But then, all of a sudden, everything changed. It simply stopped.
There was no more yelling, no more demands, no more violence. Poornima went about her chores and they simply ignored her. Sometimes, she’d catch one or another watching her, waiting, it seemed. But for what? She didn’t know, but she did know one thing: she had to get pregnant soon. She’d heard of barren women being replaced by second wives. She wouldn’t mind that much—she might actually prefer it—but she thought they might send her back to Indravalli once the second wife arrived. She sometimes dreamed that they had, and when she walked into the weaving hut, Savitha was seated at the loom, waiting for her. But that wasn’t true; only her father was there, and Poornima refused to see him. Even during festival days, when daughters were expected to return home, Poornima wouldn’t go. Why should she? “No,” she said with finality, “I won’t go,” and her mother-in-law cursed her under her breath, mumbling, “No. No, you wouldn’t. That would save us a week’s food, so why would you?”
Aruna’s marriage was finally fixed—with the man from Guntur—for the end of August. The family was overjoyed. It was now July, and preparations began in earnest. There was shopping to do, invitations to send out, the marriage hall to book. Aruna was beside herself. She grabbed Divya by the arms and spun in circles, laughing. “He’s so handsome, Divi, and so rich, and we’ll have to live in America. That’s what his father told Nanna, that he would have to go back soon on another project. Oh, Divi! Can you imagine? Me, in America. I need clothes. Amma, I need clothes. Not these ugly shalwars, but modern clothes. Amma, did you hear me?” She went on and on in this way, and Poornima was glad she would soon be out of the house.
Preparations intensified in the middle of July, but on a windless day, late in the afternoon, during tea, the matchmaker, whose name was Balaji, arrived at their door. He was invited in with great aplomb, but Poornima’s mother-in-law took one look at his face and put down her teacup. “What is it?” she said. “What’s wrong?”
The matchmaker looked at the nearly empty teacups, and then at Poornima. “Don’t just stand there. Tea. Bring us some tea.”
By the time Poornima returned, Aruna was crying.
“Off? But why?” her mother-in-law wailed.
Balaji wouldn’t say. Only that they’d had a change of heart.
“Change of heart? But why? Why? We gave them everything they asked for.”
He sipped his tea and looked at Aruna sadly. “She’s a fine girl. We’ll find another match.”
“Another match? You fool. What happened to this one? How does it look? Practically on the altar, and then they cancel. Why?”
She got no more out of him, only that it was better to leave it all behind. Move forward, he told Poornima’s mother-in-law. The way forward is the only way, he said.
But rumors trickled down.
The main one was that somebody had told the Guntur family that Kishore’s mangled hand was a genetic condition, and any children Aruna would have might also be disfigured.
“That’s ridiculous,” Kishore said, infuriated. “They’re idiots. Dongalu.”
Poornima was serving him dinner. She scooped some rice onto his plate, and then she said, “Is it?”
“Is it what?”
“Is it a genetic condition?”
Kishore blanched; he got up from the table and left the room without a word.
“Get out!” her mother-in-law screamed. “Get out of this house. It’s you. It’s because of you they canceled the wedding. You’re a curse on this family. It’s all because of you.”
Am I a curse? Poornima wondered vaguely, climbing the stairs to the second floor. She didn’t go into the bedroom, where she knew Kishore would be. Instead, she stood on the terrace and looked out at the palm trees swaying in the distance, and the thatched-roof huts huddled beneath them, and then she turned to the west and watched the last rays of the sun leave the sky, as if they had no use for it anymore, and Poornima wanted to follow it, follow the sun, and she thought, What has my life added up to? What’s been taken, what’s been left? What’s it worth? Then she heard footsteps. She thought it must be Kishore, and braced for what would come, but it was Divya, holding out a plate of rice. “You didn’t get to eat,” she said.
Poornima nearly cried out with gratitude.
Divya turned and went back down the steps.
Poornima idled on the terrace well into the night, and then snuck noiselessly into the bedroom. Kishore was turned toward the wall, and she thought he must be sleeping, but no, his breathing was ragged, uneven. He was awake, and he was angry. She could feel his fury. She edged to the opposite end of the bed and waited, expecting the worst, but he seemed to eventually fall asleep. Or maybe she did.
The next morning, too, was strangely quiet. Divya went to school; nowadays, Aruna nearly always stayed in the bedroom she and Divya shared. Kishore stayed home from work. He said he was feeling ill, but instead of resting, he and his mother locked themselves away in the upstairs bedroom. Midafternoon, Poornima’s mother-in-law came downstairs. She looked at Poornima sweetly and said, “My dear, how about some bhajis for tea today? I feel like eating bhajis. Would you mind?”
Poornima stared at her. She’d never once heard this voice before.
There was only one potato in the house, and some onions, so she cut those up and put the oil on to heat. Her mother-in-law lingered in the kitchen and even offered to help with the chopping, but Poornima said it was all right; she would make them. The oil began to pop, and then to slightly smoke. Poornima dipped an onion into the batter. Just then, Kishore walked into the kitchen. Poornima was startled—never once, not once, had Kishore come into the kitchen.
He, too, smiled sweetly.
No, she thought in that instant. No.
None of it made sense, and yet it did.
She dropped the onion back into the batter and stepped away from them, and away from the stove. In that instant, both of them lurched: one body toward her, and the other toward the stove.
Poornima’s vision blurred. She didn’t know who it was that grabbed her, but she pushed them away so hard that she fell backward. She was on the floor, and they were both now by the stove.
Why are they standing there? She had just enough time to think, Why are they standing by the stove? before an arm swept something off it, and Kishore and her mother-in-law sprang away and raced to the other end of the kitchen.
She turned her head to follow them, and that was why, when the oil landed, it splattered across the left side of her face, down her neck, and caught her upper arm and shoulder. Poornima felt a fire, and then the fire, and everything with it, went out.
7
Kishore and her mother-in-law refused to pay the hospital bills, so Poornima was discharged on her second day. Only her father-in-law and Divya came to get her; when she sat down in the autorickshaw, the bandages still on her face and neck and arm and shoulder, she felt so small, so placental, that she shivered in the midday heat. Her father-in-law said, “You can stay for a day or two, but then you have to leave. It’s no good for you in Namburu. It’s no good. I’ll go tonight and buy you a ticket to Indravalli.”
Poornima nodded imperceptibly, and that slight nod sent a shattering pain up the left side of her face.