A New Age Telling - Beauty and the Beast

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.

Story: 
29 March 2012 

I knew I was being immature the minute the bottle left my hand. Through the hazy stupor, I watched her cringe as it exploded into smithereens six inches from her face. Her hand instinctively went up to shield her face from wayward pieces of glass. I could hear her sniffle, could see twin drops run down her soft milk-white cheeks. I saw her open her eyes wide in apprehension, saw her cower in fear as I stumbled over to her. Up close, she smelled of dew drops and honey and I wanted to soak in her smell. Her braided long lush black hair, darker than the night itself, fell upon her heaving chest, quivering every time she shivered. She seemed so delicate, almost like a china doll labelled ‘Handle with care’. The room was spinning, but her contours were etched forever in my memory, my mind completely aware of her raw beauty. I knew I owned her now, but she still wasn't mine. I took her hand in mine, locked her eyes with mine and willed my words to be lucid enough.

“Marry me, Pia.”

“I … I can’t, Rakesh. Please. You … You have to understand.” She said, averting her eyes. And rather than feel saddened by her rejection yet again, I could feel the onset of a cruel laugh deep in my gut. As if the rejections over the past ninety three days, a rejection for every single day that I had proposed marriage to Pia, were teaming up to laugh at me, mocking me at my failures. I looked down as she extracted her hand from mine and backed away to her bedroom. Feeling nauseous, I sank to the floor, put my head between my knees and hoped that the room would stop spinning. Why would she not marry me? I looked around, wondering if I would find the answer written somewhere. A million Rakeshes stared back at me, from the remnants of the mirror strewn around the floor when the bottle had exploded against it. Mocking me. Alcoholic, short-tempered, useless. I covered my ears with my hands, attempting to block them out. But they wouldn't stop. They went on and on and on, in a sing song voice. Alcoholic, short-tempered, useless.

*** 

29 March 2012

“Please Pia. Just tell me why. Am I not worthy of you? Why do you refuse me so?” The man before me was a complete stranger. Yet, every time I saw him, he took my breath away. The wind tousled his jet black hair and a loose fringe fell upon his eyebrow. It made me want to reach out and set it back. His dark brown eyes glinted in the sunlight and a faint ghost of a smile splayed across his lips. Sculpted muscles bulged beneath the long-sleeved starched white shirt that he wore. His posture exuded charisma, his face was the picture of confidence and yet he seemed humble, human. He was the one I had always dreamed of. And yet, every time I heard him speak, something niggled at me. The voice was strangely familiar, but it wasn't his.

“Marry me, Pia.”

My heart shouted an emphatic Yes with every fiber of my being and yet the words that left my lips felt alien to me. “I … I can’t, you’re my friend. I only think of you as a friend.”

No, No, No. That’s not what I meant. Don’t go. I watched his face crumple as he vanished into the light and I felt tears streaming down my face. I woke up with a jolt to realize that the pillow was soaked with my tears. I held it close to my heart, sensing a strange camaraderie with it. Night after night, even on those nights when I had thought that no more tears would come, it had waited patiently for them and had soaked them up without any complaint. My eyes fell on the picture that I had carefully stashed underneath the pillow. A picture of Papa and me.

“I hope you can forgive me, Pia.” Papa had said, as he had bid adieu to me that night, his tear stained face a witness to the love he had felt for me. His eyes had been a mixture of gratitude and apology.

“Please do not worry about me, Papa. I’ll be alright.”

“I wish I could turn back time, Pia. I wish I had never driven out that night. I wish the accident had never happened. I curse that moment, I really do. It wasn't my fault, believe me, child. But … in the hospital … when he turned it around on me and blamed me, when he said the only way he will agree to not file charges, is … is if I send you to stay with him and work for him … I had no choice. I had to think about your well-being of your sisters too, their futures, it … they all depended on me, child.” He had said in a rush, possible wanting to get it out of his system.

“Please Papa. Do not berate yourself. It is all destiny’s play. I’ll be fine, I’ll manage.” I had said, even as, my mind had conjured images of Rakesh berating everyone in a drunken stupor, abusing every man and woman in his line of sight. It probably had not even been Papa’s fault that fated night, but who would have believed his words against those of an egoistic alcoholic cricketer’s, a man who had the backing of millions? When I had come face to face with Rakesh in the hospital on the night of the accident, little had I known then, that he would propose such a crazy inhuman trade. In the hours following Papa’s decision, simply looking at Rakesh had sent waves of revulsion coursing through my body.

Tears sprung to my eyes as I thought of Papa and imagined his feeble shriveled body behind bars. Papa had been right. My sisters’ futures had depended on his being around for them, how could I have been selfish and said No? I had had no choice but to agree to Rakesh’s deranged deal.

*** 

23 July 2012 

It broke my heart to refuse her request, but I couldn't bring myself to let her go.

“ Aren't you happy with me? Have I not been gracious enough with your desires? What is it that you want for, Pia?” I asked, forlorn that she would want to desert me.

She smiled wanly and the sadness in her eyes hit me hard.

“You won’t marry me. And now you want to go to your father’s house. Don’t I know you’re trying to run away?” I shouted. From the minute I had laid my eyes on her, I had wanted her around me every waking moment of the day. And later, her resplendence had plagued my sleepless nights.

“I am not. I won’t. I promise. I won’t break the deal my father made with you. It’s been more than a year Rakesh. I miss Papa. I miss my sisters. Please let me go. I beg of you.” Her tear-filled eyes tugged at the strings of my heart and my resolve melted.

“One week. One day late and you’ll repent.” I said, my voice stern, allowing no further discussion.

Her face lit up at my approval, her smile reaching her eyes. These past few days, bringing a smile to her face had started transporting me to new highs that even alcohol filled moments had failed to match.

“But you’ll keep reporting back. I will send our driver every day to make sure you’re still there. I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Pia.” I yelled after her, as she bustled away, wanting to pack for the trip.

*** 

23 July 2012

“So, looks like Rakshas has been treating you well, eh? Six months with him and you look hale and hearty, well fed and well cared for huh!” Chaya, my eldest sister, remarked. I flinched at her choice of words. A Rakshas was a beast. He was not a beast. Rakesh was a lot of things to a lot of people. He was always angry, rude, short-tempered and egoistic, flaring up at the slightest of provocations, getting into fist fights and brawls but in the past few months I had seen a whole new side to him. To the world he was evil, but to me, he was uncharacteristically nice.

“Rakesh. His name is Rakesh. Not Rakshas.” I retorted.

Defending Rakesh sounded strange even to me. In the past six months, I had put up with his innumerable tantrums and except for the servants at his mansion, there had been no one with whom I could have shared my innermost thoughts. And now, in the company of people I had felt close with for all these years, instead of baring my heart and soul, I was shocked at the realization that I felt this innate need to defend him.

“My dear Pia-ree,” quipped Nisha, my elder sister, using the childhood nickname that Papa had bestowed upon me. Hearing it for the first time in six months brought forth a rush of nostalgia. Pyaree. It meant ‘Beautiful’.

“I don’t even know why you would want to defend him. He’s a good–for-nothing loser, who would have been kicked out of the team anyway because of his alcoholism. Some people just don’t know how to handle fame and success.” Nisha drawled.

“He’s not like that.” I tried to reason, even as I wondered why I felt so strongly about it.

“Come on, stop pulling our leg.” Chaya remarked. Why did I sense the hint of a smirk on her face?

“He’s nice to me Chaya. He takes care of my every need and wish. He doesn't yell at me, doesn't abuse me. He’s never troubled me. I have servants doing everything for me. I do not have to do anything. He makes sure that I have everything at my beck and call.” I tried, hoping that if not for understanding emotions, my sisters might at least understand the care he gave me through bestowing riches and comfort on me. It worked. Nisha and Chaya did not question his character again. The minutes ticked by and the silence stretched out.

“I have to go back to him tomorrow. Otherwise, he’ll be heart-broken. He cares for me.” I said softly. I wondered who I was trying to convince more, my sisters or myself.

“You’re one opportunist. Look at you. All pink and glowing.” Nisha drawled, as she ran her fingertips along the green zardosi gold-trimmed sari I was wearing.

“Why tomorrow? Stay another week. With some luck, he might even dismiss you.” Chaya quipped.

My face might have registered shock at the suggestion, because Nisha immediately stopped her. “What Chaya means is, you come visit us after six months and you have to leave tomorrow. Stay one more week Pia. Please. We miss you. We miss all the good times. Stay please.” Her eyes welled up as she spoke and I couldn't help feel guilty about leaving. But one half of me also felt guilty about breaking the promise that I had made to Rakesh. He had sent me here in good faith, hoping that I would keep my promise. The chimes of the doorbell drew me out of my thoughts. A few seconds later, I heard Chaya call out my name.

“Pia! It’s your driver.” She said, rolling her eyes at me as I walked to the door. I heard her walk back into the kitchen and explain the driver’s daily ‘checking on Pia’ visits to Nisha.

*** 

26 July 2012

“You had promised me that you would come back in a week, hadn't you? Then why, why did you not?” She was silent, un-moving  Her eyes were devoid of emotion. I lifted the bottle to my lips and drained it. Whisky. Neat. The solution to all problems. I could hear her faint admonitions, asking me to keep the bottle away, asking me to stop drinking. But when I looked at her, her lips were still.

“You want me to stop drinking?” My words sounded slurred even to me but I was sure she would understand my pronunciation. She didn't move a muscle. She didn't even blink her eyes.

“You want me to stop drinking?” I repeated the question as I uncapped a bottle of vodka. “Then you come back. Come back and tell me to stop. Take the bottle from my hand and throw it away as you always have. You are the only one who can make me quit. Scold me, Pia. Comfort me. I know I am a bad man. But you make me want to be good. Take care of me, please. Come back, Pia.” Salty tears brushed my lips and I realized with a start that I had been crying. Disgusted with my needy behaviour and the unrequited love that I felt for her, I brushed off my tears angrily, smashed the vodka bottle and tore the picture of her that I held in my hand. She was still silent as pieces of her floated to the ground below.

*** 

26 July 2012

“How is he, Ram Singh?” I asked, worried and concerned that it been three days since the promised week was up, but Rakesh had not called even once to order me to come back. I was confused by the strange emotion taking birth inside of me. How and when had I started caring for him? And since when, had I wanted him to care for me?Ram Singh was silent, looking down and shuffling his feet.

“Ram Singh, how is Rakesh Sir?” I asked again, impatient, a worrying premonition firmly setting in.

Ram Singh shook his head from side to side, worry lines forming on his face.

“Is everything OK back home? Tell me, please.” I had started to plead.

“He’s not alright, Madam. He’s … he’s started to drink again. He hasn't been eating … sleeping … right either. He hasn't been sleeping well. He hasn't gone to the coaching center since the day you left. He’s in a very bad shape. Please come back Madam. Only you can save him.” Ram Singh stuttered.

“Why didn't you tell me this earlier?” I stumbled back into the living room. Rakesh had been in so much hurt and pain and I had been here having a blast with my sisters and their families. How selfish I had been!

“He … He had forbidden me Madam. He had not wanted you to know.” Ram Singh said, with downcast eyes.

“Take me to him. Right now. Just take me to him.” I cried out.

*** 

26 July 2012

I looked up at my reflection in her eyes. Haggard, ill-looking, tired. Wait a minute. How can a picture show me a reflection? How can I be looking up at her? Hadn't I been sleeping? I must be dreaming. Nothing made sense anymore.

“Wake up Rakesh. Please, please wake up.” The voice seemed faint and distant again. But this time, her lips moved. I felt a wetness on my cheek, like someone had flicked drops of water on my face. She looked so radiant and yet, so sad. Her fringe fell upon her face, obscuring her eyes, her beautiful brown eyes. I had an inane urge to reach out and push it back behind her ear. She did it instead. She reached out with her loose hand and tucked my hair behind my ear.

“You’re my prince. You’re the one I dream about. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry it took me so long to understand.” She cried as fat kohl-dyed droplets streaked down her face. As she leaned in toward me, her soft breath felt like a lease of fresh life.

“I won’t drink Pia. I promise. Don’t ever leave me again. Marry me, Pia.” I coughed. She cared for me, she came back for me, but I knew she would never accede to my marriage proposal. From behind long curly lashes, she gazed at me for a long time, biting her lip and with every passing second I could feel the rejection hitting harder.

And then suddenly, a glimmer of a smile replaced the sadness on her face. Holding me by my shoulders, she pulled me close to her and hugged me tight. A feeling of warmth coursed through me as I realized that it might not end so badly after all.

“Marry me, Pia.” I said again, emboldened by her move.

“Yes. Yes. Yes, I will.” She said, smiling through her tears. Behind her, Ram Singh stood bowing his head slightly. But I could detect a glint of a smile on his lips. The rat.