All Strings Attached

Chapter Seven

Dhushyanth

"Sarika," my father addresses my mother as we are on our way to the Cheurkuris' house, "tell your son that he is not to open his mouth whatsoever—"

"Naanna—"

"I'm not speaking to him, I do not want to hear from him," he states, leaving no room for argument.

"Dhushyanth," my mother reprimands lightly, "Mahendra."

"Can you tell him that he is not to speak, first?" He reiterates.

"Dhushyanth," Amma starts, but I cut her off.

"I heard the first time."

I rake a hand through my hair, wondering how this situation is going to unfold. How I see it, there are multiple ways it could go: one, Madhav uncle kills me for looking at his daughter, two, my father hands him a gun to shoot at me, and he kills me anyway, three, they kill me and then figure out some way to deal with Vishwanath for Sita's sake, four, they force us into a marriage, and then Sita kills me.

Somehow, all four options seem equally possible given our circumstances.

~.~.~.~.~

For the first time, our welcome to the Cherukuris house is not warm. Uncomfortable would be an understatement and cold would be almost too lenient.

It is the kind of cold that makes your body burn; it's so cold it feels like the temperature is eating at your skin.

"Rani, Dhushyanth's plate looks empty," Madhav uncle notes, urging her to lay another dosa on my plate, and even though I feel my insides churning with anxiety and I know I couldn't possibly stomach another dosa, I do not open to my mouth to refuse.

"What do you think we should do, Madhav?" My father asks, his voice calm, but unnaturally filled with some kind of nervousness.

"You said you've already talked to Vishwanath," Madhav uncle states, and looks at Sita, who hasn't said one word since we got here. She keeps her eyes trained on her plate, drawing patterns in her chutney. "Don't play with your food, Sita," her father says to her, and she retracts her nimble fingers, leaving them hovering over her plate as her wrists rest on the glass table.

"I don't understand why he is involving the kids at all," her father says, "he has no business with them."

"Well," Naanna looks at me, "I suppose Dhushyanth is more involved in politics than Sita is."

Even though Madhav uncle hasn't said anything accusatory, or even slightly ill-intentioned, the tension at the table remains palpable, weighing heavily on its occupants.

My father remains silent, waiting for Madhav uncle to pass his judgement on the situation, which is visibly frustrating my mother who glares at my father, urging him to comment, rather than solely relay the facts.

I have never seen my father on the receiving end of a judgement, waiting for a decision, hanging onto someone else's words.

Something in my stomach twists at the thought, thinking I had disappointed him, and to such an extent that would make him as bereft, and without pride.

"We can't let the pictures appear anywhere," Madhav uncle agrees with my father's stance, "but Vishwanath seems to be playing at a different game."

"We don't know when he might release the pictures," my mother says, finally, seeming to have had enough of this conversation, "or if he might ever. The kids are bound to be affected, and so are the families. We have to do something before it is out of our control."

"Isn't it already out of our control?" Rani aunty questions, her voice filled with barely restrained anger. "If the two of you wanted to be together, to see each other, you should have done it another way," she states, "you've acted in the worst way possible for your stature. You have brought this upon yourselves, and us—"