How could something so vile and contemptible as dowry death come to touch her life? This had to be a nightmare. Nothing like this could happen to ordinary people. And yet, here she was, at the center of a plot to do away with her.
So, this was what the three evil women, Amma and her two sisters-in-law, Kamala and Devayani, had been planning behind closed doors earlier that night: kill Megha off in the most brutal manner and find another wife for Suresh. Suresh’s uncles and their respective wives and children had been invited to dinner, and Amma had been behaving more strangely than usual in the presence of their guests. Amma had conveniently gotten rid of the men in the family by sending them off for a walk, dispatched the young women to the kitchen, and then huddled with Kamala and Devayani for a long, secret meeting.
Amma had probably been plotting this for days, perhaps months. No wonder she’d looked smug during the past week. The old witch was planning a major event: Murder.
As Megha faced the fact that she was literally at death’s door, a feeble hand went to her mouth to stifle the sob that rose in her throat. She was about to die!
And along with the dismay came pain—like a hot poker thrust into her belly. Suresh, her husband, was going along with the scheme, even though he sounded reluctant. Was this the extent of his love for her? If not love, at least some sense of loyalty? How could she have trusted him? How could she have rushed out here to save him from danger, and perhaps give up her own life in the process?
A wave of nausea made her gag. She swallowed hard to block the surge of bile and looked again at her husband’s gaunt face. This was the man who had tied the mangalsutra, the black and gold beaded necklace symbolizing holy marriage, around her neck only a year ago. He had given her his name; he had made love to her, or rather used her body for his pleasure; he had accepted her as his wife and life-partner. Megha had tried hard to be a loving and considerate wife to him despite his unattractive appearance, his selfish and ill-mannered ways, and his total lack of emotion.
Now she realized Suresh was much more perverse than she had imagined. He was disgusting, worse than a primitive animal. In fact, most animals treated their mates with a certain amount of care and respect. How could she have felt anything in her heart for such a loathsome creature? The warm feelings of fondness she had worked hard to cultivate over the past months turned to bitter revulsion. How could she not have recognized that side of him?
Her husband was a potential murderer!
Get out of here, Megha, her inner voice commanded. Don’t let them take your life. But her legs refused to move. They seemed to be frozen. It felt as if her feet were rooted to the spot, mired in solid concrete.
The feeling of impending doom intensified. Run! Now! In desperation Megha looked around in the misty shadows. What was she to do? Where could she go? She could not remain there any longer.
As she heard Suresh and Amma stirring from the shed she knew without a doubt they were headed back to the house to drag her out of bed and to her death. She didn’t want to die. She was too young to die. And too scared to perish in such a horrific way.
She had to escape. Somewhere! Anywhere!
Chapter 3
Galvanized by terror, Megha finally managed to uproot herself and move. She made a mad dash through the backyard—away from the woodshed, away from the house.
They were killers—and they were coming after her.
At first her steps faltered; she wondered if she’d been foolish, perhaps misunderstood Amma and Suresh’s intent. Having woken up slightly disoriented from a deep sleep, had she somehow overreacted to something that had nothing to do with her? Why would anyone want to kill a young and innocent member of the family? It didn’t make sense.
But there was no mistake. She had heard every word clearly—Amma’s remarks to Suresh couldn’t have been any plainer. Their objective was nothing short of execution.
As Megha began to comprehend the grave peril she was in, she gained momentum. She forged ahead blindly in the cloud of fog, with no particular direction in mind, stark fear giving wings to her feet. Every instinct prompted her to keep running, put distance between herself and the Ramnaths and their evil house.
Move! Keep running. Don’t let them find you. Run, woman, her adrenaline-crazed brain repeated furiously. She knew she was trespassing on people’s private properties but she didn’t care. Wet grass, sharp stones, root clumps, fractured cement and thorns grated on her feet. Twice she ran into prickly bushes and trees, tripped and fell, and got her arms and face scratched. But she managed to get up and find her way around them.
Dogs growled at her from the shadows here and there, but fortunately none had pursued her so far. That was all she needed to make this wretched night an absolute curse: a crazed dog taking a bite out of her. Fatigue started to set in after a while but she kept on going.
Time was running out.
Megha stepped on something sharp. It felt like a hot blade slicing into her flesh, sending a stab of pain all the way up her leg and into her groin. She was sure she’d suffered a deep cut, but she didn’t stop to investigate. Shards of broken glass were always a menace on the streets. She couldn’t afford the luxury of stopping to examine her injuries.
Suresh was probably out there, chasing after her. Distance between the Ramnaths and herself—that was all she cared about at the moment. She didn’t dare slow down. She was running for her life. Death was not an option and neither was giving in to weakness.
After negotiating innumerable private yards, she abruptly emerged into a street, gasping for air. Blinking, she skidded to a stop and wiped the sweat out of her eyes.
Streetlights illuminated the houses on either side. In her confusion it barely registered that it was nearly Diwali, the annual festival of lights, and many of the homes had the traditional terra-cotta oil lamps adorning their front steps and their verandas. At least the lights allowed her to see her surroundings instead of running blindly in utter darkness.
Some of the homes on this street had elaborate lighted akash-deeps, the colorful paper lanterns of Diwali, hanging above their stoops. But in Megha’s mind they were objects of no importance.
She didn’t know what street she was on. The homes were larger and more opulent than the ones in her neighborhood, with neatly laid-out gardens and fences and gates. Well-lit streets meant danger—she would be visible, the perfect prey. But, as long as she could feel the pavement under her feet, she would keep moving—until she ran out of steam.
Exhausted and out of breath, she stopped for a brief moment, panting, gulping mouthfuls of air. In the isolation of the dead of night she felt totally disoriented. The nausea hit once again with ferocious intensity. No amount of swallowing the saliva helped to keep the bile down. This time it rose like boiling lava in her throat. Bending over someone’s bushes, she held her head in her hands as her stomach emptied itself out in a single, violent motion. Then she straightened up and stood still for a minute until she felt it settle. Despite the bitter taste in her mouth and the burning in her throat, the sense of relief was enormous.
Her breath became less labored. Wiping her mouth with the edge of her sari, she shifted her throbbing foot and looked down. There was a small cut with blood oozing. But what was a minor wound when her life was at stake?
She picked up the pace again and soon reached an intersection she recognized. She knew the commercial area well. She shopped there often for food and other essentials. It looked different now with the stores dark and shuttered. There was an eerie look about it—a neighborhood she generally associated with dense crowds—the mingling smells, colors and sounds