The first time I saw Dharamji, I got a creepy vibe from him instantly. It was when Parth and his mom had come to "see" me, as it is said in Indian arranged marriage lingo. I thought he was an uncle because we knew Parth's father had died many years ago. Instead he was introduced as their family friend, business partner, and "benefactor", which I found to be a strange word.
I had eyes only for Parth, the handsome and sweet 26 year old my father had chosen for me. He was from our sub-caste, was well-educated, and had a successful manufacturing business. In the arranged marriage market, honestly, he was quite out of my league and I was surprised they even considered me. I come from a lower middle class family, am not very well educated, don't have a career, and although I am not ugly or anything, I am not exactly drop-dead gorgeous. Average body, average face. Like a heroine's best friend in a Bollywood movie. I never had a line of boys throwing themselves at me like some of my pretty friends did.
However, my sixth sense tingled at the way Dharamji still looked at me. Nothing shameless or open. Just the way he would glance at my chest and the look in his eyes whenever I would move in and out of the kitchen serving food to everyone. It was like an audition for being a dutiful housewife while I ignored his looks.
"Come Shama beti." Parth's mom Pritha said. "Sit with me."
"Ji aunty." I said.
"Don't say aunty. Say maa-ji." she smiled.
"Ji maaji." I obediently responded and sat next to her.
She lovingly ran her hand over my pallu covered head.
"You are very pretty and nice and a great cook." she said. "I look forward to passing all my responsibilities on to you."
My father looked up and smiled.
"Does that mean we should consider it a sure thing?"
"If the boy and girl are ready, why not?"
I noticed Parth looking at me and then at Dharamji who gave a short nod. In years to come, I often thought about this moment. Who had chosen me exactly?
Parth said,
"I am ready."
All eyes turned to me. I liked Parth and his mother. It was a great match on paper. So despite the weird feeling I had about this burly old man sitting next to them, I nodded and blushed as was expected of me. There were hugs exchanged and hands shaken and the celebratory sweets brought out. There I was, at 22, just out of college, ready to get married.
The wedding was an elaborate multi-day affair. Breaking with tradition, Parth's family insisted on paying for the whole thing and also planning it. Which relieved my father even more, because he was planning to dip into his retirement savings to fund my wedding.
During the wedding week, I was too busy with all the rituals and packing and everything to think of much else. Dharamji was again a constant presence and every time he was around, my guard would be up. He barely said anything. But it was the way he looked at me. And how Parth and his mom seemed to not notice the looks.
There was one particular incident which unnerved me more than usual.
It was the evening of the sangeet, a function that involves singing and dancing. I was in my bridal suite getting ready. Present with me were a couple of my female cousins. I was in my petticoat and blouse, getting make up on before wrapping the sari around me. There was a knock on the door.
"Please come in, maaji." my cousin said opening the door as Pritha, my mother-in-law to be walked in.
"You look gorgeous, beta." she said beaming.
"Thank you, maaji." I said.
My cousin was about to close the door, but Pritha held it open. And I almost jumped out of my skin when a second later, Dharamji walked in! He lumbered in, standing tall and fat, with his thick facial hair and his bushy eyebrows went up as he saw me.
"Dharamji and I thought we would come see how you were doing."
How I was doing? I was doing fine until she led this creepy old man into my room while my cleavage and midriff were on display. Even my cousins looked shocked. I looked around for something to cover myself with. I was stunned. As a woman, especially an elderly woman about to be my mother-in-law, surely Pritha should have had the sense to keep the old man outside until I got more fully dressed. But she seemed utterly oblivious of how I felt.
Eventually one of my cousins handed me a shawl and I covered my torso. In the few seconds that took, I saw Dharamji's eyes leering at my body. He wasn't even pretending to look away.
"So what is the main dance finale for tonight?" maaji asked,
For the next fifteen minutes or so, they were in the room talking to us about the night's festivities and plans. Dharamji kept throwing me stares making me feel very comfortable. I was still sitting wrapped in the shawl, not sure when the old man would leave so I could finish getting ready. Finally they left.
The wedding was a happy and fancy one for everyone concerned. Parth and I were exhausted though. On our wedding night, all we could do was plonk on the bed and fall asleep. It was not until I had moved in with him that we finally had sex. It was my first time. Parth was very gentle and loving. He was mindful of not hurting me too much.
Married life was something new for me to get used to. We lived in a self-contained building owned by Dharamji. On the bottom floor was a large 3 bedroom apartment where maaji, Parth and I lived. In the back were some servant quarters. The family was well off and had a couple of maids, security guards, cooks, and drivers. Half of them stayed in the quarters, the other half only came to work during the day. On the top floor, there were two apartments. One where Dharamji lived. And another which served as his and Parth's office. Parth spent half his time at the factory a short distance away and half his time in the office.
I don't know what exactly I was expecting from marriage. So I didn't know what to make of whatever I experienced, compared to a "normal" one. The honeymoon was a short and sweet one in Mauritius, and Parth was a nice and decent husband, but he was a quiet and shy type of a person. We were practically strangers I guess. And with me also being usually shy and reserved, my mom had told me it could take a few months if not years to get a real relationship going.
Parth's life mostly revolved around his work. He put in long hours, and even after coming home, was usually buried in files or plans or his laptop. We got to know each other's likes and dislikes and so on. But still there seemed to be a distance between us. In fact there seemed to be a distance between Parth and everyone else, even his mother. He usually seemed lost in his own world. Not the passionate ever horny new husband that movies and books tell you to expect.
Which suited me fine. I had been a virgin on my wedding night and had grown up in an orthodox family where sex was a taboo subject. So I was not some liberated feminist who knew her body or craved sex all the time. The couple of times a week that was our default suited me fine. Like most women getting sexually active in initial days, I was still learning and adjusting and getting to know my own body.
Most of my days were spent in the company of maaji. Helping her plan meals, take care of the house, supervising the maids and cooks and other servants, and watching a lot of TV. Dharamji mostly kept to himself, and we had meals sent to him in his apartment. Except Sunday evenings when he would lumber down and join us in our dining room for a "family dinner". I still found his gaze creepy and odd. But as weeks and then months went by, I learned to ignore it.
On our six month anniversary, my cousins and parents did a video call with me and Parth and maaji. And as is the inevitable trend in orthodox families, I was pestered about when I would give them "the good news". Which means pregnancy. I dutifully blushed.
After the call, Parth went to the office upstairs. And maaji cornered me in the kitchen.
"About what your family was saying, Shama..."
"Yes, maaji?"
"In the initial months of a new marriage, I can understand wanting to use...precautions. But it is now 6 months. Time to start planning."
"Ji, maaji." I nodded.
"You can let go of precautions." she said before changing the subject to cooking.
I felt like telling her, if by precautions she meant birth control or condoms, well, we didn't use them anyway. From the very first night we had sex to the most recent times, it had been unprotected and every time, my husband had ejaculated inside me. I came from a family where the norm was to have the first child very soon, so that is what I also went with. But I was yet to miss a period. At six months, it was too early to worry as such. Especially because our sex frequency was strictly twice a week. But it was something I had been wondering about, as had my mom.
A couple of weeks later, Parth had to go on a week long business trip to the middle east. I thought I would be accompanying him, but was told that he would be very busy, so maybe some other time. The first couple of days with my husband gone did not seem all that different. Because he was away or busy most of the time anyway. So it was all about household duties and spending time with maaji and watching lots and lots of daily soaps on TV.
That afternoon, once all the cooking was done, a tray was laid out for Dharamji.
"Shama."
"Ji maaji?"
"The maid is busy cleaning the cobwebs. Go take this food up to Dharamji."
"Ji maaji." I dutifully said.
Carrying the tray, I walked up to his apartment. The door was ajar. I walked in. The old man was sitting at the dining table, reading a newspaper. He looked at me, with that same piercing gaze and gave a nod. I had never been assigned the duty of taking food to him, so I wasn't sure what the protocol was. But usually in our society, women are supposed to serve out the plate for men.
I went to the threadbare kitchen of his apartment, took plates and bowls and laid them out in front of him.
"Would like to start with rice or rotis?" I asked.
In answer, he lifted his eyes from the newspaper, folded it while staring at me. First at my face. Then at my chest which was just a few inches away. And then suddenly, with a speed that seemed alien to his usual lumbering pace, his hand reached up and grabbed my breast over my blouse.
"Dharamji!!" I yelled out, stunned and tried to pull away.
But the grip of his rough large hands was too strong on my breast, and I could not disengage it. His thick fingers dug into my flesh.
"Dharamji! Please! What are you doing?"
Just as I was struggling with his hand on my breast, the other one went around my waist and pulled me into a tight embrace by his side. His head rubbed against my breasts and he nuzzled them under my sari pallu but over my blouse.
"Let me go!" I shrieked in panic.
