Chapter 3: The Bargain Sealed

Madam hurriedly dragged me to the Sharma bungalow. The rickshaw ride was bumpy, and my heart raced faster than the wheels on the dusty road.

Behind the curtain, the man’s frail figure was just visible, with soft coughs from time to time. The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and Dettol, and somewhere, a bhajan played quietly on the old transistor.

Old Madam Sharma wept, clutching Madam’s hand: 'Meera, thank you for running around for Arjun. Now that he’s out of danger, there’s no need for a spirit marriage. You’ve worked hard these days.' Her words trembled like her hands, the ring on her finger twisted round and round in anxiety.

Madam’s eyes flashed with cunning. 'Aunty Sushila, this marriage must still go forward.' She pursed her lips, the way only someone who’s used to having the last word can do.

'Wh-why?'

'Perhaps Pooja’s kundali is strong. As soon as the engagement was set, Colonel Arjun woke up. If we proceed with the wedding, it will bring luck, and the Colonel will surely recover and have a bright future.' Madam’s tone suggested she was not asking for permission.

Old Madam Sharma hesitated, glancing at me, clearly about to object. Her eyes, dark with exhaustion, flickered to the family deity’s framed photo on the wall, as if searching for a sign.

A doctor stepped out from behind the curtain.

He hesitated. 'Madam, the Colonel…'

'There are no outsiders here, Doctor. Speak freely.'

'Although the Colonel has awakened, he was shot in the inner thigh. I’m afraid in the future, he won’t be able to…'

'Unable to what?' Madam was more anxious than Old Madam Sharma.

'Unable to consummate the marriage.'

Like a thunderclap, Old Madam Sharma’s legs gave way. I hurried to support her so she wouldn’t collapse, my hands steadying her trembling shoulders as she clung to my arm like a lifeline.

Her bloodshot eyes fixed on me, full of sorrow. 'Child, are you willing to marry such a husband? Don’t worry, I won’t treat you badly. Just treat it as marrying in to be my daughter.' Her voice cracked, the old matriarch stripped of all her usual pride, sounding more like a worried mother.

Could I say no? In this house, a girl’s answer was already written, long before she opened her mouth.

Madam quickly interjected, 'Willing, willing! Her status will be changed from lowborn to respectable—why wouldn’t she be willing?' Madam’s gaze was sharp, as if daring me to contradict her.

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. The air hung heavy, all eyes on me, my heart hammering in my chest like a tabla at Ganesh Chaturthi.

Originally, I too was born into a respectable family.