breakfast table; so I came looking for you. What were you up to?”

“Making breakfast.”

“Why? What happened to Sonelal.”

“I told him I will cook today.”

“Is it still burning?” he asked turning the tap off.

She shook her head.

“What has come upon you? What’s wrong in Sonelal’s cooking?”

“But Didi used to cook…”

Mukundo fell silent for moment. Baishali did indeed cook herself quite often, and supervised cooking at other times. She was good at that too. As she was at managing the house, keeping the décor consistent, knitting sweaters and embroidering table clothes. Most of the table clothes and wall hangings in the house were her doing. She had never shared his intellectual pursuits, that was more to her little sister’s taste, but she had never failed to provide him with all the homely comfort. He felt guilty that he wasn’t particularly missing her cooking though. Probably it was her training, but he thought Sonelal cooked just fine.

“Don’t be silly, Piyali. You are not Baishali and you are not expected to be. Come out right away. Let Sonelal make breakfast.”

Her attempts at embroidery and craft had to be abandoned even before someone could catch her in the act. It wasn’t possible to develop either aptitude or skills overnight. She was frustrated and morose. Mohima hadn’t failed to notice and had asked repeatedly if something was the matter. That Piyali vehemently denied even as she hoped for Mukundo to notice and ask. After rescuing her from her cooking attempt, however, he seemed content to skirt around her presence. He had two long months at home before the university reopened. But he divided his time between kids and his library.

—

To be continued