Where the Secret Lies (15 page)

Going back to the package,
Anjali found a note, which read “Shaadi Saal ki Mubarak” which meant “Happy
Anniversary.” Anjali wished her family lived closer, especially during times of
celebration.

Anjali put the statue aside and
began to pick up the wrapping. As she did so, she did not notice the last
envelope falling off the table and sliding under the settee.

It was the evening of their anniversary and Anjali finished
preparing the dining table, which she did every year. The table hid under a
shimmering white and gold tablecloth with a generous scattering of red and
white petals. Two tall, white candles made the centrepiece.

The dimmed lighting and tea
lights gave the room romance; it was the perfect setting for a perfect evening.

Anjali dressed in the sari she had
finished embroidering and wore diamonds, knowing Mohan would not be able to
resist her tonight. She waited for her husband, sitting at the dining room table.
This was
 
a yearly custom. The smile left
her when the clock chimed six. She was expecting him at five thirty. She left
the table and switched on the record player. Soft

melodies calmed her anxiety and impatience a little, when he
failed to arrive by six thirty.

With the girls away at a
friend’s house, Anjali found there was nothing to do except to wait. Anjali lay
down on the settee and fell asleep.

Something tickled her nose that travelled down her neck and
stopped at her bosom. Anjali opened her eyes to see Mohan staring at her and
her heart beat quickened.

‘Oh I’m sorry,’ she exclaimed,
sitting up. ‘Oh no, the candles!’

Mohan laughed. ‘Come here my
darling.’

He took her hand and kissed her
fingers, then her hand, her arm and her throat. Anjali closed her eyes and
melted under his touch.

‘Where were you, Mohan ji?’ she
asked, her tone unforgiving. ‘I was worried.’

‘I am so sorry to be late,’ he
said, kissing her neck. ‘The meeting went longer than expected.’

‘Mohan ji,’ she whispered unable
to stop her anger from drifting.

‘Happy anniversary, my love,’
Mohan moved her sari from her bosom, revealing her lush cleavage. He kissed the
full roundness. Anjali felt his need against her thighs.

‘The food will be cold,’ she
said.

‘Let it be cold,’ he kissed her
mouth and fondled her breasts.

Anjali gasped in pleasure. His
mouth travelled down to her stomach. Anjali could not think of anything
else...she was soon lost in another world.

Anjali and Mohan lay panting side by side. Anjali rested her
head on Mohan’s chest and waited until their heartbeats slowed to normal.

‘I love you,’ he said, playing
with her fingers.

‘I love you more,’ Anjali said.

She kissed his hand and turned
to face him, kissing his eyes, nose, and mouth. Mohan groaned and then his stomach
grumbled.

‘Time to eat,’ Anjali arose and put
on her blouse, finally draping her sari over. She soothed down her hair. ‘How
do I look?’

Mohan took her hand.
 
‘Don’t go.’

‘I’m only going to the kitchen
to bring my husband some food,’ she playfully wriggled herself away from his
roaming hands. He stood, very naked. His stomach grumbled.

‘We’ll have time for more of
that later,’ she winked.

Mohan reluctantly put his
clothes back on. He seemed to remember something. ‘Wait here, my love.’

He came back with a small box,
covered in red velvet. ‘A gift – for you.’

Anjali opened the box to reveal
a set of diamond earrings and a dazzling necklace.

‘Oh Mohan ji...’ she kissed her
husband hard on the lips. ‘They are beautiful.’

She proceeded to take her old
earrings off when one slipped from her fingers and dropped to the floor.

‘Oh!’ Anjali crouched, trying to
find the missing piece.

‘Let me,’ Mohan said, coming to
her side. An envelope caught his eye. ‘What is this?’

‘It must have arrived with the
post this afternoon,’ replied Anjali. ‘I do not remember seeing it.’

Mohan ripped the envelope open
and read the letter. His face drained of colour.

NINETEEN

‘What is it Mohan ji?’ Anjali took the letter out of Mohan’s
hand.
 

Anjali read the letter and
re-read it again. No, this could not be true. Mohan never hinted anything about
this...then why was her heart thudding?

 
‘Mohan ji, please speak to me. You must tell
me, is this the truth?’

 
‘It’s the truth,’ Mohan sat, distraught. ‘I am
sorry.’

‘No, no! I will not believe it, you
are lying to me!’ Anjali screamed.

‘I should have told you many
years ago and I am sorry I didn’t,’ Mohan tried to take her hand but she backed
away.

‘I trusted you. I believed in
you. Why?’ She sank to the floor, hot tears running down her face.

She felt her heart shatter. She trusted
him and married him. She respected him and he lied to her. Why?

Mohan’s arms circled her waist.
‘Will you forgive me?’

 
‘Please leave me alone Mohan ji. I want to be
by myself.’

Mohan withdrew. ‘I will wait for
you my love. I understand this is hard for you.’

Mohan was guilty for not telling
her the truth but he was not ashamed. He believed they were dead and never once
thought it important to tell Anjali, even so after their marriage. They were
his past and she was his present...

Anjali, now calm but drained of energy, finished her chai
without tasting it and put the cup on the table.
 
She walked to the balcony and gazed out to the
rain-washed

 
garden. She was
angry; her future loomed ahead - bleak and grey and she could see no way to
make it right. There was a soft knock on the door.

‘You can come in,’ said Anjali.

Mohan came in and stood behind
her.

‘Please forgive me, Anjali. I
promise, I thought they were dead.’

‘Did you want them to be dead?’
Anjali turned to face her husband...she stared at him and realised she did not
know him anymore.

‘No!’ Mohan was outraged. ‘They
were...they are my family. You have to understand that.’

‘I want to know everything,
Mohan ji.’

‘Yes of course you have the
right,’ Mohan looked defeated. He cleared his voice.

‘I was married at the age of
nineteen to Tehzeeb who was eighteen. Our first baby was born when she was
twenty but he died after a few days. A year and a half later, Shabnam was
born.’

‘Tehzeeb? Shabnam?’ asked Anjali
in spite of herself. ‘Are they not Muslim names?’

‘Tehzeeb is Muslim. We fell in
love and eloped.’

Anjali could not believe what
she was hearing. She could cope with an arranged marriage but love? Mohan had
loved someone before her.

‘What happened next?’ she asked.

‘We had six more children; we
named them Zakira, Ram, Shallu, Aamir, Anu and Imran - four daughters and three
sons. We lived in Bombay. The boys went to school and I worked in a textile factory.
Tehzeeb stayed home with the girls and taught them to read and write. We had a
very good life.

‘When partition was granted, everyone
began to move across the border. We were in the Punjab at the time, visiting
friends and we separated amidst suffocating crowds. Shallu and Aamir were with
me and Tehzeeb with the other children. Shallu and Aamir...’ Mohan broke down.
‘I’m sorry...’

 
‘You don’t have to say anymore. I am sorry,’
Anjali wiped his eyes, taking him into her arms.

‘No, Anjali. You deserve an
explanation. I should have told you of my past a very long time ago. I will
finish.’

They sat at the table and Anjali
handed him a glass of water.

‘My two children were killed in
front of me and then the bastards were after me too. I escaped them, taking the
bodies of Shallu and Aamir. I cremated my children and released their ashes
into the nearest river.

‘Later I hid in abandoned houses
with no sense of direction, no family, and no hope. I lost everything. One day,
you came into the house I was currently living in. I saw you and I could not
take my off you. I still loved my wife but I figured she was dead along with my
children...and I did not want to let you go Anjali. I was scared, if I told you
of my past you would not want me or love me. I had to keep my past a secret.

‘We went to the refugee camp and
I saw the girl and her mother reunited. I thought that perhaps my family could
be alive too. I registered their names and my name with the Indian army. When we
found this haveli, I believed it was perfect for all of us; we could live here,
as one if I happened to find them, if they were alive...the haveli would be enough
for us all.

‘I went to the army base here in
Lucknow and gave them gave them this address...and now here is the letter from
them, telling me they are alive!’ Mohan raked his hands over his hair.

Anjali’s knuckles ached from
holding the edge of the table too tight. She let go.

 
‘Anjali, please talk to me. I need you to
understand.’

‘Mohan ji...you said you chose
this haveli so we all – including her and her children – can live here, all of
us together...you intend to bring her here...’ Anjali’s voice trembled.
 

‘Yes, I would like that. Anjali,
I need to see them. Will you come with me?’

 
‘I don’t think I can. Please go, I will not
stop you.’

 
‘I have your permission?’

‘Who am I to refuse, your second
wife,’ Anjali let her tears flow and walked away from her husband.

‘Ma, why are you sad?’ Kajol asked.

‘Did you have an argument with Papa?’
asked Deepika.

‘Come here my darlings, I have
something to tell you. You may understand or may not understand but you have to
know,’ Anjali gathered her girls to her.

The girls looked at each other
but came closer to their mother to listen.

It was Saturday and the girls
were off from school. Dressed in their traditional clothes, Anjali took the
girls to the temple and Mohan went to the Army station. She wasn’t sure what
she should be praying for...for Mohan to lose his first wife again and not find
her or for Mohan to love her only? Anjali bowed her head to Lord Rama and Sita
and bestowed marigolds.

She arrived home a short while
later but Mohan was not back. She was frightened to lose him...she tried to
engage him into a little love making before he left, but he gently prised her
off.

‘Now it is not the time,’ he
said gently but firmly. Anjali felt Mohan had slapped her. The humiliation was

too much to bear and she screamed at for him.

‘Anjali, take a hold of
yourself!’ Mohan shook Anjali’s arms.

She saw something in him she had
not seen before – a hope – Mohan still loved his first wife...

No, I have more right over him
than she does! He loves me! She is his past!

‘Ma, please tell us...’ Deepika’s said, tugging her sari.

Anjali forced a smile, coming
back to her girls. Taking their hands in hers, she watched them for a moment
then took a deep breath.

‘Before I was married to your Papa,
he had another life. He was married to someone else and he had other children.’

‘Where are they? I want to see
them,’ said Deepika. Kajol nodded in agreement.

‘You really want to see them?’
Anjali asked.

How her children could take the
news so easily, how are they so unselfish? Did they not worry about sharing
their Papa with the other children, their...stepbrothers and stepsisters? Oh
God...

‘Papa has gone to bring
them...here,’ Anjali said with difficulty.

‘Ma, aren’t you happy?’ asked
Deepika.

‘Of course I am. What made you
think I am not? Now remember, be polite when you meet them,’ Anjali managed.

The girls squealed in delight
and ran to the window, looking to see if their father and his family had
arrived.

Anjali polished the silverware, and then emptied her
wardrobe. She re-folded her sarees and other clothes and put them back in.
Anjali wanted to keep busy; she did not want to think about them.

She listened to the news on the radio, when she tired, she listened
to music, but her mind would not stray from thoughts of Mohan’s family. Anger
and hate boiled inside her. In frustration, Anjali smashed a vase, shattering
it into a million pieces.

A maid came running. ‘Is
everything alright Memsahib?’

Anjali was ashamed. ‘The vase
dropped from my hands.’ She saw the maid didn’t believe her. ‘I will clean up.’

‘No, let me Memsahib.’

Anjali vacated the room feeling
foolish. What was wrong with her? Why could she not just accept it? She knew Mohan
would not want his family to live apart from him. She must accept this change,
she must!

The evening was drawing in when
Anjali heard a motorcar stop outside. Deepika and Kajol stopped playing with
their toys.

 
‘They are here!’ they whispered excitedly.

Yes, they are, thought Anjali.

The door was opened and Mohan
walked in. He was alone and looked tired; his face betrayed an array of
emotion: elation, worry, relief, happiness, and love. Anjali tried to smile but
could not manage it.

‘Thank you, for letting me bring
them home,’ he said taking Anjali into his arms and then letting go.

‘Deepika, Kajol, come to me,’
Anjali said. ‘Where are they Mohan ji?

‘Tehzeeb, please come,’ Mohan
opened the door wider to let his family in.

She was tall and slender. She was
not overly pretty but there was something intriguing about her that could make
any man love her or any woman like her. She was darker than Anjali, which
satisfied her a little. Dressed