PART 1

Tassa drums.
SOUNDS from a culture with a rich history of dance; its tempo of passion and scintillating beats accompanying the bridal procession as the bride made her memorable journey to the groom’s house.
In the palanquin, she sat, a vision of pure loveliness in an exquisite red lehenga, rich jewellery and the intricate Mehendi on her hands.

She was for the day, a queen, beautiful in every way.
The large procession began crossing the Demerara River and nervously she lifted her head. Through the thin veil covering her face, she saw the wide expanse of water.
A soft cry from the agony in her heart escaped her lips and she closed her eyes to stop the tears.
“Don’t worry, my dear child,” her father had said when he had bid her ‘goodbye’ even though he too was crying.
The young daughter was leaving her father’s home to begin a new life with someone she was betrothed to who was not her heart’s desire.

A disaster forced a change in her life.
The floods of the May/June rains had destroyed all their crops and she could not erase from her young mind, the heart-breaking scene of her father sitting in the flooded fields crying.
Such a great loss had brought unexpected hardship on the family but her father, a man of great determination, worked to regain something. Offers were made to buy over his farms at a low cost but he had refused to sell. The farms were all he owned, a family inheritance he hoped to pass onto his young sons.

He sourced small loans from a few business friends in the city to get back on his feet, then came an unexpected offer for his young daughter’s hand in marriage in exchange for a total write-off of his debts. Her father was shocked, to say the least, for the offer came from a business magnate he knew, one of the richest men on the West Bank of Demerara.

He couldn’t understand why a successful, influential and respected man in society would want to marry his simple daughter from a middle-class home.
“Her simplicity is priceless,” he had said to her father, “And in her soft, brown eyes, there is so much life, something magical.”

For a moment that answer had stunned her father but then he had regained his composure and respectfully turned down the rich man’s proposal.
“I’m sorry, she’s only 16.”

Anuradha had wondered how the rich man knew her then she realised he was a regular sponsor of Indian cultural programmes where she danced.
“It’s so unbelievable!” she had said to herself, “that he had such interest in me.”
The months went by and it became harder to bring back the farmlands because of the heavy costs. The friends who had lent her father money were pressuring him for repayment and the bank would soon move in because of the loan on the machinery.

Anuradha could hardly eat or focus on her studies and she feared for her father’s mental health.
Then one day when her best friend’s father whose business the bank had foreclosed on, tried to commit suicide, Anuradha knew a decision had to be made and she had to do it herself.
Her father had hugged her and cried uncontrollably that night when she told him,
“Take the marriage offer, Papa. If you lose the farms and machinery we will suffer even more. Amanda almost lost her father, I don’t want to lose you.”

She inhaled deeply as the palanquin was lifted when the procession reached the groom’s mansion on expensive grounds that spoke of luxury and wealth. Her lips trembled as she tried not to cry, for this was a sacrifice she had made for her family.
The years went by and the girl became a woman, her life though was limited to social events her husband attended because he did not want her interacting with too many people. On shopping trips and small charity works for children, she was always accompanied by two bodyguards.

She felt imprisoned and suffocated and often screamed silently just to be free to live her life.
Many days she spent on the man-made private beach behind the mansion’s grounds; the only place she was allowed alone, and she would stand staring wistfully at the flowing water of the Demerara River.
She was so far away from those she loved, allowed only short visits and not often.
“Dear Papa,” she said quietly, “Even though our farms were saved and the family is doing great, I know your heart must be aching like mine. I wish I was home again.”
She twirled the diamond ring on her finger and smiled with sadness in her eyes.
“A price to pay for life.”

She lived for those alone moments she could spend on the beach, swimming, collecting shells and pieces of shrubs and twigs that had floated from somewhere down the river. Sitting on a tree stump under the shade of palms, she would inscribe using the shell on the broken pieces of bark, verses of her thoughts.
‘If only I can taste the sweet raindrops
Laugh with the wind
And feel the perfumed … of love’
She threw them in the water, knowing in her heart no one would find them – verses that just the river knew about.
It was the one thing missing from her life, for married at 16, she got no chance to dream, to experience the euphoria of falling in love.

“Maybe this is what fate has destined for me,” she said with said resignation.
Seasons changed, then one day when spring had gone and the wind blew colder, she found stuck under the stump where she often sat, a piece of tree bark with the words scratched on it,
“I feel your desire.”

She gasped quietly and looked around the beach but no one was there.
It was empty, but someone had been there, someone who had found her message.
To be continued…