The Bride and other short stories

The Bride

(For starred words, translations are provided below.)

She was the girl who never smiled.

Shakti Narayan Rajan, or the Engineer-saab* as everyone called him, noticed that the first day he moved in as a tenant in her Aunt's house.

Her features were pleasing enough, big kohl-rimmed eyes that had met his questioningly and then moved away with reserve. Her long black hair was always in a tightly-oiled braid, but some tendrils always escaped their confinement to frame her oval face.

She wasn't fair, which all beautiful women ought to be, if they were desirous of a quick marriage with a minimum dowry.

The only adornment on her placid features was a red bindi and two small golden jhumkas.

Shakti had been fascinated by her at first glance, not that his mother would ever approve the match. A well-educated, handsome and fair groom like him would fetch at least one Maruti Suzuki car and, if lucky, a microwave. His mother had started planning his wedding the moment he had graduated.

As a good Indian son, he wouldn't dream of disappointing his mother.

But, he couldn't help but notice the girl. She lived downstairs in his landlady's house. The landlady, a heavy-set woman in a Kanjeevarum saree, was nice to him, but he had often seen her berating the girl.

She was called a "manhus"* and "abhagin"*, all words never uttered in polite company, cementing her position as the most ill-treated member in the landlady's household.

Every morning at eight, the girl would knock softly on his door and come in, placing a tray of hot tea with breakfast on the center-table.

He would be present during those times, smiling at her, attempting to start a conversation.

She looked at him wordlessly, placed the tray and never smiled.

One day, as she came with the tray, Shakti opened the newspaper and started reading the news aloud. "Sixteen people died in a train-crash." Then he looked at her directly, "Sad, isn't it?"

She nodded reluctantly and left him alone.

He continued this practice daily. "Five children missing after flood sweeps through their village."

She would nod, open her mouth as if to say something, and then leave him alone.

It was on the seventh day, when he said, "Couple murdered in their beds, murderer at large," that he finally got a response from her.

"Are you always this morbid?" Her voice was soft and slightly husky, as if she was using it for the first time.

His heart jolted.

"No, I'm generally a very happy person. I'm Shakti, by the way." He bowed his head in namaste.

She returned the gesture, but didn't say much. Desperate to draw her out more, he said, "What's your good name*?"

She looked at him steadily and said, "Radha." Before he could stop her, she just said, "The tea will get cold," and left him.

Every day for a month, Shakti tried her best to draw her out. He encouraged her to read from the newspaper with him. She obliged him, but never smiled.

"Why do you look so sad?" Shakti couldn't stop himself from asking. She looked at him through her large kohl-rimmed eyes. She was perched on the edge of a chair like a baby deer about to flee.

"I-I should go," she stood up.

"Radha!" He used her name for the first time. She looked as shocked as he felt.