A cruel twist of fate

Author Name: Deepa Duraisamy
Author Introduction: For Deepa Duraisamy, Indian classical music and her love for writing are two interests that have stayed with her through the years. A huge fan of the blogosphere and the plethora of perspectives it has exposed her to, she hopes that her writing would have a deeper purpose eventually. She blogs at Deepa's Kaleidoscope.

The story:

Trickling in through the thinly veiled windows, the warm rays of the morning sun illuminated the soft curls that cupped her face. Curled up in a foetal position, resting her head on her palm, with a shadow of a smile on her face, she represented a picture of tranquility. I realized I spoke too soon as the prevalent calm was suddenly interrupted by the chirping of wild birds outside our window. Straightening my tie one last time in the mirror, I caught her reflection mumble something unintelligently, like she was trying to hold on to the remnants of a dream, before she dove in further into the sheets. I yearned for these first few minutes of the day, when I could watch her sleep like a baby, without a worry in the world. Giving her a soft kiss, I caressed her hair and soothed her back to sleep, pulled the windows shut and drew the shades before turning my attention to my cell phone vibrating on the side table. 

Stumbling out of our bedroom, I sighed as the caller ID flashed the name Riya Abbas, my campaign manager. Contrary to how the media sensationalized us, contrary to the general view that politicians lived the high-life in huge mansions with dozens of servants and cars, ours too was a life that required truck loads of hard work, bucket loads of patience and a sane balanced mind to put on a cheery front for the cameras, no matter how bad your day was going. And then there was the general misconception, that most politicians are dirty. It was a tough life, I mused as I flipped my cell phone open.

“Good morning Riya. So, what’s today’s schedule look like?”

***

I waited for the telltale jingle of keys in the lock, signaling his departure and mentally counted down two more minutes before opening my eyes. The first couple of days had been easy but as we were nearing the big day it was getting way more difficult to pretend. Sometimes I wondered if my thudding heartbeats would give away the charade. Throwing the covers aside, I jumped up and peered through the blinds just in time to see his silhouette in the back seat of our Lexus as it rounded the corner and disappeared from view. Rubbing my hands with excitement, I pulled out the canvass along with my art supplies from under the bed. For the past week, I had been meticulously working on completing the portrait and now I could see it all come together. Gingerly tracing the contours on the canvas, my fingertips tingled at the prospect of his delight when he would view the finished piece. I could visualize the spark in his eyes, imagine him happy. Happy Second Anniversary sweetheart, I sang as I gave in to oblivion, my brush racing across the canvass, vivid yellows and burning crimsons playing havoc on the palette.

The shrill rings of the telephone felt jarring to my ears. Blocking my ears to the sound, I thought of letting it go to voicemail, tried to force the interruption out of my mind, willed myself to refocus on the portrait, but the spell had been broken. Wiping my colored hands on the dirt rag, I walked toward the living room where the telephone was still making its presence felt. Answering the call with grubby purple fingers, I unconsciously glanced at the wall clock only to realize with a start that a good three hours had passed. Lunch time was coming up soon and I had other appointments to keep. 

“Bhanushali Residence. Sandhya here.” I answered.
“Hello darling! How are you doing today?” The booming voice on the other end reminding me of the genie from the movie Aladdin, sending me into a fit of giggles that I struggled to keep a secret from the caller. Mr. Kurien was always making me laugh. The last two times that I had met him, I had to stuff my handkerchief into my mouth to stop myself from the silliness. But Mr. Kurien was a good sort, always making me feel at ease.
“Am good Mr. Kurien. How are you?” I asked.
“How many times have I told you to call me Marwan dear? He said intending to appear cross, but the warmth in his voice giving him away. I could almost visualize him wagging his fat little finger at me. It made me smile.
“Marwan. I know what you’re calling about. I’ll be there at 1. Just as planned.” I said.
“Excellent. I’ll get Coco too! I know you love having her around.” He said. We exchanged pleasantries, discussed a couple of changes that I had wanted to introduce and hung up. Calculating backwards from 1 PM, I figured that if the trip downtown would take me about forty minutes I had an hour at most to dress up.

***

Looking around me, I could feel the change in landscape as tall office buildings gave way to smaller rundown homes and trailers. There were no pretty lines of trees or shrubs, only long unbending dirt roads. The temperatures had steadily risen, leaving us feeling hot and humid and our speeding car left a trail of dirt smog in its wake. Loosening my tie, I ordered the driver to up the air conditioning. Beside me, Riya sat patiently wording and re-wording my speech, no doubt mulling the lines over and over in her mind. Just looking at her decked up from head to toe in black, with the hijab covering even her face, I sweat some more. I wondered how she could appear so relaxed when even with my sleeves rolled up, I couldn’t wait to switch to something more comfortable. She must have sensed my gaze because the very next second she looked up at me and smiled, the warmth of her smile reflecting in her eyes. It reminded me of Sandhya instantly, the way her eyes would dance when she was happy. But that was the extent of similarity between the two ladies. While Riya was an extrovert, gung-ho and raring to go, confident and extremely assertive, my wife Sandhya was more soft-spoken yet poised. She rarely put herself in the limelight, preferring to stay by the sidelines and silently support my ventures instead.

Without warning, the brick-walled twin towers of the State Womens’ Correctional Facilities loomed up in front of me. Adjoining it was a smaller building, the John Hopkins Mental Health Rehabilitation Center simply referred to as the MHRC, the venue of my speech and outreach activities this morning. 

Once inside, since the matron had been expecting us and everything had been set up well in advance, we breezed through the customary security checks and the necessary paperwork. As a lead volunteer with a charitable organization, I had been visiting the MHRC twice every year for the past five years and had built a good working rapport with the center and its inmates as a whole, but this was the first time I was here in the capacity of a politician. As we got nearer to the auditorium, we could hear a faint mingling of voices far away, a buzz that steadily garnered volume and culminated in an uproar as we made an entry center stage. Packed to capacity with 900 inmates, the auditorium erupted in a heady applause. But the only sound that my mind registered was the thudding of my heart. Everything else around me had transformed into a mind numbing silence. 

From the ceiling at regular intervals were hung black-and-white photograph enlargements of the MHRC success stories. Some that I was familiar with and some new ones. Beside me, I heard a gasp and from the corner of my eye, I saw Riya suck in her breath. Up ahead, Sandhya’s serene face smiled back at us from one of the photograph enlargements.

***

“Finalized the menu dear?” Mr. Kurien asked me as I stopped by his office.
“Yes Marwan I did.” I said, as Coco skittered around at my ankles. She was a cute little Maltese and had taken an instant liking to me when we had first met. Taking a seat as Mr. Kurien beckoned me over, I took out the folders containing flyers and pictures that he had asked for on the phone and handed them over to him. We went over the seating again, rearranging names and tables, making changes to the linen and flower arrangements. That Deepak was slated to get voted in as the Minister for State for Human Resources for huge in itself. The polls were set to close tomorrow and the estimated results so far looked extremely promising. The fact that the swearing in day coincided with our anniversary made the day all the more special and I wanted everything to be perfect. With Mr. Kurien’s help I was putting together a small dinner celebration for Deepak, his campaign team and his close associates, many of whom already knew about my plans but had promised to keep it a secret from Deepak.

“He’s the first Asian to become a Minister isn’t he?” Mr. Kurien’s voice interrupted my musings.
“Yes. He is.” I gushed feeling proud.
“He’ll make a fine minister, you just see! ” He said. I smiled in response.  We discussed banners and welcome speeches, drinks and appetizer handouts for twenty more minutes and then decided to wrap up for the day. Mr. Kurien promised to keep me updated with the progress and call me the minute a hitch came up. 

The drive back home was extremely uneventful except for an accident on the E24 freeway that held up traffic for a while. I was looking forward to complete the grandiose painting and walking up the stairs, my mind had already started conjuring up shades and hues. My feet came to a stop as my eyes settled in on a white manila envelope left by our door with my name on it. With the recent polls, we had received a few threats but they had  all been directed toward Deepak. I did not remember the last time I had gotten mail. 

I ripped apart the envelope expecting to read a threat letter but was surprised when a Polaroid fell out of it. The ground under my feet gave away as my eyes recognized the subjects. My heart bled as I found Deepak in a compromising position with a female, a redhead. I knew that it was too intimate to be misunderstood, that there had to be some truth to the picture. But my mind refused to acknowledge the interpretation. I tore open the envelope to see if it had an accompanying letter, but it was empty. My eyes welled up as I flipped the picture over and read the inscription on the back. ‘I love you Anna. Always will. 2011’. Sinking to my knees, I held the picture close to my heart and sobbed. Dozens of questions tormented my mind. Who was Anna? Why was she with my husband? What did it mean? We had been married in 2010. How could I believe that Deepak was unfaithful? But how else would you explain the picture? 

***

The past seven months had been a blur. The incessant rhythm of working nights and weekends for the campaign, contemplating on funding, managing inter-cultural ties, attending black tie dinners which were more business than pleasure, meetings with state representatives, media consultants and the like was taking a toll on me, much more than I had expected it would. Two days to go for the poll results to be declared and the homestretch was already beginning to seem like Mt. Everest. And now I had come face to face with the biggest shock of my life. How could Sandhya be a success story of MHRC? It couldn’t be possible. I knew her entire past. But could she have held this back from me? I couldn’t imagine doubting her integrity for even a second. With every passing minute, the exasperation of not knowing was killing me. In my anxiety, I pulled out thread after thread from the worn chair in the matron’s office as I waited for her and Dr. Matthews to join us. Dr. Matthews was the intake doctor, the man who handled new patients. Through the thin slates of glass in the door, I could make out Riya pacing the floor making calls.   

Suddenly I felt so tired of it all. I could manage political problems thrown at me. I could fend off security issues, financial worries, threats and more but when something like this hit so close to home, I wasn’t sure how to proceed. I heard footsteps as Dr. Matthews walked in followed by the matron. We shook hands curtly, I was not in the mood for niceties. I was driven by the need to know what success story #3 had been treated for. What had she been suffering from? When had she been incarcerated here? When had she been released? But both the matron and Dr. Matthews seemed to be dragging their feet. 

“Why wouldn’t you tell me? I know its my wife.” I begged.
“With all due respect Sir, All you see is a face who looks like your wife. You do not have a confirmation that the woman in the picture is indeed your wife. We only use pictures, no names and only after obtaining all the requisite permissions.” The matron said.
“Mr. Bhanushali.” Dr. Matthews started, his voice calm yet his tone firm, leaving no room for discussion. “I know all about your campaigns. I know you run a clean show, you do not cut corners, you do not accept or offer anything under the table, you are a people’s man. You genuinely work for us.” I didn’t know where he was going with this, but considering that I was the one at his mercy here, I decided to let him finish what he had started.
“I know you genuinely value your profession.” Dr. Matthews said and a pregnant pause followed. I could sense the wall around him go higher as he continued. “Which is why I expect the same kind of courtesy from you. You don’t want to do this Deepak. You wouldn’t want me to dishonor doctor-patient privileges. Do you? Talk to your wife. If there’s any truth to it, you should be hearing it from her.”

***

Seeing Deepak’s name flash on my cell phone, I smiled. Lately he had taken to calling at all hours of the day, just to murmur sweet nothings. I pushed the picture of Anna out of my mind. It had to be a misunderstanding and nothing else. I could rely on Deepak to tide me through tough times. I was sure Deepak would be able to explain it away. He had been there for me before and I knew he would be there for me now. 

“Hi there! Miss me already?” I said as I flipped it open.
“Sandhya.” He said. The single word spoken without emotion scared me. Why didn’t he seem happy to hear my voice? Anna came alive before my eyes again. I couldn’t respond.
“Sandhya. We need to talk.” He sounded sad.
“What happened Deepak? Is everything okay?” I asked, mustering as much courage as I could.
“There is something I need to talk to you about. I am sending a car for you. Roger will drive you here.”
“What happened? Why can’t we talk tonight?” I asked, hoping to delay the inevitable. Maybe if I could pretend the problem it doesn’t exist, it would go away.
“No. It cannot wait. There’s something we have to talk about. Right now. Just trust me and come.”

His words stayed with me long after he had disconnected. Right now. Before Tuesday. Before our anniversary. He didn’t want to go through another one with me. He was choosing Anna over me. He had made his decision. 

***

Sandhya would be here in an hour, I surmised looking at my watch. I needed to know her side of the story. I was willing to believe her, help her wade through whatever problems she had been facing alone till now. We had dreamed of a life together, of having children, of growing old together. All this while I had slept by her side and I never known how much she had been hurting.

I heard Riya’s heels click in fast succession on the tiled floor before I saw her sprint in my direction. Through the veil, I saw fear in her eyes.  And an emotion I couldn’t quite discern. She skidded to a halt in front of me and said in a single breath, spoken in a way that knocked the wind out of me. 

“Its Riya. She .. she cut herself.” 

***

Watching the warm red liquid gush out in trinkets gave me a comfort I hadn’t experienced in a long time. The pain permeating throughout my body like a thousand pinpricks made me feel giddy and light headed. One minute I was floating high up in the clouds looking down to see Deepak smile up at me. The very next minute, I was running up and down the beach, the wind in my hair and the waves lashing at my feet. I could feel my migraine fade away, could feel the sliced up skin on my wrist close up magically healing me inside out. 

There was a tinge of saltiness to it. I had never tasted it before, never knew that it could be salty. Were these tears? Why was I crying? I wanted to be alone on the beach. Who were all these people? Why was it so noisy? More needle pricks on my arm. Strange, I don’t remember holding a razor blade. My eyes traversed down to the gash on my skin. When did it turn white? Was that gauze? In the distance I could hear a cacophony of voices, above me lights flashed in regular intervals. Intermittently a lady donning a white coat materialized by my side. She reminded me of Anna. Beautiful Anna. Prettier than me, more confident looking. And Deepak loved her. More tears flowed down my cheeks. He loved Anna. He wanted to be with her always. I had found comfort and love after such a long time. Why do you look so familiar Anna? What is it about you that reminds me of someone? Coco is playfully nipping at my ankles. He loves the beach too. I am happy with Coco. Deepak will be happy with Anna. He loves her. Not me. He doesn’t want me. The tears don’t stop. 

***

She lay there like a zombie, her face covered with an oxygen mask, myriad wires streaming out from her body and hooked to different machines that beeped intermittently. She had been slipping in and out of consciousness. Deepak sat by her side, crying, confused, unable to comprehend what had happened. Her charts, opened to her previous medical history lay next to him but the words didn’t register. The chart had listed it all. Schizophrenia, prone to hallucinations, prone to depression, three prior suicide attempts. How had he lived with her, loved her all this time and yet missed the signs? The anti-depressants that she had popping every night, passing them off as multi-vitamins. The heavy pill-induced sleep that she succumbed to every night. He had simply assumed it to be tension-free comfortable sleeping. The sounds that she had always claimed to hear, which he had laughed off as silly dreams. The excited manner in which she would flit from topic to topic, with no links or logical connections. The way she would be happy one moment and sad the next. How had he not put it together? How had he never given it even a second thought? 

As her eyes fluttered open, she saw Deepak sitting by her side. A final sliver of hope wanted her to fight against her weakness, wanted her to stay alive. She uncurled her fingers and beckoned him near. 

“Sandhya. Stay with me baby.” His voice broke, as he struggled with emotion.
“I love you Deepak. Always have.” She whispered, the few words taking up all her energy.
“Shhh .. Shhh ... You don’t have to say anything. Just hang in there baby. It’ll be alright.”

Standing beside Deepak, through the slits in her hijab Riya’s eyes met Sandhya’s over the rim of the hospital bed. And suddenly it all clicked into place. Those eyes, Sandhya realized. So that’s what had niggled at her memory. She had known something about Anna was familiar. It should have been obvious. Deepak spent every moment of his day with her. She should have known. 

The revelation drew all hope out of her. She no longer had any desire to live. She had loved him with every fibre of her being and her memories of the love she had received in return were enough for her. She was content to leave.

“All you had to was ask.” She whispered, her eyes revealing a deep sadness. her voice sounding resigned just as the machines starting beeping incessantly. 

Doctors and nurses came running in and started shooting orders arounds. Crash carts were pulled in, Deepak and Riya ushered out of the room curtly and asked to stay out. But their best efforts seemed futile. The ECG had started registering a flatline. 

Standing behind Deepak, Riyanna Abbas wiped her false tears and smiled subtly. Life had dealt her a lousy set but she had played her cards well. All through her life, she had been the wretched one. Second hand clothes, second hand toys, second hand fathers, even second hand boyfriends. Her own mother had bailed on her. And then when she had finally set her eyes on Deepak, the dashing debonair slated to reach the top position in Australian politics, she had been robbed of that dream too. But Lady Luck had finally smiled at her. 

Who had known that as part of the campaign, in an attempt to ensure that there were no skeletons in the Bhanushali’s closet, she would come face to face with the chilling reality of Sandhya having been an inmate at the MHRC? Exposing Sandhya’s reality to Deepak had only been a part of it. She had backed up her plan by getting the morphed picture of her and Deepak delivered to Sandhya. One way or the other, she knew they would get separated. She chuckled at the thought of her ex-boyfriend. He would have thrown a fit if he had known what the picture would be used for. Beside her, Roger cuddled his $100 bills, his reward for procuring the picture from the Bhanushali’s house before it caught anybody’s attention and keeping quiet about it. Riyanna smiled. It was a small price to pay for what was to follow. 

Spotting Deepak sobbing in the corner, she moved towards him. She would be his crutch during the upcoming result declarations. Sandhya had even made it easier by dying on him. Sympathy votes could do wonders for his career. It was time to lend a shoulder, time to play the supportive colleague, time to show that she was a friend in need, more than a friend if he needed one. She had paved the path for her entry into the life of politics, for a glamorous life ahead. She gave one final mocking salute in her head to the people who had always downplayed her and took Deepak’s hand in hers. Time to get to work.