The sun rose from the east, serene and dew glistened like pearls on the green grass as a cool wind blew across the landscape, awakening from its slumber, the sounds of life, a new day born.
“Om namah Shiva, om namah Shiva,” a soft voice hummed words of devotion as she poured water over the Shiva Lingam. A prayer, a song always welcomed a new day for within her was the hope and faith that somewhere, somehow a beautiful moment from life would touch her just once and say, “Hey Shanti, I’m here for you.”“How long more, dear Lord,” she whispered, “Do I have to wait for that day?”
“Momma,” a sweet little voice broke into her thoughts.
It was her son, Arun, standing behind her in his Teletubbies pajamas, his hair tussled from sleep. He hugged her and she lifted him up in her arms so he could offer a little prayer to Lord Shiva.
He was the one precious thing in her life that gave her hopes to live when the rough, thorny paths she had to walk, the poor girl she was, had left a blood trail and scattered pieces of her broken heart.
“I want to go with you today, momma.” He said, holding her face lovingly.
She smiled and kissed his soft hands, having always said ‘No’ to his request but it touched her heart that as a three year old boy, he could see her efforts and hard work and wanted to help her in his own little way.
“Okay,” she consented, “But only for today.”
“Yay!” he laughed gleefully.
She was a food vendor at a market on the East Coast that earned for her, her daily livelihood, having come a long way from housekeeping, home care and a cook, to owning her own little business. It was something she had worked long, tiring hours to build for herself, knowing no help would ever come from her baby’s father.
She had been four months pregnant when life at her home and the taunting of an evil step father had, became so unbearable that she had to leave and seek refuge at a Help & Shelter home. From there she worked several jobs so she could earn enough to find a place of her own, for her baby’s comfort and convenience. One year after her baby was born, a kindly old woman, from her mandir reached out a helping hand that gave Shanti’s life a form of stability. The comfort of a furnished bottom flat and the old lady’s snackette she bought a year later for a small price was like a blessing in disguise for Shanti.
“One day hopefully, I can own my own little house, something I can leave for my son, for his father’s mansion will not be his.”
Many nights when she laid in bed, her body tired after a hard day’s work, her thoughts would go back to him, his words imprinted on her mind.
“I am yours, Shanti.”
His promise, now just a hollow sound, the love and passion they shared wisped away by the passing wind.
“Why did you leave me alone like this to suffer? Did I sin in loving you?”
How many times had she asked herself that question but he was nowhere close to give her answers. Three years of yearning and pain, his name still on her lips, just one part of him with her, his son.
The first day she had seen him was the day when a new journey in life began for her and she was only seventeen.
Her opportunist mother had found for her a maid’s job in a business magnate’s mansion because of the benefits of working for the rich and elite. As a child, since her father’s untimely death, the mother had pushed Shanti into odd housekeeping jobs to supplement their needs, denying her an education. Now working as a maid was all she knew to do yet she was still nervous when she went for the job interview, the quiet, shy girl she was. The lady of the house, a woman with a strict, unsmiling demeanor, drove a fear in young Shanti’s heart.
“You’re too young,” she had said, “But I can find no one with the perfect qualities right now to be my son’s personal maid. He’s arriving in the country soon so I’m hiring you but I’ll be watching you closely.”
“Yes ma’am.” Shanti answered quietly.
She began working, her innovative thinking in the décor of a room, her skilled hands in maintaining clothes and creative fresh flower arrangements impressing the mistress of the mansion.
Her son, Raj, arrived two days later but he was on such a busy schedule that it was another three days later when Shanti saw him. She was carrying a basket of freshly cut flowers from the garden when he stopped his car on the driveway and beckoned to her.
“Oh my God, he’s so handsome,” was the first thought that crossed her mind.
“What flower in that basket would make this day blessed?” he asked her.
She handed him a tomato peach hibiscus rose and he smiled a little before driving away.
“He seems like a nice person,” she said in her mind, “I may like working for him.”
She saw him for brief periods in the days and not always he needed her assistance but she had to always be there, his mother informed her, for whenever he needed her.
Sometimes he would call to tell her what clothes she must have ready for certain occasions, be it a business dinner, a cocktail party or a funeral and so far she had done everything right. One afternoon she was in his room putting the final touches to an Armani suit when he walked in unexpectedly. He looked at the suit in her hand and nodded appreciatively.
“I wouldn’t have thought of wearing that one and this room..” he continued, looking around,
“Has changed remarkably. Is this your handiwork?”
She nodded a little nervously and he smiled, “Good job.”
“Thank you, sir.” She said modestly.
The next morning, he stopped for a flower to bless his day and as she handed him a red hibiscus, he asked her, “What’s your name?”
“Shanti.”
“Shanti, a pure Indian girl, I like it.”
And so it began, little things that brought them close and as his personal maid, he took her with him shopping so she could help him select the perfect gifts for birthdays and weddings. He insisted one day that they took a break for lunch and at the little cozy restaurant, one of his friends passing by their table asked casually,
“Your girlfriend?”
He didn’t answer but looked at her and smiled at her uneasiness.
“Does that bother you?”
She wasn’t sure what to say, trying in her mind to find an easy answer and she said, “I’m just your maid.”
He looked at her for a moment and what he said triggered a strange feeling in her heart.
“Somehow I don’t always see you as that.”
As she continued working for him, she tried her best to forget those words and one day his mother said to her, “My son seems to have taken a liking to you but I do hope you remember your place, that you’re a maid and nothing more.”
Shanti knew her place, she knew she was a poor girl from the dust of poverty and a rich boy from an influential, elite family would pay no real interest in her.
But only fate knew how wrong she was.
Her simplicity and innocence were life priceless gems that drew him to her and every time he looked at her and smiled, she felt something strange happening to her heart. It was something she didn’t understand and as the days went by, the feelings grew stronger.
He brought little tokens for her as appreciation for the excellent job she was doing and somehow he seemed to know what she liked though she had never told him – the little Hindu murthis, the bangles and perfumes, pleased her heart and one time when she smiled, saying “Thank you,” he said to her,
“That smile is so more worthy than the gift I’ve given you.”
Her heart was speaking to her, telling her something new, poetic words of the most beautiful love stories and even though his mother spoke often of the girl she wanted Raj to marry, it did not wither the budding feeling in Shanti’s heart. She was in her own world, untouched by the ugliness of dislike and poverty, a wonderful, beautiful world where she alone waiting for him. He went on a business trip for a short while and came back in time for a yagna that was held in celebration of his parents wedding anniversary, an extravagant affair officiated by a priest from India. The household staff worked long endless hours in the week long preparations and it was during the late nights when drivers had to take them home, Shanti noticed one driver paying a little too close interest in her. It made her uneasy, given she was the last one he always chauffeured home.
On the night of the yagna she was dressed in a simple, sky blue sari, she being one of the few selected to serve the special guests. The divine rendition of prayers and songs touched her inner feelings so deeply, it put a glow on her face. Raj had been looking at her and when his eyes met hers the songs seemed to be telling a new story, a love story, born that night.
It was almost one o’clock the next morning when the household staff was excused to go home and the same driver was dispatched to chauffeur Shanti and several others home. He gave her a look that awakened that feeling of unease within her and as she turned to go, afraid to say anything, Raj called her.
“Wait a little while, I’ll take you home myself.”
On the way, he asked her what was wrong having noticed the uneasy look on her face earlier. She told him about the driver and a displeased look crossed his face.
“When anything or anyone bothers you, you need to talk about it because you’re under our care.”
She nodded and after a while he said, “You look beautiful tonight.”
She smiled, “I have you to thank for that.”
He had gifted her the sari and the bangles she wore, knowing what would look good on her.
“There was something about you tonight,” he said, “something I had not seen before, something different.”
She did not answer, not sure what he meant and at the turn in the street he stopped the car and turned to look at her.
“What was it that brought a light in your eyes?”
She hesitated to answer, not looking at him and he touched her face gently.
“Look at me, Shanti. What is in your heart that you’re not telling me?”
Her eyes met his but words failed her from telling him about that strong feeling in her heart that had budded into a fragrant rose. She turned and opened the car door, “It’s late, I have to go.”
He stopped her as she was walking away, “You can’t walk home, the street is dark, let me take you there.”
“No, the street is bad, the car can’t come any further.”
“Then I’ll walk you home,” he said and he walked with her along the dirt road until they reached a junction where a deep puddle stretched across the street. She stopped uncertainly and without a word, he lifted her and stepped effortlessly over the puddle. Shanti gasped in surprise but he did not put her down, continuing to walk.
“You can put me down now.” She said.
“No, the street is still bad.”
He was smiling mischievously at her discomfort and put her down when they had reached her home.
“You’re home safe now.”
That what he did was so unexpected that the feeling in her heart came close to be revealed and she turned to go but he held her hand, stopping her.
“Don’t go yet, just stay here with me for a minute,” he said, standing close to her, “Just one minute.”
For that one minute, as they stood close to each other, their hearts seeming to beat as one, he saw in her eyes, the love she had been trying so hard to hide.
“Shanti,” he whispered her name and as his lips touched hers, her mother’s voice calling her name, broke the magical moment. She turned and ran inside and he stood there for a moment looking at the closed door before leaving.
A figure stepped out from the shadows of the house, an evil glint in his eyes and he laughed quietly.
“Very interesting..seems as though we will hit the jackpot.”
It was Shanti’s stepfather! (TO BE CONTINUED)