Love is a Many Splendoured Thing by Deepti Menon

LOVE IS A

MANY SPLENDOURED THING

The peacocks cried raucously in the distance, as streaks of rain pelted down, evoking a smell of the earth. Geetanjali leaned her warm forehead against the windowpane, hoping to catch a glimpse of the birds dancing in full bloom. However, they were nowhere in sight, and she sighed again, as she moved back into the large, dimly lit room. The haveli was huge and sprawling and shadows lurked in every corner, getting larger as the world outside became darker. “Will he come today?” she asked herself, a flush suffusing her beautiful face. She had only seen him once, tall and well-built, riding on a stallion that he controlled with such ease. One glance from his hawk-like eyes that had roved over her face, and then he was gone. She had strained her eyes to look at him, but he was a mere speck in the horizon. The young man had also been smitten at first sight. The moon-like face of the beautiful maiden who had peered out from the window had stayed in his mind. He wondered who she was, this lissome girl, who seemed to be part of the haveli.

Deepti Menon "He kept staring at her as if he would imprint her features in his mind. Then he moved forward to take her hand. "

“Ghanshyam, time we looked out for a bride for you, ” his mother ’ s voice intruded into his reverie. For once he did not demur, or argue, as he had done so far, but merely nodded in acquiescence. His mother was taken aback. Had her stubborn son just agreed to get married? Her heart overflowed with happiness. This was the moment that she had waited for when she would attain a beautiful daughter-in-law. Geetanjali was on her way to the temple when she heard the neighing of a horse behind her. She turned around, and there he was –the same hawk-like eyes riveted on her. All she could do was gaze at him, mesmerized by the depth of his gaze, unable to look away. Her cheeks flushed as he drew alongside her and dismounted with alacrity. “I have been consumed with curiosity, ” he said in a deep voice that thrilled her timorous heart. “What is your name, oh divine maiden?” “Gee… Geetanjali, ” she quavered, looking down in confusion. “A name that suits your beauty… where do you live, Geetanjali?” “At the haveli, ” she whispered. Her timidity overcame her and she blushed again. He kept staring at her as if he would imprint her features in his mind. Then he moved forward to take her hand. She drew away with a start, and he smiled. She was deer-like, with her lustrous brown eyes and her graceful gait. “I… I have to leave… it is getting dark, ” she said in a low voice and turned to leave. “When will I see you again?” he persisted. “I don’t know who you are, ” she muttered. “My name is Ghanshyam, but you can call me Shyam, ” he smiled. “I am the son of Manohar Lal, the headman. ” Her eyes flickered in alarm. The headman’s son? He was an important person. Ducking her head, she just nodded, and started walking away. “Will you come here tomorrow at the same time?” he called after her. She scurried away, unwilling to answer such a direct question. As her slight form receded in the twilight, he got onto his mount, smiling to himself. This had been a pleasurable encounter. He knew what he had to do. Manohar Lal was a corpulent man with a handlebar moustache, which he was proud of. It curved across his cheeks, arching towards his nostrils, a grand specimen, indeed. This specimen gave him the right to be dictatorial towards Saraswati, his longsuffering wife, his two sons who feared him even though they were strapping young men and anyone around who happened to have a weak heart or a timorous soul. His presence offered a grandeur to the ceremonies and the events that were of great significance in the village, and he was proud of it. When Saraswati meekly mentioned that it was time to get his eldest son Ghanshyam married, he nodded even as he mentally checked the various households who had nubile daughters. He was a vain man, and he was determined to get a daughter-in-law from one of the wealthiest families in the vicinity. “You can speak to your son and find out if there are any girls he is interested in, ” he said abruptly to his wife who winced at the tone.

“Your son too, ” was trembling on her lips, but she was too nervous to bring the words out. “Yes, mother, I do have someone in mind. She is from the haveli, and her name is Geeta. ” His mother’s face brightened. The haveli was renowned and the family one of immense opulence. Her husband would be delighted with the nugget of information. She sent up a silent prayer of gratitude. A daughter-in-law from the haveli would bring up their status considerably.

Ghanshyam waited at the same spot every day. On most days, Geetanjali would appear, looking more beautiful than ever. They would talk for a while, and slowly her reticence left her and she began to open up to the ardent young man. On the days that she did not come, he would go home in a temper and refuse to talk to anyone at home. A month went by, and one day, his mother approached him. “Shyam, in two days, your father and I want you to come with us to the haveli to meet Geeta ’ s parents. Now that you both like each other, there is no point in delaying your wedding. ” Shyam was elated. No longer would he have to wait by the roadside for his lady love once they were married. He could spend his entire life with her, and he could not wait for that charmed life to begin. The haveli was lit up with starry lights as Shyam and his parents walked in at about seven in the evening. Shyam looked handsome in a cream kurta pajama, and his parents and the few guests along with them were all dressed in their traditional best. A babble of voices quietened down as the mother of the bride walked out with a lit lamp in her hand to welcome the guests in. Curious eyes alit on them as they made their way to the opulent living room which sparkled with decorative lights and fragrant garlands. As delicious snacks were brought in by uniformed bearers, desultory conversation continued. Suddenly there was a hush as the girl was brought in, dressed in a gorgeous maroon sari, its sequins twinkling in the bright lights. She had a veil over her face and Shyam could not wait for her to lift it and look at him. As she glided in, the chatter ceased as everyone watched her move with lithe grace. She walked towards the empty seat next to her mother, bowed her head with folded hands, and sat down. The two sets of parents restarted their conversation. Shyam was in a state of impatience. When would the elders stop talking and get on with the formalities? When would that heavy veil be lifted so that he could look into those lustrous eyes that haunted his very sleep? Finally, the moment came when the couple had to stand up and exchange rings. “Geeta, come and stand here next to Ghanshyam. ” The father beckoned to his daughter and she came forward. As the couple stood facing each other, the priest intoned an auspicious prayer. “Lift up your veil, Geeta, ” he finally said. As the lamps flickered brightly, the veil went up, revealing a face that shone as bright as the full moon. Gasps of admiration echoed as the brideto-be smiled demurely, revealing her pearl-like teeth. There was an agonized gasp from Shyam as he stared at the beautiful girl, pure agony in his gaze. He could not believe his eyes. Where was his Geeta? He did not recognize this beautiful damsel. Shaking his head, he moved back suddenly, as his eyes looked around for his lady love. There had been a terrible mistake; this was not her. “Ma, " he whispered desperately, “This is not Geeta!” His mother frowned at him, shushing him. “Don ’t be silly, boy. This is Geeta, the daughter of the haveli. ” “Is anything the matter?” the father of the bride asked. Before his mother could say anything, Shyam cut in,

“This is not Geeta!” The bride ’ s father ’ s face looked like a thundercloud. “What on earth do you mean? How dare you say such a thing? This is my daughter, Geeta and the girl whose hand your parents had asked for. ” Shyam looked about in bewilderment, still shaking his head. “What about your other daughter?” “We have only one daughter. ” The reply was like a thunderbolt. Who was the girl he had lost his heart to? His Geeta? “I am sorry, really sorry. But this is not the girl I want to marry!” Shyam ’ s statement again caused gasps to reverberate around the room like a gust of wind. “How dare you, young man?” roared the father of the bride. “You have just insulted my daughter and my entire family.

Then, from the corner of his eye, Shyam sensed a timid movement and he swiveled his head around. There, in a remote corner, looking petrified, stood the girl of his dreams, as she tried to hide herself from him. “There she is… there ’ s my Geeta, ” the young man retorted loudly, as he lifted a finger to point towards the girl. As heads turned, she tried to cover her face with her dupatta, making her way across the room to the nearest exit. Shyam followed her with long strides, but by the time he had reached the spot, she had disappeared. When he looked back, he could see many irate faces glaring at him and he knew that something was very wrong. Back home, the whole family sat around, as Shyam tried to explain his stand. “How could I have accepted that girl? She is not the one I had in mind when I agreed to this proposal. ” Before he could say anything more, his father exploded. “Never have I been so embarrassed in all my life! Do you even realize what a blunder you made, you thoughtless boy? The whole village is laughing at us, and as for that poor girl…!” He was too incensed to carry on. His wife tried to calm him down, but he pointed a finger at her. “You are responsible for his actions. Pampered brat that he is!” The whole story had come out in bits and pieces. The family at the haveli had a daughter named Geetashri, and a foster daughter named Geetanjali, who was born of an illicit union, and hence, did not have the status her stepsister enjoyed. The former was known as Geeta and the latter Anjali. The mistake that Shyam had made was in assuming that his Geetanjali went by the nickname Geeta. All hell had broken loose in Shyam ’ s home. His father refused to talk to him, and his mother wept all night. He had broken both their hearts and they were dead against accepting Geetanjali, or Anjali, as his bride. When Shyam protested, his father lost his temper. “I will not allow you to defile my family name by bringing that upstart of a girl here. I would rather that you remained single all your life. ” And that was the end of the matter. From that day onwards, Shyam struggled to catch even a glimpse of his lady love. It was as if she had disappeared off the face of the earth. The story could have very well ended there. However, how could the all-consuming fire that raged within the hearts of Shyam and Anjali be put out? The fact was that both slipped into the cracks of life and were never seen or heard of again. Two years after Geeta was married, on a dark, moonless night, Shyam stood waiting for his Anjali at the railway station. As he stood on the platform his mind went over the past two years when his family had thrust numerous photographs of eligible girls before him, even as they got more and more irate with him for not even looking at them. “I love Anjali. If I marry, I will only marry her. So, please do not waste your breath, and your photographs on me!” His loyalty to his family, especially towards his mother was so strong that not once did the thought of eloping with his lady love come to him. Anjali too had hidden herself away within her family, not wanting to hurt them anymore. Geeta had forgiven her and Anjali had reconciled to the fact that she would remain a spinster all her life. The future seemed bleak, indeed, but her love for Shyam would keep her going till the end of her life. Shyam ’ s reverie was broken when he heard the whistle of the train at a distance. The next moment, he felt a light tap on his shoulder. There she stood, as beautiful as ever, though a few grey strands had appeared on her temples. It was a joyous reunion as they drank in the sight of one another. Two years of separation had not dimmed the intensity of their love at all. As the train trundled in, the passengers around began jostling them, and Shyam clasped Anjali’ s soft hand tightly. He would never let go of it again. They stood there, a tiny island in the milling crowd around them, and with one glance, they looked at the slight figure who had stood by them over the past two years. As Anjali moved forward to hug her, Shyam folded his hands together in a gesture of intense gratitude.

Geeta ’ s smile broke out like a ray of sunshine on the dim platform. She hugged Anjali, tears flowing down her cheeks. She, above all, had known the intense anguish that her stepsister had gone through and it was she who had persuaded the lovers to move on and live their own lives. “Go and be happy! Live a fruitful life!” Her voice was soft, but it rang through the babble around them. As the train came to a halt, Anjali looked at this beloved sister of hers, and her eyes shone with unshed tears of gratitude. “We will be happy, dearest Geeta, ” she said in a low tone. “This life is a gift from you, and we will treasure it forever. ” As they stood at the door, the train began to crawl, and they waved to Geeta, who waved back. This was how she would always remember them, framed in a doorway of a train, tears of joy sparkling in their eyes as they stood on the threshold of future happiness.

Deepti Menon has always loved the written word. She has published four books, starting with Arms and the Woman (Rupa Publishers). Deeparadhana of Poems came next, followed by The Shadow Trilogy - Shadow in the Mirror, Where Shadows Follow and Shadows Never Lie, and Classic Tales from The Panchatantra (all by Readomania). As a freelance journalist in Chennai, she wrote umpteen articles for various publications and was lucky enough to interview celebrities like Jeffrey Archer, Ruskin Bond and many others, including film stars, business tycoons and politicians. Deepti has always enjoyed writing thriller short stories and has been published in around twenty anthologies along with other noteworthy writers. She is presently working on a book of Shakespearean short stories and has three manuscripts which, she hopes, will soon see the light of day. She firmly believes in the Paula Hawkins quote: “Stay faithful to the stories in your head.