Trouble At The Wedding

At the end of our wedding day, my wife and I decided on our path for a viable matrimony - a life together without love and/or lust. But, let me not start at the wrong end. (Didn’t Byron run into big trouble for some such reason?)

The following paragraph is for the uninitiated lucky few or for those unfamiliar with the ceremonies in my part of the wood.

First, there was the reception outside the marriage hall where the two groups took measure of each other, formed an imposing phalanx on either side, ready to party or brawl. In the middle, I brokered peace by accepting a cheap bouquet and an itchy garland. The rivals then greeted each other with plastic smiles, practiced guile and empty words. There was then a one-hour wait for the muhurtham or auspicious moment. My entourage of long lost relatives and newly found friends of the family charged to the dining-hall for that first and cleanest round of meals. I thought of racing with them but I was supposed to act coy and have the feast along with my bride, after the oaths and promises, of course. I was guarded by my friend Jose. The bridegroom’s escort or best man is supposed to make sure that the groom sticks around in the right place at the right time. I will come back to this friend shortly. At the auspicious moment of the muhurtham, the main and fringe actors on both sides got into a state of frenzy. The priest and the cameramen fought for place on the dais; distant relatives tried to fit into a photogenic position on stage; hyperactive kids with conveniently absent parents treated that area as a playground; some old relatives were carried to the main podium for parting with their blessings before their last breath; some sulking relatives who actually preferred to be ignored and then hold a grudge were dragged to the scene. The lucky pair (the bride and the groom, supposedly) then made a grand entry with the respective parents. The video of the event showed that the audience saw on the large screen TV the posterior of a well-proportioned unidentified relative and the armpit of a lighting assistant. (Where was the cameraman positioned?) The only good part regarding this hullaballoo was that it took hardly five minutes. As soon as I tied the knot (thaali or mangalsutra), and an out of phase duo playing the drums and the horns announced that I had done the deed, the crowd lost interest in the ceremony. The ones who had managed to eat in the first round rushed for the exit and the rest raced to the dining hall to grab seats for the next round of meals.

This is the part where I should end with ‘…and the couple lived happily ever after.’ But, the actual drama of the day did not happen then or there.

Rewind to the part ‘I was guarded by my friend Jose…’

Jose and I have been mates for a long time. A lean wiry character with uncombed hair, deep-set dark eyes that could sparkle with humour or threaten with violent emotion and a penchant for taking the road less traveled as a gamble or a high-risk taunt at the higher powers above. Was he always that volatile? With him, memory usually starts with the moment he got branded as a rapist.

We were in Plus-2 then, eighteen and raring to conquer the world. It must have been after the monsoon since the Sports festival was underway and everyone was hanging around near the school-ground. Around noon, there was a commotion in the main building where our classroom was located on the first floor. I raced to the spot. I saw an agitated voluble lady-teacher walking away with Sheila. Jose was in the empty classroom, with his head down. He did not look at me then.

Sheila was our class-topper and a soft-spoken, friendly girl. She was not beautiful but her conservative looks did add up well. She was the head-girl and a pet of the teachers but still quite unassuming. I used to joke with her that she could become a very successful politician. She got along well with everyone…except Jose. Or rather, Jose could not stand her while she did not seem to have anything for or against him. For her, he was like any of us, it seemed. I asked him once about his hatred towards her but he remained unresponsive on that issue.

    Jose was dismissed from school for misbehaving with Sheila. Though the details were suppressed, it took little time for that charge to metamorphose into a vicious rape. He shifted to his native place but we kept in touch.

My parents were not sure if they should allow me to keep such a friendship. But given the fact I had only two friends at that time, they did not impose any restrictions on me. Further, the other friend was a classmate named Benoy. When we were in the ninth grade, Benoy and his father had killed a neighbour in a domestic dispute. Benoy’s father took all the blame and was convicted of manslaughter. My friend escaped without any charge. We were good friends till he migrated to Australia. My parents never objected to that friendship. Maybe, it was because they knew Benoy as a mild-mannered splendid character which he actually was. Given that precedent, they must have been left without a case against Jose even though they were clearly uncomfortable with his wild appearance and nature and, of course, his new depraved status.

Jose did well in his studies and went to premier institutions here and abroad but his reputation preceded him wherever he went. In some places, that gained him a cult status amongst the guys. But everywhere, he was shunned by the girls. I think he contributed a lot to stoke such fears. He continued to look wild, with his unkempt hair, blazing intelligent eyes peering over thin rectangular spectacles with copper wire as handles. He could talk about physics and porn with equal ease. Juniors talked about his adventures in red-light zones as if it was folklore. I suspected that it was only as true though I was never too sure of his actions. We did talk about sex and such stuff like most guys but we never talked about Sheila. I did try once but his angry expression was enough to banish any further attempts. For me, he was dependable and that has been my only (albeit stringent) criterion for friendship. He was the first person I invited for my wedding despite being warned against it by my fiancée.

She had heard of him and his past. To make matters worse, she was Sheila’s family friend. And, she wanted Sheila at our wedding, of course. We had our first big fight because of them. We stuck to our positions and decided to invite trouble, that is, we decided to invite our friends. Jose did not know of this situation. I had not allowed a meeting between my fiancée and him. And, I had not told him about my fiancée’s close association with Sheila. I hoped that Sheila would skip the wedding knowing that Jose would be there.  

It is actually strangely ironical that my fiancée does not know that it was Jose who ‘made’ me kiss her for the first time. During the period of engagement, we were meeting each other at least once every weekend. After the second or third meeting, I had confessed to Jose that I wanted to kiss my fiancée. And he had said, ‘Just do it…’ And I had replied half-heartedly, ‘Oh yeah…’ as if I expected no other advice from a rapist. But the next time we met, I did kiss her, just lightly, with a bit of tongue, that’s all. She had looked startled and I thought she would scream and that it would be the end of my life. She gave me her impish grin, as if expecting more of the same. I did kiss her then and on other occasions before the wedding but I never told her about Jose.

So, that’s what happened before ‘‘I was guarded by my friend Jose…’

What happened then was simple. We entered the hall and Lady Luck decided to be really nasty with me. The first person Jose and I saw within the hall was Sheila. She was with a group of friends watching us enter. She had not changed much. She was looking at Jose. I looked at Jose. If Rage could take a human form, that was it. I said, ‘Oh shit…’ He said, ‘I will kill that bitch…’

What happened after was also simple. I do not know what happened. One minute he was there with me, the next he had disappeared. I looked around for him – quite distractedly, I admit, given my situation and worries regarding the looming marital obligation. It took a while before I regained my senses and tried to find Sheila. But, she had disappeared, too.

Thus, during the five minute hullaballoo on stage, I faced a barrage of emotional artillery and I desperately tried to hide behind barricades that crumbled. I maintained my cool till the auspicious moment when I tied the knot. As I leaned forward to do so, I quickly whispered to my bride the gist of our friends’ disappearance and Jose’s open threat. She nearly gave a startled cry and if she had not been seated, she would have jumped away from me. From the priest’s face, I could make out that he had witnessed our turmoil. His grim visage expressed displeasure and seemed to suggest that we should seek the guidance of judicial, rather than spiritual, powers as soon as possible. Like Pontius of old, he washed his hands off our case. My newly-wed wife was not only grim but quite determined that we, and the police, should search for our friends right then. I barely managed to pacify her with sweet promises to do all that was necessary.

The promises had to wait. Photo-sessions, feast, change of dress, change of scene, the bride’s entry into her new abode, evening party and such social engagements kept us busy. We did try to call our friends on their mobile but the calls went unanswered. Now, when I look at the photos taken during that day, I can clearly see that my wife kept a frosty cool towards me, with frequent stares that seemed as sharp as icy daggers. I must have been oblivious of that then. But I do remember that she made her point crystal clear to me on our first night.

We had retired to our bedroom. Like most romantic guys in such situations, I entered that room with butterflies in my stomach, a thumping ache in my chest and a restless tension in my groin. I had a desperate urge to urinate. But she had occupied the bathroom. And she remained there for a long time. I whispered sweet nothings to her but she did not respond. When the tension mounted and I was sweating profusely, I banged on the door, not too hard though, but there was no response to that either. I thought of emptying the water bottle and using that as an improvised chamber pot. I was about to step outside onto the terrace when she marched out of the bathroom. I raced within and relieved myself. I took a quick shower and powdered liberally, calming myself with deep breaths and then crept out ready for another attempt at a romantic conquest. She had cornered the best part of the bed and pretended to be sleeping with her back turned towards me. I moved towards her and touched her gently on the shoulder. She turned around and snarled, ‘Don’t you dare touch me!’ I noticed that she had worn a sack-like nightdress made of coarse white cotton. I remembered her telling me that she used to wear such garments at night during her stay in the boarding of a convent school. An effective chastity belt, she had said. And I could agree with that on my first night with her.

I moved to my uneven side of the bed, resigned to conquer on another date. I fell asleep immediately. But that infuriated her even further. She shook me awake. She accused me of being a rapist’s accomplice and a murderer’s friend. I could not deny that. She heaped insult upon insult. I took each blow bravely knowing that I could do little else. I tried to convince her that I would contact the police the next morning. But she was determined to do unto me emotionally all that my friend must be doing unto her friend physically. Hell hath no fury like a woman with an upper hand, goes an old adage…

It was then that I heard my mobile ringing. It was Jose. He told me calmly, ‘I had some unfinished business to take care of.’

He continued, ‘Sheila wants to talk to your wife.’ Without a word, I gave it to my wife and lay down. I barely heard the women exchange notes, news and happenings in hushed tones. I was nearly asleep when my wife shook my shoulder, this time gently though insistently. I turned around and faced her, ready to let loose my own cannons this time. She gave me an impish grin and with a simple shrug of her shoulders, slipped out of that chastity belt.

A little later, a bit too soon I admit, we lay close holding each other. That was after the virginal fumbling and ensuing embarrassment was countered with convenient wisdom such as ‘it is the thought that matters’ and ‘there will always be another day’. I remember asking her,

‘Oye, Mrs.?’

‘hmM…’ she replied.

‘Love and lust seems like real trouble, right?’

‘hMm…’

‘It would be a good idea to have nothing to do with it, huh?’

‘Hmm…’

Thus, with her measured reticence, we agreed with each other for the first time. As I said earlier, it is the thought that matters…action that follows is rarely mutually agreeable in any human endeavour, especially matrimony.