(To be read as a fantasy only and nothing to do with real life. Readers to exercise due judicious discretion)
We are a couple who just completed three years of inter-caste marriage much to the displeasure of our families and native villagers. We are both from conservative north India but we worked together in a private company in Mumbai. I am 33, well built and muscular guy and belong to so-called lower caste of Hindu caste system. My wife, Smita is from a orthodox Brahmin family. She is 27, having sharp youthful features. She has a charming round face, big buttocks, and glamorous curves on the upper part. She is tall by Indian standard, 5'5" to be precise.
We got married against the wishes of our families and the conservative villagers as such we seldom visited our native village after marriage. In Mumbai, nobody questioned our caste nor bothered about it. We had been to the village nearly two years after our wedding to settle some landed property after the death of Smita's grandpa. Even our presence for business created somewhat commotion in the village. So after completing the work we decided to go back within three days.
It was summer and the heat in Uttar Pradesh was scorching. We left our village at around 5 PM in our own car and was passing through village road so that the distance could be cut short and save time so as to reach Gorakhpur town by 8 PM. There was hardly any human habitation along our route and mostly the vast agrarian fields on both the sides. At around 7, when the dusk had set our car stopped with a screeching sound and though I struggled hard for nearly forty minutes, I could not put it back to life.
It was getting darker and traffic in this short route was sparse and rare. We tried to signal the cars passing through intermittently for help but they ignored. As we lived mostly in Mumbai, we did not have contact numbers of nearby garages of this locality either to contact them over cell phone.
However, after several failed attempts to get help from passing vehicles, one SUV stopped. They told us in Hindi that it would be difficult to find a garage at this hour. They informed us that they belong to a charitable trust running a dharamshala (a cheap hotel for tourists, common in India, that provide shelter at low or no cost), situated about 8 kms from where we were stranded. They suggested that they pull our car to that Dharamshala and we stay the night there and in the morning get our car repaired in a nearby garage.
Having no other alternative, we agreed to their suggestion. Our car was roped to their SUV and I sat in the steering of our car with Smita beside me. We took a sub-way and reached the spot in ten or fifteen minutes.
It was a big round building with shabby look. At the big entrance gate there were guards of the Trust itself in blue uniform while outside the gate there was a hut where three policemen were leisurely sitting on a bed made of ropes. We left the car outside the building, locked it and were led inside by three persons who were in the SUV. The way the guards and the policemen glanced at us made us uncomfortable. We also realized that in the rural area Smita's dress of a tight jeans pant and a sleeveless shirt was slightly offensive.
We were led through the gate to the office that was a kind of reception counter. A lady of around 60 years greeted us there. She politely said in Hindi, "Ours is a shelter for the poor and destitute. You may not be very comfortable here as we don't have attached toilet and cosy rooms. But you will enjoy staying here."
We thought that for one night we could manage and we had no choice but to manage. They asked for our photo identities, details of our address, service records for making entries in their register. But once they saw our surnames they demanded our marriage certificate.
Smita had retained her surname even after marriage and it was her Brahmin surname while my surname clearly indicated my so-called lower caste identity and marriage between these two castes was very rare in the caste ridden rural village. Our problem was that we didn't have our marriage certificate with us, it was in Mumbai. The lady seemed to disbelieve us. Her look was very humiliating as if we two were posing falsely as a couple to enjoy carnal pleasure. Finally, she agreed to provide us a room in payment of an extra five hundred rupees.
After registration and retaining copies of our identity documents, we were shown our room, if one can really call it a room. It was a big hall partitioned into several compartments by bamboo walls. The bed and other materials were clean but the room lacked security, was poorly lighted and dingy. The bamboo partitions that separated the rooms were about six feet in height and between the ceiling and the bamboo partition there were gaps of more than two feet so that a room in the middle is literally exposed both from the right and the left sides. 40 watt tube lights were hanging just above the bamboo partitions so that in the room allotted to us half of two tube lights were hanging. In the room on our left someone was drinking beer and it smelled in our room too. The first question that haunted us was the security of the room. I thought of keeping some friends and relatives informed about our stay but there was no signal in our cell phones. It was almost 9.30 PM. The lady we met at the reception knocked the door and came with two glasses of sharbat (cold drink) made of curd and said in Hindi, "This is the only welcome drink that we can afford for our guests on arrival."
We thanked her and took the glasses. It was really a delicious drink made of curd and very helpful during the summer to restore energy. While sipping the drink Smita tried to be friendly with the lady and asked her if we can have a better room. But the lady replied that all rooms are like that. However, a room in the extreme corner is vacant, which has full wall on the left side. But that room is poorly lighted as it got only half tube light from the adjacent room on the right. Then with a meaningful smile that we didn't understand, she said, "That room can't be given to you."
As Smita pointed out about the gap between the ceiling and the bamboo partition, the lady assured us not to be bothered about security as they have strong wrestlers as guards. She then called two guards, who were stout and wearing only loincloth and ordered them to be near our room in case we need any help. The guards were only in their loincloth with no cloth or even vests on their upper part. They looked vulgar in their appearance.
In the meantime, we had finished the curd drink and handed over our glasses to the lady. The lady gave the tray to an attendant and asked Smita in Hindi, "Will you like to have a glimpse of our den?"
Before Smita could say yes or no, the lady said to her in Hindi, "Come let me take to a tour round our dharamshala."
The lady guided Smita out of the room and the two were walking. As the two walked along the verandah in front of the rooms, Smita could hear various sounds of lecherous love making, moans and groans pouring out of the rooms. As Smita looked awkwardly at the lady, the latter smiled and said in Hindi "These are all ladies like you who came with their fake husbands to enjoy."
"We're not fake couple," Smita sharply protested, "He is really my husband."
"Every pair coming here says so," replied the lady in Hindi with a boisterous laugh.
Smita and the lady were about ten feet away from our room when from the room beside them Smita heard a sensual moaning sound of a woman and a hoarse male voice commanding, "Fuck baby, fuck faster."
Smita shivered and felt a terrible feeling running down her spine. She suddenly left the company of the lady and in swift steps came to our room and said to me in a frightful voice, "Raj, we're in a wrong place. Let's quickly go out of this place."
