Trembling, she withdrew her hands from his and held them behind her, backing into the corner until there was no place to go. The cool iron railing pressed against her side. Her lower lip started to quiver uncontrollably. Kiran stood only a couple of feet from her and she was trapped between him and the railing. He was a big, strong man. She’d never be able to escape, unless she arched her back and somersaulted over the balcony. And even that wouldn’t guarantee death from this height.
She was terrified of heights—they made her dizzy, but then what did it matter when she was hurtling down to meet her death? However, with her miserable streak of bad luck she’d probably end up with a broken neck and paralyzed for life. And wouldn’t Amma just love that?
No, she resolved in that instant, she wouldn’t let Kiran take her back to that slaughterhouse. She would make him see sense. She’d try that logical approach she’d been practicing during the last few minutes. She’d make it sound nice and rational, even fall at his feet and beg if necessary. If all else failed, only then would she throw herself over the balcony. It would surely be less painful than death by incineration.
However, instead of sound argument her voice erupted in a high-pitched torrent of desperate appeal. “I d-don’t want to go b-back, Kiran! Please, please, don’t make me go back. I can’t—”
“Shhh,” he interrupted. “It’s okay, Megha.”
“It’s not okay! They want to burn me to death because my father can’t give them a dowry. Kiran, don’t tell them you saw me here…please…” Her voice trailed away and her brain froze once again. Kiran was one of them. It was no use wasting her breath pleading.
“Burn you to death!” His jaws clenched visibly. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure! Do you think I made the whole thing up?” Her heart sank even lower. He couldn’t even bring himself to believe her. Why would he bother to help her?
“But…killing in cold blood? My aunt and my cousin?”
She nearly punched him in the stomach for the look of disbelief on his face. “Do you think I imagined Suresh in the woodshed, preparing the wooden bed and pouring kerosene over it? Their talk about how Amma would explain my death—that I was supposedly picking up wood and the lantern tipped over and set me on fire?” A sob caught in her throat, making her voice come out raspy. “How dare you think I fabricated it, Kiran!” Angry tears came rolling down her cheeks and she brushed them away. “What else does burning Megha and finding a new wife with a big dowry for Suresh mean, damn it?”
Comprehension slowly replaced the shock on Kiran’s face. “Dear God! I didn’t think that horrid woman would sink to…murder!” He pulled the mobile phone out of his pocket. “That’s it! I’m calling the police superintendent right now.”
“No!” Megha yelled. “Y-you can’t do that! It will be Amma’s word against mine.”
“But you can easily explain what happened, Megha. We’re talking premeditated murder here, for God’s sake!”
“Who will the police believe—your aunt or me? She’s a very clever woman, a pillar of the community who can lie with a straight face. All I know is what I saw and heard; I have no proof of any kind.”
Kiran studied Megha thoughtfully for a second, then thrust the phone back into his pocket. “You’re probably right. Come here.” His thick, black brows settled in a scowl before he gently disengaged her hands from behind her back and held one of them in his own. He reached inside his pocket with his other hand to pull out his keys. “Let’s discuss this.” Unlocking the door to his flat, he ushered her inside.
With some reluctance she went in. At this point, what did she have to lose? Foolishly she had come here expecting the impossible. Within the hour she’d be shipped back to Amma’s house of horrors. And from there straight to hell, unless…she could…still jump off that balcony? Going up the stairs to the roof of the building would improve her chances of quick death. Anything would be better than perishing in a fire.
They stood in a small entrance hall. Megha’s anxious eyes fell on the interior of the flat. A night light glowed in the drawing room and she could see the outlines of a modern, comfortable-looking sofa, two matching chairs, and an oblong wood-and-glass coffee table.
Kiran shut the door behind them, pocketed the keys, and led her to the sofa. He turned on a floor lamp, flooding the seating area with light. She looked at the expensive upholstery and hesitated. “I better not sit. My sari is very dirty and I…uh…well, your sofa will be ruined.”
“Sit down, Megha,” he said firmly. So she did, conscious of the dirt on her clothes and wondered if she smelled as bad as she looked. Heaven knew what kind of filth from the streets and the private properties she’d traveled through had attached itself to her sari. When she trembled he sat down beside her and patted her arm. “Calm down, Megha.”
She shifted away from him. “I must smell awful, Kiran.”
“You don’t. You probably feel that way because you’ve been walking through some rough neighborhoods to get here.” He must have seen how she sat warily on the edge of the couch or perhaps noticed the apprehension in her eyes because he said, “Relax, Megha, and sit comfortably. You’re safe here and you don’t have to go back.”
“You won’t let them kill me?” Despite his smooth assurances Megha was still suspicious.
He nodded and smiled a little, offering her a glimmer of encouragement. “I promise. I knew they were planning something. I heard them discussing it earlier. When you and my cousins were playing cards in the kitchen I was in the master bedroom at your house. I was pretending to read the newspaper while the rest of the men went for their forced walk.” He stopped then, seemingly trying to gather his thoughts.
“I had a hunch Amma was up to something. She made it sound harmless enough while she discussed it with my mother and my aunt, but this defies reality.” He still seemed dismayed. “I didn’t think it was this bad. I thought it involved packing you off to your parents and then getting Suresh to divorce you. I even heard Amma mention big words like breach of contract and infertility.”
“I thought she might have been considering divorce, too,” said Megha, “especially after I disobeyed her and helped our Muslim neighbors.”
“Although I should have—” As he stopped in mid-sentence Megha’s head bobbed up instantly, her eyes posing a mute question. Kiran raked a thoughtful hand through his hair. “Damn, I should have guessed!”
She stared at him. “Guessed what?”
“Several weeks ago, I found some literature on bride-burning in Amma’s bag,” Kiran said.
“Amma’s bag!”
“She forgot her shopping bag at my parents’ house and I was asked to return it to her. Curiosity made me look in the bag. It had all kinds of articles on national and regional statistics and about how no arrests are ever made because of lack of evidence and how the police usually look the other way when offered substantial bribes. It even had information on the unique ways people dispose of the bodies so no one can guess what happened to the brides who disappear mysteriously.”
“You didn’t think it was strange that Amma was reading such bizarre things?”
“It was very puzzling, but I didn’t understand the purpose at the time, so I dismissed it from my mind. The articles were printouts from the Internet.”
Megha frowned. “But there’s no computer at home.”
“She probably went to a cyber café or some such place to do her research. I should have suspected something then, but I didn’t put two and two together, never thought my aunt could be that evil.” His expression was bitter. “Even a little while ago, I thought of every possible thing