The Dowry Bride - Shobhan Bantwal

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cow that usually ambled up and down the street and survived on fruit and vegetables tossed out by the merchants was missing, too. The lame mongrel that scavenged for food was nowhere in sight either.

      She caught her reflection in one of the store windows and stopped short. The sight was so unexpected and alarming, she nearly gasped. It was like discovering a ghost. Her own ghost! Staring back at her was a narrow oval face with huge, dazed eyes, full lips trembling, a bloody scratch on the chin, and a smudge of dirt on the nose. Locks of hair had come loose from her normally neat plait and hung about her sweaty face. Her cheeks looked almost hollow in the murky light, her eye sockets dark and deep. In the tinted glass her faded blue sari appeared gray and rumpled.

      What was happening to her? She could hardly recognize herself.

      Good grooming had come naturally to her, and despite her meager wardrobe and lack of fancy cosmetics, she had always taken pride in her appearance. She was used to receiving compliments about her looks and dress sense, and yet now she looked like a homeless teenager, combing the streets late at night looking for scraps. A young woman from a dignified family and a decent home had no right to look like she did right now. In less than an hour she had gone from being a bride with a future to a homeless woman. How could that be? It was inconceivable.

      Without her wristwatch Megha had no way of telling how long she’d been running, but by now Amma and Suresh had to know she was missing. They would surely set the police after her. Then she’d be arrested and dragged back to her in-laws. That, too, was unimaginable, and yet, it was likely to happen sooner or later. It was the only outcome she could foresee.

      She went rigid at the sound of an approaching automobile. The police! Desperately looking for a place to hide, she did the only thing she could: she fell to the ground and crawled behind a discarded cardboard box lying on the footpath. The box smelled of rotting fruit and God knew what else. It was hardly large enough to cover her, but it kept her somewhat concealed from the streetlight. Her dark sari would have to do the rest.

      The vehicle, a compact light-colored car, came closer. Her heart thudding like mad, she rolled her body into a tight ball, hoping she remained invisible. God, what if the driver saw her? What if it was a policeman? Or could it be one of Amma’s brothers, combing the town for her?

      When the car didn’t slow down and kept going at a steady pace, she let her breath out. Only after the car turned the corner and disappeared did she realize it was merely a passing vehicle and not a direct threat. She rose to her feet. How long could she keep herself hidden?

      There was no time to think. She had to run some more. But where exactly could she go? Surely not to her parents—they would send her right back to Suresh. “A married woman belongs in her husband’s home, no matter how he treats her,” her father, Lakshman Shastry, would remind her in that annoyingly righteous way of his, his dark eyes turning to ice. “It is a wife’s duty to remain loyal to her family at any cost.” He’d then escort her to the Ramnath household and abandon her on their doorstep once more like a bag of rubbish. “Now be a good wife to your husband. Behave yourself!” he’d order her, his gnarled arthritic index finger raised like a whip. He wasn’t above using his twisted hand to swat her bottom if necessary.

      If she was condemned to die in an inferno, would he even care? With his burden gone he wouldn’t have to worry about producing that wretched dowry. Maybe he’d even welcome the news of his youngest daughter’s demise.

      Megha’s mother, Mangala, although a caring woman, was the quintessential Brahmin wife: conventional, obedient, and compliant to a fault. She would support her husband in all matters, even to the extent of letting her child die a gruesome death.

      So, what were Megha’s options? She had no living grandparents on either side. Her mother’s two older brothers lived around Chennai—too far for her to travel. And they hardly ever kept in touch with the family. If she showed up at their homes, they wouldn’t even recognize her. The last time they’d seen her was when she was about nine years old. Her father had no living siblings. His two sisters and one brother had died young, and their children were scattered throughout India. Longevity didn’t seem to exist on her father’s side of the family. No wonder Appa talked about dying all the time.

      If she went to her best friend, Harini Nayak’s house, the police would easily track her down there. Amma knew Harini was Megha’s closest friend. Besides, she couldn’t show up at Harini’s door at this time of night. Perhaps she could go to her older sister Hema’s house in Hubli? But there would be no bus leaving for Hubli until the morning, and in any case, she had no money for the bus fare. Other than the clothes she was wearing she had nothing. Besides, the bus depot and the train station would be places the police were most likely to monitor.

      Without money and support, Amma would have her back in a minute. Amma had made up her mind that her precious son was to become a widower. That way he’d be guaranteed another bride immediately, without the stigma of divorce. And that meant Amma would hunt Megha down and kill her with her own two hands to get what she wanted.

      That left Megha with no place to go and no one to turn to. She was alone in the world—completely alone. She had no home and no family to speak of anymore. All at once, desolation struck her. Blind to the dust and debris around her, she sank to the footpath for the second time and buried her face in her hands. What was she going to do?

      Hard, painful sobs racked her body as she surrendered to the hopelessness that engulfed her.

      Her father would never be able to come up with the dowry. So why had he promised the Ramnaths a dowry he couldn’t afford? How could her parents do this to her? She would have been better off remaining a spinster. Was marriage so important in a woman’s life that cruelty and even death wouldn’t be considered too great a sacrifice? Why did people like her parents insist on having children they could ill afford in the first place? Just so they could give them away in marriage to murderers? Didn’t a precious human life mean anything anymore?

      In that instant, she hated her parents with a passion she never knew she was capable of. In fact, she loathed them even more than she loathed Suresh and her in-laws. She could never forgive her father for this. He was a monster for selling her to the lowest bidder.

      But she despised herself more than anyone. Why hadn’t she had the guts to stand up to her father and refuse to marry that ass named Suresh? Why hadn’t she lashed out at Amma and her meanness? After hearing about the murder plans why hadn’t she marched over to the neighbors’ house and summoned the police? Because she was afraid.

      Once the cathartic weeping fit was over, Megha wiped her eyes and began to think hard and take stock of her situation. Most important, she was still alive. And her chief priority was to stay alive. She had to get out of the immediate vicinity first—find a relatively safe place to hide. Ignoring the small puddle of blood her injured foot had left behind and the throbbing pain, she looked around, trying to figure out which direction to take. And she froze.

      A man sitting huddled under a sheet was watching her from several feet away. Where had he come from? Had he been there all along, observing her while she had taken cover behind the box and then cried like a baby? Why had she not noticed him all this time?

      When she glanced at him again, he rose to his feet, dropped his sheet and stretched to his full height. He was looking directly at her. Something about the tense stillness of his body told her he was going to make a move on her any second. He had the look of a predator, crouching, silently poised to pounce on its prey. He started to walk toward her. His white teeth flashed at her in the muted light—a sinister smirk that terrified her to the very marrow of her bones.

      Dear God, he probably thought she was a prostitute, ripe for the taking! She had never been out on the streets alone at this time of night. She had no idea what kinds of peril stalked the town after midnight. Purely on instinct she shot to her feet. Sprinting across the street, she lost herself in the shadows of a dark alley. The fog seemed thicker there, making it hard to see anything, but she ran on.

      She heard the man’s footsteps behind her. He was now running to catch up with her. Since he had probably not expected her to take off so abruptly, he might have been taken by surprise,

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