I wrote this short story in 2022 and submitted it to the Commonwealth Short Story Prize 2023, but it did not get shortlisted. Then the synopsis of this story was featured in the Somewhere Or The Other Publishing Short Story Contest and it won the first prize in the Romance category ($50 prize money).
The powerful aroma of mustard seeds crackling in hot oil spread through the house. As the seeds popped, Bhagyashree added cumin seeds, fenugreek seeds, a bay leaf, and two red chillies to the tempering, gently stirring the kadhi that was boiling on the other stovetop. She was humming ‘Chura Liya Hai Tumne Jo Dil Ko’ as she added some red chilli powder, mixed the tempering, and poured it over the kadhi. She then turned off the stove, lifted the pan, and placed it on the countertop to let it cool. Gathering some bajra (pearl-millet flour) and water, she settled on the sofa in the living room and began to knead the dough to make rotis.
“Abhijeet, idhar aa!” Bhagyashree yelled at her two-year-old son, who was running around the house. The boy imitated the sound of a car’s engine – vroom, vroom – and rushed inside the bedroom to escape his mom’s yelling.
‘This boy is hopeless! I don’t know how I am going to manage another kid,’ she sighed, thinking. ‘That reminds me, I should talk to Prithvi about getting pregnant again. Abhijeet has crossed two and it’s time to conceive the next one. I am still breastfeeding this fellow. If I conceive, I will wean and get ready for the next baby. Maybe, we will try tonight. Prithvi will be happy and content after eating the special rotis I am making for him. I will add extra butter just for him.’
Many years ago, Bhagyashree’s mother had told her that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. She was a staunch believer in that ancient adage and followed it religiously. Wiping a line of sweat from her brow with the end of her odhani, she went into the kitchen again, this time in a happy mood. Her tomato-red bangles jingled as she rolled the dough into twelve little balls. Just then, she realized that she had run out of cooking oil.
“Prithvi must have some in his almirah. I’ll just go and fetch it,” she muttered to herself.
The wooden almirah in their bedroom was coated in dust. Bhagyashree never bothered to clean it as other household duties took up most of her time. Prithviraj was the kind of man who thought that cooking and cleaning were a woman’s duties. So, there it was – unkempt and unclean. Cobwebs adorned the space between the almirah and the wall. It would have made a good prop for a haunted house, yet it was Prithviraj’s most prized (also largely ignored) possession. While the couple arranged their clothes on the stone shelves built into the bedroom walls, they used the almirah for arranging old clothes that they’d donate later and for storing extra groceries.
Bhagyashree opened it, coughed a bit, and bent down to retrieve the packet of oil from the bottommost shelf. As she straightened up, she noticed a sheet of paper wedged between Prithviraj’s old shirts.
‘What is this?’ she wondered and pulled it out. She let out a tiny gasp as she looked at the lifelike sketch on the sheet – it was a portrait of an astonishingly beautiful woman with a pair of striking eyes and well-sculpted cheeks. Her mesmerizing looks indicated that she was yet another Rajasthani, maybe from a different community. But it was not Bhagyashree, and that’s what bothered her. Her fingers shook as she held the sheet between them. Her lips quivered and tears ran down her cheeks. She knew about Prithviraj’s artistic talents and had seen some of his sketches, too. But she had never come across this portrait before. If he had kept it hidden from her so far, it meant only one thing.
He was somehow involved with the woman in the sketch. Was he having an affair with her?
*****
Bhagyashree wondered if there was a sad version of the Chura Liya song that she could listen to on repeat. She searched on YouTube, but the results showed different cover versions of the song, with none of them a sad version. The song was a craze even after forty-five years.
“A sad version must exist!” she exclaimed to no one in particular. Finally, she settled on listening to Naina Barse.
Just then, the main door opened and Prithviraj entered. Immediately, Bhagyashree stood up in respect, adjusted her odhani, and relieved him of the groceries that he had bought from the supermarket. She went to the kitchen to place the bag on the shelf. Prithviraj sat on a chair at the dining table and pulled a plate towards him. Bhagyashree came running from the kitchen to serve him the food, but he stopped her and served himself the rotis and kadhi. He then beckoned her to sit with him and set a plate for her, too.
Bhagyashree’s heart melted at the sight of her husband serving her the food. It was strange because he had never done such a thing. She forgot about the sketch and started admiring his bronzed skin, freckled face, high forehead, and his beady eyes. When he smiled at her, his malposed teeth shone like little diamonds.
Four years ago, in 2014, Bhagyashree was a carefree 20-year-old whose only duty was to wander around Penawa, a quaint and dry village in Pali, Rajasthan. Her soft beige skin, heart-shaped face, tapering cheeks, sharp chin, narrow-set eyes, and protruding teeth attracted many men in the village. Her parents decided that she would turn reckless and modern as she was the only woman from the village who went to college and graduated with a bachelor’s degree in Hindi. They decided to marry her to a slender jewellery pawnbroker from Sowcarpet, Chennai, who was 24 years old then, went by the name Prithviraj Mathur, and hailed from Hemawas village in Rajasthan. Their marriage was fixed on April 15th, 2015, and that was the end of the happy-go-lucky Bhagyashree. By March 2016, she had given birth to Abhijeet. She shouldered all the responsibilities of a dutiful wife and a doting mother, while Prithviraj slogged in their jewellery-pawnbroking shop.
So, it was a huge ruination to her lovestruck heart when she realized that Prithviraj could be involved with another woman. She couldn’t digest the fact that after all she had done for him, he’d fall in love with someone else. She had to do something about it. Her mind conflicted with her heart. Somehow, she had already decided that there could be no other possible explanations for the presence of a sketch of a woman in a private almirah, done by her husband’s very hands. There had been other subtle signals, too, now that she thought of it…
‘Ask him about the sketch!’ Her brain screamed.
‘No, you shouldn’t. You must somehow find that other woman directly and talk to her,’ her heart suggested.
Prithviraj finished his dinner and burped loudly. Subconsciously, a smile formed across Bhagyashree’s lips; she took his burp as a sign of satisfaction. But the smile was soon replaced with a frown as she pondered on what to do about her discovery.
She even forgot about discussing her decision to have a second baby, let alone get into the process of making it.
*****
“Haan, Bhagya, bol!”
It was unusual for Bhagyashree to call Prithviraj in the afternoon when he was usually busy attending to customers.
“I am going to Mannady to sell some of the new earrings I made. Taking Abhijeet with me. Shall I go?” Her voice shook slightly as she lied to him.
“New earrings? Why didn’t you show them to me?”
“I am sorry, I forgot yesterday.”
“Chal, theek hai! Come home soon.”
“Okay,” she hung up and wiped her perspiring face.
She took some money that she had hidden amidst her sarees. She’d show it to Prithvi if he asked about any earnings she made by selling the earrings. Since Abhijeet couldn’t speak full sentences, he wouldn’t tell Prithvi that they weren’t selling any earrings, but merely wandering around North Chennai searching for a strange woman.
Bhagyashree had decided that given the woman’s facial features, the area in Chennai populated with settlers from the North of Vindhyas was her best bet in finding her.
Before leaving the house, Bhagyashree clicked a picture of the sketch on her phone. She’d need that while showing it to people to enquire about the mysterious woman. She hailed an auto-rickshaw, carried Abhijeet, and asked the driver to take her to a street she knew of in Mannady – it could be as good a place as any to start her search.
The place was bustling with shops selling different wares, snacks, chaat, and savouries. She alighted on a street corner, asked the rickshaw driver to wait under a shady tree, and began her search from one of the chaat shops. By the end of the hour, she had roamed around most of the area, stared at thousands of people, and asked many of the shopkeepers, showing them the picture of the woman. None of them recognised her; it was as if the woman did not exist.
Abhijeet’s tantrums reached a pinnacle when he started hitting Bhagyashree, demanding ice cream. She silenced him with a slap of her own. Locating the auto-rickshaw driver again, she asked him to take her to Royapuram, the second area on her list of probable places to find the mystery woman. This was a huge residential area replete with living quarters and apartments. There were also many wholesale shops. Bhagyashree had a tougher time navigating through the streets, asking the people about the woman, what with Abhijeet’s constant wailing now. She found a Jain restaurant and bought a thali to satiate their hunger, but her efforts to find the woman were in vain.
All she wanted to do was to seek the woman and ask her to stay away from her husband. However, she called it a day and returned home in defeat. She did not have the luxury of spending an entire day away from chores. But her heart was fixed on finding the answer, and she decided to try Broadway and Parrys the next day.
*****
A week had passed by since Bhagyashree’s tenacious search for a woman who might not even exist had begun. It never even occurred to her that the sketch might have been purely from Prithviraj’s imagination. The woman looked too beautiful and life-like to be a figment of imagination. She was confident that her hunch would come true, and she’d find that other woman in her husband’s life. It was she who shed blood and sweat to ensure that Prithvi stayed hale and hearty every day. She didn’t want another woman’s seduction to sabotage her happy marriage.
“Abhijeet, what would we do if your dad left us for this other woman?” Bhagyashree was driven to tears as she asked that question, her desperation becoming evident when her hard efforts did not even pay off.
‘Gu, gu… ga, ga,’ replied Abhijeet in his babyish voice, in all his wisdom.
“What will we do for survival then? Where will I get a job? I cannot go back to my parents… that would be a shame,” A tear rolled down her right cheek at the helplessness she felt at the unfairness of it all.
She brainstormed and suddenly settled on an idea. Her insides brimmed with inexplicable joy. She knew what she had to do. And here was something she could surely do and that would yield more satisfying results. She’d put extra effort into taking care of her husband that he’d regret having an affair and leave the other woman soon.
“Yes! I am going to do this. No one can stop me now,” she did a mental jig as she thought about all the things that would bring her husband closer to her.
That night, she wore a turquoise blue bandhani saree with a peacock-blue border and a matching turquoise-blue blouse. Prithviraj had gifted it to her on their first wedding anniversary. She applied some rose powder and red lipstick. She even wore a pair of handmade metallic jhumkas that shimmered and shone alluringly when she moved her head. Overall, she was dressed to kill.
Prithviraj couldn’t believe his eyes when he looked at her.
“Bhagya! Yeh kya hai? Are you going out somewhere?”
“No, Ji. I thought you’d love to see me in this saree. That’s why.”
“Oh! You look beautiful, Bhagya.”
“Thank you, Ji,” Bhagyashree’s cheeks blushed crimson. Then they had a hearty meal of rajma chawal.
As expected (and meticulously planned on her side), they made love that night on the bedroom floor, after putting Abhijeet to sleep on the cot. Bhagyashree felt secretly happy that she was able to acquire her husband’s full attention back. She was also overjoyed that she might become pregnant with their second kid.
‘I should continue this endeavour for a month so that he leaves that wretched woman and comes back to me,’ she thought.
*****
Prithviraj inhaled deeply and revelled in the seeping aroma of besan gatte, his favourite dish. Bhagyashree rarely made it, as the preparation was a tedious process. Of late, though, she was making all his favourite dishes every other day, and he was rather confused by her actions. But he did not question her about any of that. He deduced that she had some extra time on her hands as Abhijeet was able to play by himself without disturbing her nowadays.
While they were devouring the besan gatte and rice for lunch, Bhagyashree put forward a strange request.
“Ji, are you free in the evening today?”
“Why, Bhagya? You want me to take Abhijeet out somewhere?”
“No, Ji. I’d like to take you to Chokhi Dhani. I hope you know about the Rajasthani Village model in Poonamallee. Can I take you there?”
“What?! Are you going to take me out?” Prithviraj stressed the ‘you,’ as if mocking her.
“Yes, Ji. I saved some money by selling the earrings. So, I thought I’d treat you by taking you out.”
“How sweet, Bhagya!” Prithviraj smiled. “Okay, I will close the shop at five today. We can leave then.”
“Thank you, Ji. I thought you might laugh at me for this.”
“Yes, it is amusing… But anyway, the world is changing. So, I think we have to change along with it, as well.”
Bhagyashree couldn’t interpret her husband’s words, but she smiled at him. Though the mere thought of the presence of another woman in his life gnawed at her, she was making progress with her plan and that was her only solace.
When evening arrived, she got all dolled up for the trip to Chokhi Dhani, an ethnic artificial Rajasthani village modelled in Chennai. Though the tickets at the venue were expensive, Bhagyashree managed to shell out the required money from her savings. Abhijeet squealed as soon as they entered the village set-up. They went boating on an artificial lake that went around a palace-like structure. Then they watched some boys performing horse dance, while Prithviraj nudged Bhagyashree to try the dance. Though she was hesitant initially, she went ahead and performed an awkward dance to make her husband happy.
Many figurines, statues, and Rajasthani artefacts contributed to making it an aesthetic village. The couple also tried their hand at pottery, camel riding, bullock-cart riding, and horse riding. Then they watched a folk dance performance, during which Bhagyashree romantically held Prithviraj’s hand. Though he was taken by surprise by the sudden PDA, he didn’t mind it. He was happy to realise that something new was happening in their relationship, and he found that quite a welcome change.
There was a maze by the name of Bhool Bhulaiya which was quite fun for Abhijeet as he ran around the pathways shrieking like a little monkey. They also watched a magic show, puppet show, rope-balancing act, and parlour tricks of astrology by a parrot picking cards. Finally, they ended their trip with a sumptuous Rajasthani Thali in the restaurant.
As they were walking towards the exit, Prithviraj tapped on Bhagyashree’s shoulder. She turned around to find him holding out a rose to her. Her cheeks turned scarlet at the thought of her husband performing a cinematic proposal – even though it had been a few years too late. But he didn’t move his body or go down on his knees. So, she humbly accepted the rose, removed her odhani, pinned it to her hair, and wrapped the odhani again. However, she felt so electrified with joy that she wanted to dance around like a Bollywood heroine.
The pressing matter of the other woman’s sketch was put on the back burner momentarily.
*****
“Bhagya! Come here soon,” Prithviraj hollered at the top of his voice.
Thinking that he was in some trouble, Bhagyashree rushed to the bedroom. But she found Prithvi casually scrolling through his Facebook newsfeed. Heaving a sigh of relief, she asked, “Ji, why did you call me?”
“Sit here,” he said, pointing at a space beside him on the bed.
Bhagyashree slouched down beside him and looked at him expectantly. He moved a pillow to reveal a jewel box.
“Here, take this. It’s for you,” His lips curved into a full smile.
“What is this, Ji?” She received the box from him curiously and opened it, her heart bouncing inside her ribcage. There it was – a gleaming, ruby-and-emerald-studded necklace with a pair of matching earrings. She gasped at the sight of the ornaments.
“It’s a gift for you,” Prithviraj continued.
“Ji, dhanyavaad. But what is the occasion?”
“I just felt like giving you something. It’s been a long time since I have even looked at you properly. You are doing so much for me, but I am not even buying anything special for you. That’s why I got you this. Hope you like it.”
“I love it so much, Ji,” Bhagyashree gushed happily.
With a wide grin, Prithviraj began humming the popular 90s romantic song – Nazar Ke Saamne. Now feeling reasonably certain that he had left the other woman for good, Bhagyashree felt intoxicated with a mixture of relief and peace. Her inner turmoil finally unpossessed her.
The sketch and its eccentric origins can rest in some dark corner, for she had finally won back her husband from the invisible clutches of possible infidelity.
*****
Five months later, a visibly pregnant Bhagyashree decided to visit her long-time friend, Pooja Dwivedi, who resided in Royapuram. Since she was also planning to purchase some utensils in Broadway along with Abhijeet, she boarded a shared-auto-rickshaw, carefully manoeuvring her belly and ensuring that Abhijeet was seated properly. Just as she was getting settled, a fair-skinned woman wearing a pink sleeveless top and jeans got into the same shared auto. Her gold-streaked hair was tied into a flowing ponytail. She was so alluring that Bhagyashree couldn’t stop looking at her ethereal beauty. Her eyes darted to the woman’s cleavage, and she was a bit disgusted by the revealing clothes. But there was another reason for Bhagyashree’s bewilderment.
The beautiful woman resembled the woman in Prithviraj’s sketch! Bhagyashree felt her stomach roil. No! She had left that behind months ago. But now, here was the living proof that the sketch was not just a product of her husband’s imagination. Why was life testing her this way?!
The woman turned and flashed a casual smile at Abhijeet. Those striking eyes and that expression enamoured Bhagyashree, for they were captured perfectly in her husband’s sketch and were unfortunately quite familiar to her. The woman’s alabaster skin made Bhagyashree wonder whether she could see through her skin. Her eyebrows were plucked and arched like a professional model’s would be. She had full pink lips. When the woman greeted Abhijeet with a ‘hello’, Bhagyashree noticed that her teeth were well-aligned. After a moment, their eyes met.
“Hel – hello. Is… is your name Pooja?” Bhagyashree blurted out in Tamil – the local dialect – the first name that came to her mind. That way, she could know the woman’s real name.
“No, I am Keerthana,” her voice was feathery.
“Oh, okay. You resembled one of my friend’s sisters. That’s why I asked you.” Bhagyashree stuttered.
“No problem,” Keerthana smiled. “How many months pregnant are you?” She asked, pointing at Bhagyashree’s belly.
“Five months,” replied Bhagyashree with a full-toothed smile. Their conversation continued in Tamil.
“Okay, take care of your health. Eat as many fruits as possible and nuts too.”
“Sure! Are you a doctor?” Bhagyashree asked, burning with curiosity.
“No, no, I just work in an MNC in Broadway. My house is in Royapuram.”
“I am also going to Royapuram to meet my friend.”
“That’s great! Where do you live?”
Bhagyashree observed that Keerthana spoke animatedly, using a lot of English words.
“I live in Sowcarpet along with my husband and this boy,” she nudged Abhijeet to smile at Keerthana, but he was busy watching a cartoon on his mother’s phone.
“Huh, you know, I studied English at Loyola College. I wrote an essay about Rajasthani women in my second year. That’s why I was drawn to talk to you.” Keerthana said.
“Achcha! What did you write about us?”
“Many things, most of which I don’t remember right now.” A forlorn expression touched Keerthana’s face. It was as if she didn’t want to talk about it further. Bhagyashree, too, didn’t want to press on it. But she had other things on her mind that she had to ask lest her brain would burst.
“Do you know anyone called Prithviraj?” She blurted so abruptly that the latter was almost taken aback.
“No, never heard of that name. Why? Are you still thinking that I am Pooja?”
“Haaye, no, no. I think I am just confused.” Bhagyashree managed.
By then, Keerthana felt quite irritated. Since Bhagyashree was pregnant, she did not want to retort or argue much. She kept quiet for the rest of the journey. When she alighted in Royapuram, she waved a casual goodbye to the mother-son duo.
While walking on the road, Bhagyashree’s mind ran amok…
‘What in the world was I thinking? She might resemble the woman in Prithvi’s sketch, but I am sure that he would have never had an affair with or even looked at such a modern wretch. Look at her clothes! She might have been nice to me, but she shouldn’t be exposing too much skin in public. What will other people think about her? If she was my relative, I’d have given a piece of my mind. But she is a stranger, and she turned all curt when I spoke about Prithviraj. She might be the woman whom Prithvi drew, but she’s not his lover. What the hell! My Prithvi was never in an affair in the first place, and I had doubted him unwantedly. May God punish me for this!’
Thinking so, Bhagyashree began to cry. She wiped her cheeks only after reaching Pooja Dwivedi’s house, wanting to present a proper face lest there were awkward questions.
*****
When Prithviraj returned home that evening, he had not expected Bhagyashree to hug him suddenly. She did not let go of him for a full five minutes. She was also sobbing profusely, and he just stood there, clueless.
“Bhagya, what happened? Tell me.”
But she remained silent and merely shook her head. After two minutes, she broke the embrace and looked into his eyes.
“I am sorry,” she whispered in a raspy tone.
An eerie fear grabbed at his heart as he presumed that their unborn baby was in some serious trouble. Abhijeet looked fine, after all. Prithviraj held her by her shoulders and shook her.
“What is it, Bhagya? Is it the baby?”
“No, Ji. But I am sorry. I am sorry for everything. I shouldn’t have thought about you like that.”
“Like what?”
“I am sorry, Ji…”
There was no stopping her tears now that she realized that her husband was innocent. Prithviraj let go of her and fetched a glass of water for her from the kitchen.
“Here, drink this. Sit down on the chair and tell me what happened.”
She followed his instructions and took deep breaths before she proceeded to reveal the truth.
“A few months ago, I discovered a sketch inside the almirah. When I saw that it was of another woman – and a beautiful woman at that – I suspected that you were in an affair with her. But I realized now that I was wrong all along. You are such a good soul, Ji, and I shamelessly suspected you. I am sorry.”
There was a slight disturbance in Prithviraj’s stunned expression at the mention of the sketch, but Bhagyashree was crying too hard to notice the fluttering of his eyes. Composing himself, he spoke gently, “Bhagya, is this what is bugging you? I just drew a random woman I saw on the streets. Well, wait…”
Saying so, he opened the almirah and pulled out the sketch.
“I did not know it would affect you this much!”
He then went inside the kitchen, switched on the burner, and placed the sketch on fire. Both of them watched the paper melt into the flames.
Whatever unwelcome thing that had homed in both of their hearts was no longer a tenant.
*****
The next day, Prithviraj opened his shop earlier than usual. As soon as he settled on his chair, he phoned his best friend, Manish, and asked him to meet him in his shop.
Half an hour later, the two men were sipping hot ginger tea, while the shop-assistant boy was attending to a customer.
“Tell me, Prithvi. Why did you want to meet me suddenly?” asked Manish.
“I am a bit upset.”
“Oh! Is it something to do with Bhagyashree?”
“No, she is fine. We are fine. There’s no problem between us. It’s something else. Before I married Bhagya, I was in love with this Tamil girl, who was haunting my thoughts till yesterday.”
“What?! What is this new story?” Manish spat out.
“It’s an old story, Manish. Are you ready to listen? I think if I share it with you, I can finally feel relieved of her memories.”
“Sure, I am ready to listen.”
Prithviraj began his rigmarole in Hindi.
“Seven years ago, I had just opened this shop when this beautiful girl came along with her mother to pawn some jewels. As I chatted with the duo in a friendly manner, I got to know that they were also staying in Sowcarpet. I felt overjoyed because I liked the girl from the very first sight. I found out her address from the slip they had filled out for the bill. I’d wait for her in a tea shop near her house daily in the evenings when she returned from college. We both would eye each other endlessly. I don’t know whether she was as enamoured by me as I was by her.
“One day, I mustered the courage to talk to her. She told me her name was Keerthana Muralidharan. I introduced myself as Rana, my childhood name… I think I was panicking as I did not tell her my actual name. Soon, we exchanged mobile numbers and started texting and talking daily on the phone. One day, we confessed that we loved each other. Though we knew that we were from different communities, we continued our relationship. We hung out in many places in the city – parks, beaches, and the cinema. We even kissed a lot. It was the loveliest period of my life.
“After a year, her parents found out about our relationship. They accompanied her to college and returned along with her in the evenings every day so that she never had a chance to meet me. They even confiscated her mobile phone. But, somehow, she bunked college one day and met me in my shop. I took her to a faraway beach so we could talk it over. We eventually decided that we would elope and get married. I told her that I’d fund her education after our marriage. All the plans were set.
“But suddenly, my parents and brother arrived from Hemawas. They had come to know through a mutual friend that I was in love with a Tamil girl. They insisted that I should marry only someone from our Rajasthani community or threatened that they’d kill Keerthana. Afraid that they might harm her, I went to her college and requested that she meet me. Then, I explained everything to her, and we parted with heavy hearts. Her last words have always haunted me – ‘Rana, I will always love you, no matter what.’ I don’t know whether she still loves me. I never saw her after that day, though I know she’s still in Chennai. That is it, Manish.”
“Haye Bhagwan! What a love story! But why are you telling me this now?”
“Yesterday, Bhagya told me that she saw a sketch of a woman in my almirah, and she thought that I was in an affair with that woman. I sketched Keerthana from memory a few months ago. I thought I had hidden the sketch, but somehow, she found it out. I burned it in front of her, to reassure her that there was no affair or any threat to our marriage. You know, Manish, I felt so relieved.”
“Wow! You did well. Are you still in love with this Keerthana? You would still be cheating on your wife even if your love was in your mind…” Manish pointed out.
Prithviraj looked up at the overcast sky. Somewhere, a ray of sunshine was streaking through. He then turned to Manish with a smile.
“No, I love my wife very much. I cannot live without her. No other woman has a place in my heart now. My love for Keerthana was real, but it was not meant to be, and my love for my wife and my happy family supersedes it, always. It was not only the sketch that burned that day but all lingering love, too.”
If you loved this short story, you can read my other short stories here.
KJ's Musings 