The Stolen Bride

Savita rolled on top of him and kissed his eyelashes, his eyebrows,
his nose and then she concentrated on his lips. He groaned and pulled
her closer. "I love you Savita."

She stroked his curly black hair and nibbled his neck. "Love you too
Jem. Lots and lots."

"But not enough to marry me?"

She laughed and fell of him and landed on the floor. "You know I
can't...it's all arranged...it's my culture."

"Well what about me? Shouldn't I be looking for a little princess from
Hampstead Garden Suburb?"

"No," she cried, "not this week...but next month will be okay...I'll be
married by then."

Jem watched her dress, and she was aware of the eroticism in his eyes,
trailing her as she pulled on her underwear.

"How can you do it Savita? Marry someone you've never met?"

"My parents had an arranged marriage. My grandparents had an arranged
marriage. And so did my brother." Her chestnut hair cascaded around her
shoulders. "I respect my tradition...I'd never offend my
parents."

Jem smiled and reminded her of a wolf. "You've already offended them by
sleeping with me."

"But they don't know that." She cast her eyes to the floor.

His laugh had a sharp edge. "Don't pretend to be coy. You know it suits
you. How will you explain your lack of virginity to your new
husband?"

"I'll tell him I played a lot of sports at university.

He lay back on the bed and lit a cigarette. "That you did for sure.
University. You've just graduated. What'll happen once you're
married?"

She brushed her hair and fastened it into a sophisticated coil at the
nape of her neck. "I'll be a wife. I won't be working. I suppose we'll
start a family soon."

He sat up straight on the bed and extinguished the cigarette. "You've
got a First in English...isn't that a waste...not to work and use your
brain."

She sighed and sat down on the bed. Her eyes were the same colour as
the deep spices of her heritage. "I enjoyed university...I met
you...but my degree was never the most important thing in my life. The
First's great but acquiring the knowledge, that's better. Besides, one
day when my family is grown up I'll probably do some kind of
work."

Jem shook his head, "I love you Savita. I want you to have your family
with me. Not with some fishmonger from Delhi."

She tutted. "Dhani's family own an export business. They've a very
comfortable life. You know I love you Jem but it's not enough. Love
never is. It's all about tradition and family values."

"And hypocrisy." He trembled and lit another cigarette. "What will I do
without you when you're living in India?"

"Miss me terribly and remember how much I love you." She was aware of
how hollow her words sounded.

Outside in the street, she glanced up at the bedroom window. The inside
was covered in condensation. The result of their steamy passion. She
could just make out Jem's face hiding behind the glaze. She moved her
slender finger up towards her mouth and blew him the last kiss. She
adored him. She wanted to be his bride, not someone's in a foreign land
that she had never met but she could not upset her parents. She would
not have the courage. How could she live as an ostracism? Which would
happen if she refused an arranged marriage. Shuddering, she walked
towards Fate as his icy fingers beckoned her.

Dhani disentangled himself from the voluptuous blonde who was lying
next to him. He slapped her bottom and noted that her flesh was the
colour of alabaster. He liked European women, especially the Germans.
It was just a shame, he thought, that you could not be training them up
like you could Eastern women to be good, dutiful wives. To be cooking
and cleaning, and to make love anytime you wanted to. His eyes clouded
over...Savita...the name was desirable. He slapped the blonde's bottom
again. This time harder. She opened her eyes and shrieked. Dhani gave
her his film star kiss. "Sorry Ghisela but you've got to get up and
clear yourself out of my pad...my wedding is only one week away. You
cannot be staying here now...some of my relatives will be using
it."

"But Dhani," she said sleepily, "I have nowhere else to go."

He stroked her platinum hair. "Don't worry babe, my friend who owns a
high class curry restaurant has premises above it...you can be staying
there for the time being. Once the wedding is over, you can move back
and then we can take up where we left off."

She curled her curves around Dhani's skinny frame. "Oh sweetie. I'll
miss you."

"And I'll miss you babe...I really will...but come on. Please be
hurrying up."

In the shower he began fantasising about Savita. The latest photo he
had seen of her revealed that she was truly beautiful, in that cool ice
maiden sort of way, although she was not really his type. For starters,
a graduate from Oxford University. She was far too intelligent for him.
In fact, he had a nasty suspicion that he was going to be well below
her in the brain stakes. He had been educated at the English Grammar
School in Delhi but had never managed to put in a full week, there was
always something else to be doing such as gambling or womanising.
Therefore, his education was sadly lacking. He soaped himself like a
man who had been dragged from the sewers. He was positive that Savita
would not be coming to him in a subservient fashion. She would have to
be undergoing a lot of training. However, he thought, as he rinsed the
shampoo out of his hair, she would have surely admired the latest
photograph he sent her of himself. A friend of his, expert in digital
photography had taken an excellent photograph of him, airbrushed the
spots from his face, and lengthened his legs so that he looked a giant
amongst men, instead of his normal short stature. He knew that Savita
was tall, it was the Western diet that caused such a monstrous height.
At least that was what his mother always said.

He dressed carefully, in an imitation Italian designer suit. Befitting
for the director of an empire such as his family's. Still the marriage
will be a good one, he thought, zipping up his flies. Savita's parents
were wealthy grocers and the dowry had been plentiful, plus they were
subsidising the honeymoon. Sri Lanka. Paradise Afterwards, it would be
back to real life with his new wife and, hopefully, back to Ghisela.
That is, if someone else was not making a play for her in his absence.
He decided he would buy her a present while he was on his honeymoon.
Some fine Sri Lankan sapphires. That would please her.

He assembled his briefcase and quickly assembled Ghisela. "I don't want
you to be going with any of the other boys while I'm away. Do you
here?" He savagely kissed her fluffy white fringe.

"What will you do to make me faithful?" Her corn blue eyes
twinkled.

He smaned and licked her ear. "I'll be bringing you back something
nice from honeymoon. Proper sapphires. Not fakes...Necklace and
earrings. But..." He kissed her again, "...You must promise that you
are waiting for me...no making love...no disease. You
understand?"

She looked sly and smiled. "I'll be a good girl, I promise. Now what
about my luxury accommodation you have arranged?"

Dhani ushered her out into the street and into his Mercedes, in order
to escape the gross humidity. He waited patiently for a cow to move
past his bonnet before he pulled away. Soon I will be respectable, he
decided, a modern married man. Almost Western. I hope Savita will be
able to cook as well as my mother.

The outskirts of New Delhi was saturated with people. Although it was
early evening, the heat had not abated at all, and the smell of sweat,
jasmine and curry powder blended uneasily like an invisible cloud as
the wedding guests assembled in the vast garden of Dhani's parents
villa. Dhani was impatient. He wanted a cigarette. He wanted his bride.
He wanted to be making love every day on his honeymoon. He felt faint
and nauseous in his wedding outfit: an alarming gold brocade suit with
Nehru collar, encrusted with rhinestones. His bejewelled turban rested
awkwardly on his head. In fact he could feel it unravelling. It was not
fastened properly, and what with the veil covering it. He peered
through it and tried to catch his brother's attention but he was too
busy chatting up a pretty cousin.

"Here she comes."

Dhani stiffened. His part of the wedding procession began to move
towards the veranda where the wedding ceremony was to be performed. He
parted his veil and twisted his head. He had serious trouble with the
turban now. There was a lot of noise. Chanting and beating of drums.
The ceremonial elephant arrived to triumphant applause.

"Here she comes."

From the side of his left eye, he spotted a young bespectacled Jew
wearing a richly embroidered skull cap. He appeared agitated. What on
earth is he doing here? thought Dhani, I am not knowing him and he's
certainly not knowing me.

"Here she comes."

The music ended. There was more chanting, intermingled with wailing.
The bride came into sight for the first time, walking underneath a
canopy of vivid flowers, supported by four female relatives in vibrant
saris.

Savita made her way slowly towards Dhani. She was nervous and her first
impression was one of disappointment. He was a lot shorter than his
photograph suggested; and she could just make out through his veil,
that his skin was erupting and his nose was bumpy and off-centre.

All Dhani saw was a goddess dressed in the most spectacular of saris:
purple silk encrusted with semiprecious stones that blinded his eyes
like a mass of fire flies. She snaked closer to him and all he could
hear was the jangling of her wrist and ankle bracelets. Her perfume had
a most devastating effect on his senses, as his nostrils caught her
seductive odour intermingled with the scent of jasmine. He became giddy
and slightly lost his balance which affected the turban even
more.

She was directly in front of him and although her face was partly
obscured by elaborate nose jewellery and an orchid head-dress. He knew
just by the shape and colour of her eyes that he would never remember
the name of the blonde who had shared his bed and lust for the past
year.

He pushed the veil away from his face and then did the same to
hers.

She hoped her unhappiness did not spring from her face. She knew that
she would never love Dhani. She found him physically unattractive. Why
had she allowed herself to get into this situation? She was Indian. But
only by birth. Not by soul. Tears moved slowly down her cheeks, gently
dislodging on the way, the heavy kohl that defined her eyes.

She is moved, assumed Dhani. She is loving me. I can see it in her
eyes. She is crying for me. She knows what a good catch I am.

"Savita."

The voice was pure and it echoed fondly in her memory. She turned away
from her bridegroom and looked straight into the soulful dove-grey eyes
of Jem.

"Savita. Don't marry him. You don't love him." He removed his skull cap
and took off his spectacles. "I'm your man...the one you love."

No one said anything. Everyone stared. After what seemed ages the
ceremonial elephant trumpeted and Savita took it as a sign.

She rotated like a wind-up doll until she was no longer under the
canopy and no longer looking at her husband-to-be. She walked with
elegance, clinking the wrist and ankle bracelets, and the twinkling
sari that had so entranced Dhani, twisted itself tightly to her body.
The fine silk fell into pleats and guided her legs along in Jem's
direction. She took it as another sign. His hand reached out to her, so
she stretched and placed her own hand onto his palm. The warmth of love
electrified her.

"Help me," Dhani screamed, "someone's stealing my bride." His turban
unravelled completely and the material collapsed in a heap on the
ground.

The ceremonial elephant picked it up with it's trunk and hurled it into
the air, trumpeting as it did so.

Another sign, thought Savita and she kissed her man.

THE END