One Foot In The Grave

Chapter 18: The Silver Kiss

Ahalya, Day 18

So this was how the first day of the village festival had ended, although I would wager there's a parallel universe, where I pushed a knife into Indira's heart and never looked back; in this one I just walked out, sobbing.

After a morning of deducing theories out of the sketches we weren't sure I had drawn, Vishwa decided to leave. He said he needed a break and we let him, not that we cared because if he leaves we could discuss what in the hell was happening. I wished for more productive explanations about the couple in the sketches, but alas, we got none. Vasu pitched in a few ideas on how to deal with this and I pooled in a few absurd fears and overall, it was a good day.

The wind killed us softly, teasing us with a drizzle and then, stole the clouds away. Who would do that? Yamuna came in the afternoon, annoyed and hungry, but didn't yell at us and even composed herself and waited until Vasu completed the cooking. I wondered if she had seen our broken faces and let us be us for the day. I would be lying if I said I wasn't impressed. Meanwhile, I ate only curd rice and excused myself to a secluded afternoon with every chocolate I found in our fridge. And there was a lot. My regret was why I hadn't paid more attention to that damn fridge.

When Yamuna came to remind us to visit the temple before nightfall, I was sleeping lopsided on the bed, licking my hands dry off the chocolate. "Good, god, don't forget to take a shower too," she had said, watching me, and I giggled. I ate a lot of chocolate. Vishwa didn't stop me, though he didn't need to since he knew I always find something addictive to de-stress. Today, chocolates just happened to be my red wine. I brushed my teeth again, took another hot shower—thinking to myself if I also was addicted to hot showers in Dwaraka—and picked out the saree I had worn when I first met Yamuna, which was a seal grey cotton silk saree. Not my favourite and again, no saree was my favourite because of the time I had to spend wearing them. Vishwa outdid me, astonished me, wearing a white silk dhoti and a plain maroon shirt, which I honestly thought made him better-looking. Few men preferred not to flaunt what they wear and my fiancé was one of them, or it was just all the chocolate in me talking.

In the temple, Jagadeesh didn't approach me until the priest completed the last mantra and asked the couples who had attended to leave lamps fitted on tiny, concave palm branches in the River Godavari. "We need to talk after this," he said and joined his wife. The thought of the sketches came back and I brushed it off for the time being. Indira and I walked first, holding the lamps, our sarees brushing against the floor and one hand guarding them against the wind. She seemed natural, while I made a good-looking duplicate. Vishwa and Jagadeesh followed us, who were again tailed by all the couples in the village. Yamuna's face competed with the light of the lamps.

As much as I felt like part of an expensive movie song, the urgency in Jagadeesh's words arrested my concentration. Once we left the lamps to float, glowing in the yellowness of the night, I turned to Indira, complimenting her saree and searched for the tattoo. The thickening crowd and her embroidered window-style blouse made it difficult to locate it and also, I temporarily had a smile for checking out another woman in the dark. Not that it was important, but I craved another chocolate.

"What's tomorrow?" I asked when we were sitting near one of the pillars.

Later, Jagadeesh and I settled on some of the temple stairs, eating the roasted and salted peas. And Vishwa explained how the committee would host a lunch for the entire village, where the menu would contain meat of the animal that they would sacrifice to the Goddess. Partly shocked, I pondered over why these things were still practised and how I could argue against them and be an outcast for the rest of the festival, facing the wrath of a humiliated mother-in-law. It felt like a terrible idea and drawing attention to myself was the last thing I needed.