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  PEACOCK IN THE SNOW

  Copyright © 2018 Anubha Mehta

  Except for the use of short passages for review purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced, in part or in whole, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanically, including photocopying, recording, or any information or storage retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher or a licence from the Canadian Copyright Collective Agency (Access Copyright).

  We gratefully acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada.

  Cover design: Val Fullard

  eBook: tikaebooks.com

  Peacock in the Snow is a work of fiction. All the characters and situations portrayed in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Mehta, Anubha, 1967-, author

  Peacock in the snow / Anubha Mehta.

  (Inanna poetry & fiction series)

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-77133-557-7 (softcover).-- ISBN 978-1-77133-558-4 (epub).--

  ISBN 978-1-77133-559-1 (Kindle).-- ISBN 978-1-77133-560-7 (pdf)

  I. Title. II. Series: Inanna poetry and fiction series

  PS8626.E372P43 2018 C813’.6 C2018-904366-0

  C2018-904367-9

  Inanna Publications and Education Inc.

  210 Founders College, York University

  4700 Keele Street, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M3J 1P3

  Telephone: (416) 736-5356 Fax: (416) 736-5765

  Email: [email protected] Website: www.inanna.ca

  PEACOCK IN THE SNOW

  a novel

  Anubha Mehta

  INANNA PUBLICATIONS AND EDUCATION INC.

  TORONTO, CANADA

  For my mother, Molly,

  she is the reason that I see.

  PART I

  THE VAGARIES OF FATE

  1. MAYA

  THE DARKNESS WAS CHILLING my bones. There was not a single star in the pitch black sky. It must have been past midnight when I tossed in bed one more time, enveloped in an odd uneasiness. The light from the electric lantern that hung in the veranda was dancing on my bedroom door. Wizards, elephants, knights. But none could rescue me from the silent shadows inside. Even the garden crickets were silent, as if in anticipation of my decision.

  Finally, exasperated by my lack of sleep, tucking my shoulders snugly under the folds of my shawl, I stepped out onto the lighted veranda. In spite of the heaviness in the air, out of nowhere, a strange wind had picked up. The wind’s whispers brought with it the fragrance of jasmine, which was in full bloom between the shrubs.

  For a moment only, an insipid moon dribbled from behind a dense cloud. I stretched my hand over the edge of the veranda, where the concrete steps met the garden, to feel for rain. But there was none. I plunged into the cane settee, trying to focus on the winding croton stems, but my concentration was broken by a strong chilly draught flying between the cement grills and heading straight towards the muslin drapes of my open bedroom. Spellbound, I followed it in and lay down.

  In the darkness the whispers grew louder. It was a frail, feminine voice, almost an echo, calling out from the dark corners under my bed. I shivered and sat bolt upright.

  Was someone there?

  I strained my ears and this time I heard the words, distant but clear, “Mayaaa … Veeeer.”

  The hair on the back of my neck rose. I did not blink and I could not move. It was definitely the voice of a woman. Within moments she started laughing. Her deep, throaty laugh pulled me into a murky bottomless pit. I couldn’t breathe. As I dug my nails into the edges of my bed to keep from falling, its wooden splinters pierced my figures. A heavy blanket of stillness descended from above and with it came a stench of rotten eggs.

  And then from the corner of my room, behind the muslin drapes, she rose.

  Merely a grey drift. But I saw her.

  Her long black hair blew over her beautiful ashen face as her dark eyes looked directly at me. She wore a jade green dress with a peacock feather on her sash.

  Oh! I had seen that face before, the colour of her skin, the curve of her jaw, those large doe eyes … yes, I am sure of it. But where?

  In a flash she started circling my head, working up to an angry frenzy. Her hair knotted up around her bloodshot eyes and her face turned green like fungus.

  I was trapped. I had to get out. Through my tears I saw her reaching for my wrists. My palms were drenched in dark terracotta henna designs of vines and flowers that were to bring luck for the bride, but, instead, their tentacles slithered from the centre of my palm, winding their way around my throat. With the very last breath of life left in me, I moaned, “Help!”

  Suddenly, the wind died down and I opened my eyelids. A divine smell of sandalwood replaced the earlier vile odour. I sat up. What a terrible nightmare. So real, so close, so sinister.

  The night still remained, but the darkest hours seemed to have passed. Slowly my eyelids drooped again. And then somewhere between the heavy state of waking and sleeping, I was once again disturbed by another sound, this time a sharp ringing. I stumbled for the night lamp and heard Veer’s excited voice on the other side of the phone.

  “Veer? What? Do you know what time it is?”

  “Maya, it is a good time. Wake up!” He sounded like a little boy in a candy shop.

  “Maya, do you know this is my last call to you?”

  “Eh? Why?” What little sleep had come near me vanished instantly.

  “Silly, don’t you know that the groom is not supposed to talk to his bride before the wedding?” he laughed.

  “Veer ... can we talk about this tomorrow? I…”

  “Maya, don’t you get it? We are getting married!”

  I was silent.

  “Maya?” I heard a hint of anxiety in his voice. “Maya ... are you there?” His voice pitched. I could picture the nerve on his forehead throbbing with nervousness.

  I had to speak up. “Yes, Veer … we are getting married.”

  I heard him breathe again.

  I was numb. I sat up without moving. How could I hurt Veer? It had not occurred to him that I might not have accepted this union. Not until just now.

  2.

  IT WAS MY WEDDING DAY. And I was not ready. Not mentally, not in any way. If I could have run away, I would have.

  Today was so final. In a few hours I had to walk to the marriage pavilion. Who would have thought that marrying my sweetheart, Veer, would be so terrifying? But then who would have known the dark reason for my hesitancy?

  The familiar warmth of my faded silk quilt was somewhat consoling. So were the dancing dust particles in the pale December sunlight. But they were not enough to dispel the storm of doubts that was threatening to drown me.

  A sharp chill gripped my fingers and travelled towards my chest. What a coward I was.… I heard my name at the door, “Maya, Maya?”

  It was Anita, my childhood friend, my confidante.

  “Maya are you still in bed! Get up lazy bones!” Anita plonked herself on the edge of my quilt and slipped her toes under. I extended my cold hand and she cupped it warmly.

  “Maya, you’d better soak up this peace before.…”

  “Yes, I know, Anita…”

  But in spite of knowing, our ears could never get used to what followed within minutes: A string of high-pitched screa
ms. Tina and Jiya! The culprits who started it all, who had introduced me to Veer.

  “Oh my god Maya! Uffff…. Finally getting married…. Well, we always knew!” Tina shouted. “And to think it seems just like yesterday when we dragged you to watch our school football practice where Veer could not take his eyes off you.” Tina sniggered.

  They both looked the same as they had in high school, just a little tired, I guessed from their wild party lives and man-hunting.

  “Oh yes, if it wasn’t for us … you know … there would not be a wedding!” Jiya joked.

  The image of Veer the first time I saw him flashed before my eyes. Tall and brawny, with shoulders that resembled helipads, his broad forehead tapering into a widow’s peak that peeped through a mass of falling hair, his strong angular jaw and oh! those hazel eyes dipped in curiosity. As his eyes locked in on mine, they started weaving a spell, pulling me rapidly and effortlessly, and my heart leapt to my throat. On that hot spring day I discovered a feeling I had not known before. I was drawn toward this complete stranger and, in that moment, nothing mattered except him and me.

  “Oh, what nonsense,” Anita snapped. “These two were destined to be together. I have never seen such bizarre magnetism grow in leaps and bounds with every passing day. Nothing could have kept them apart….”

  She had such earnestness in her voice that it made me look up at her. If only I could tell her what had gone wrong. How for the first time, I felt compelled to break our rhythm. If only I could tell her about that weekend that changed everything.

  I changed the topic. “There will be two more joining you as bridesmaids—my uncle’s half-Canadian daughters from Vancouver, Judy and Ruth. They said that they were happy to be a part of this unwieldy, but extremely striking bridesmaids’ group.”

  “Oh yes, for them, this will probably be a most exotic experience to carry back tales of to the West, and without being too ashamed of their Indian roots either,” Anita said acidly.

  “So, tell me, does Veer have any brother-shuthers … a few more like him, eh?” Tina asked.

  “So, who else is coming Maya?” Jiya chimed.

  We all knew how serious Tina and Jiya’s questions were. Anita started giggling and her infectious giggles got to all of us.

  They pulled me up to the dressing room. It was ablaze with spotlights to reveal every covert thought, hesitation, and sin.

  Mother had laid out my ornate bridal gown woven in gold brocade and aquamarine peacock colours, with a blouse that was revealing enough to excite anyone’s imagination. There were fresh jasmine flowers for my hair and bronze stilettos with turquoise zircons for my feet.

  The door opened once again and in walked two pale girls with suitcases in their hands and confusion on their faces.

  “Judy and Ruth, welcome!” I ran to greet them and their frowns turned into smiles.

  After an afternoon with the make-up artist, the hairdressers, and intolerable fussing by my crazy bridesmaids, we were ready to step out into the starless night.

  “You look stunning!” Ma walked in with a brass tray filled with cups of rice pudding. The room flooded with aromas of jaggery, cinnamon, and cloves.

  “Even more stunning than you, Ma?” I teased as she rocked me in the safety of her arms. I had inherited Ma’s ethnic features of the Northwest. “I am not going anywhere Ma, I will always be with you,” I lied and she sniffed.

  “We are not losing you, Maya, we are gaining a son,” Ma said somewhat tritely.

  Born in Peshwar, and having had to move to Delhi before the India-Pakistan partition, Ma was blessed with a realism that had been so grounding to my flighty teenage views. And today I couldn’t have been more thankful for it. Ma marked a spot behind my ear with a kohl pencil as a century-old tradition for warding off evil spirits. I wondered if this little black spot could really shield me against any evil that may be waiting for me.

  I looked at my beautiful bridesmaids. Each had matched their silk gowns to mine with different shades of the peacock’s tail. Anita was in an earthy indigo, cloaked in the scent of white magnolias from her hair; Judy was wearing shades of peaceful jade and cobalt blue to match her eyes; and Ruth had balanced Judy with the freshness of violet. Jiya’s warm ginger was perfectly synchronized with Tina’s passionate burgundy.

  Everything was going according to plan. Except a small cautionary voice inside my head had woken up to spar with the cold breeze outside. It was prodding me to open an unpleasant memory buried deep in my subconscious.

  Should I stop and listen to it now?

  Noooo.

  I covered my ears. It was too late for caution. It was too late to turn back.

  The cobbled path to the wedding pavilion was lined with silver-rimmed garden lanterns shining with just enough light to conceal my panic. The sweet scent of honeysuckle flew in from the hedges and from nowhere, a stealthy whispering breeze had started rustling through the low hanging branches of the mulberry and jamun trees.

  “Ready?” Anita asked me.

  I shook my head in denial.

  “Maya!” she scolded and nudged me forward.

  We started the processional bride’s walk.

  This was it. From this point onward I would add another world to my life. A new, unknown world of adventure, hope, love. I took a deep breath.

  Judy and Ruth entered the marquee first. All eyes turned on us.

  I could hear a low buzz of admiration from the crowds. I sensed awe, envy, ovation, curiosity, and pride as we passed each cluster of guests. I had never felt more important in my life.

  The daïs was high and carpeted in crimson red with two rickety steps. Veer had already taken his position on it. I was handed a garland of red roses to place around Veer’s neck. As I stretched my arms with the garland to reach up to his neck, he lifted his head even higher. What was Veer doing?

  I looked into his eyes. He winked. A loud sigh escaped from my girlfriends. And then I could no longer feel the ground. Veer had lifted me in his arms. I could reach his neck now. Without wasting another second, I quickly placed the garland of red roses around his neck. He did the same to me and the whole pavilion resounded with loud applause.

  But as I feared, the applause only encouraged Veer further. There was no stopping him now. He was already on to the next forbidden sin in our conventional Indian wedding. I felt his warm lips on mine. My heart jumped out of my chest. Was he kissing me? Was he crazy! This was not allowed in a traditional Indian wedding! Not in front of three hundred gaping guests! Not in front of anyone! The head priest, who was chanting hymns in the corner, stopped momentarily, and shook his head with what I presumed was disgust. Veer’s rowdy friends whistled, clapped, and hooted. Tina and Jiya screamed with delight. Ma laughed out loud, Veer’s mother looked appalled, his aunts sniggered, and our fathers were completely indifferent.

  Everyone threw rose petals at us.

  From this moment, the ceremony was a daze, with endless rituals around the holy fire. The priest explained the purpose of marriage and the list of expectations and duties of a good spouse in grave detail in between his Vedic chants. To complete the wedding, he tied a saffron scarf from my wrist to Veer’s, connecting us for a lifetime together, for better or for worse.

  It was past midnight before the wedding was finally over.

  There was no more waiting to find out what my new life held. I could hear my mother-in-law’s sharp voice above all others. She was asking everyone to move toward the waiting cars. It was time to leave. I looked for Veer but couldn’t find him.

  “Maya, you’d better come and resolve this.” Anita pulled me towards the thickest part of the crowd.

  Veer was standing in the middle of a small clearing surrounded by my bridesmaids. His face was beetroot red and he seemed to be pleading with them.

  “What’s happening?” I asked Anita.

  “Oh, nothing mu
ch, we have his shoes.”

  “What!”

  “Yes, we smuggled them away when he took them off for the prayers while you were busy getting married. And we will only give them back if he gives us what we want…”

  “And what is that?”

  “Gold rings, one for each of us!”

  “Really!” How could I have forgotten one of the most popular Indian wedding traditions! The groom was allowed to take his bride home only after he had bribed the bridesmaids.

  I looked at Veer. He was thoroughly enjoying every moment of it.

  He dug into the pocket of his ornate shervani and pulled out something in his closed fist. The girls started pouncing. So he stood up tall, far above each of them and held his hand high. The crowd had started gathering around. “Judy, start counting,” Veer exclaimed.

  “One, two, three.”

  He lowered his hand and opened his palm.

  Each girl came away smiling, with a gold-plated ring.

  It was really time to leave now. There were no more games, no more rituals left.

  My parents were by my side. Suddenly I felt drained. The show was over and I wanted to return to my room. I didn’t want to leave. I tried to tell my parents, but the words were stuck in my throat. Ma was wiping her tears and Papa’s head was bent in fear of publicly showing his emotions. This was so difficult. It was an unfamiliar quandary, a poignant moment, for I was leaving my parents’ house forever.

  And then the nudging behind my back grew with stronger hands. I saw a waiting blue Mercedes.

  Kitty Auntie explained proudly, “You know, this is a wedding present to you from Veer’s late grandfather. He too had brought back Veer’s grandmother to his house after their wedding in it. Just like Veer is now. Hehehe … sooo lucky….”

  My parents were no longer by my side. I must have left them behind. I could only see a sea of nondescript faces. I called out, “Ma, where are you?” But no one heard me. The noise of the departing band was hurting my head.