Torn


Mehjabeen sighed as she shut the book that she was reading. In the late dusk a few straggling birds winged their way home. Soon, stars would hold up a velvet sky, and the muezzin would call out from the minaret, age-old words reminding the faithful.

There was a James in the story that she’d just read, a representative of Her Majesty the Queen at the Nizam’s court in Hyderabad. That James had lived happily ever after, even though he wed his beloved, ignoring bloodlines, cultures and lifestyles.

Let’s go away, her James had said. His short assignment almost over in the IT company where she worked, he’d soon return to his life. A different life.

The book made it sound so simple. Perhaps 18th century India was different, she thought wistfully. Perhaps she should just toss a coin. Anything would be better than the shroud of silence she’d crept behind. “Is something the matter, beta?” her mother had asked.

Would there be a scandal? Of course there’d be a scandal! Wasn’t there a scandal all those centuries ago? Gossip and fierce debate in the bazaar, skirmishes in the winding bylanes, a furtive investigation by the authorities, a near uprising.

Couldn’t be as bad. Perhaps they’d ostracize Abba and Ammijaan. Or completely cut off relations, cold shoulder them. Maybe stop all business dealings, she thought, with a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Stone and ransack the house? Honor killings? Not likely, this was a democracy, right?

Perhaps no one would drop by for a cup of tea or invite them to weddings and functions anymore. Her aunts would nag, sermonize and pick on her mother’s modern ways. No purdah! And learning beyond class five! Computer science! What need did a girl have of such frippery? It just gave ideas and then see what happens! Walking about shamelessly, unveiled and unescorted! Tramping off with a foreigner no less, some James.

Her James. He’d soon return to New York. “Come away!” he’d said, laughing; that telltale gleam in his eye showing how well he understood her. It was uncanny how they could read each other’s minds, with not a word said.

She dialed his number on her cell. She’d have to decide quickly.


(this was a writing sub, cue- Torn)