Providence

It had been raining for days. Vikram had been missing for months. The flowers in the garden had never looked better.

Janya sat on the couch anxiously, peering out over the balcony. The sky was angry, nimbus clouds threatening to unleash chaos upon the city. Her curly hair framed her face, lines creasing her forehead as she pushed an unruly strand behind her ear. Dressed in a white linen sleeveless salwar suit, she looked the picture of serenity.

A storm was gathering and she couldn't run from it. Her inner world was in a state of disarray, and all around her lay small colourful brocade cushions and books in plush bohemian-style home in one of Bangalore's leafy suburbs.

The soft strains of blues music played in the background. Janya reached for the cup of tea that had gone cold on the table in front of her. She fiddled with her fish pendant hanging from a sterling silver chain Vikram had bought for her from Singapore.

Vikram was her husband. She loved him. She smiled, wanting to run her fingers through his thick crop of hair. The smile that dimpled his cheeks had made her weak-kneed. He was strapping, a little over six feet tall, and she had swooned inwardly the moment she saw him across the room.

Lightning forked outside, lighting up the sky in shades of indigo, red and violet in parts.

Her mind wandered too, like a train barreling down the tracks. She felt uneasy.

They had been married for five years and would soon celebrate their sixth anniversary. Life hadn't been smooth lately. The visit to the doctor earlier that day had drained her. They had been trying to have a baby for the past year. The tracking of dates, the ticking of the clock, visits to places of worship, the tired prayers and carefully guarded hopes had slowly begun to ebb the energy out of her.

To be fair to Vikram, he was more patient than he had ever been. Not a complaint. Not even a snigger at their increasingly futile attempts. Or was it something more insidious? Cold indifference, perhaps.

The thought startled her.

"Stop."

Another voice in her head chimed in.

"You are seeing things and stitching a design from something non-existent. Maybe you need to seek help."

Janya almost laughed. There she was, turning her marriage into a never-ending play of what-ifs.

Her mind wandered back to the second week after the wedding. The wedding itself had been minimalist, in pastel shades with a dash of colour here and there. Just what she wanted. Soft and mellow. Not loud. Not an excessive show of colours.

She had been floating on cottony clouds of happiness when she found the bag.

Inside was a woman's dress. Beautiful. Long-sleeved. Falling just below the knee. A hair clip. And a copy of Ladies Coupe.

She remembered staring at the contents for a long time. Not because they were remarkable, but because they weren't hers.

She had wanted to ask Vikram about it, but the thrum of work and travel and the noise of the wedding rituals drowned out the questions. Or perhaps she had simply chosen not to ask. Let the past be.

A few months later, a friend mentioned having seen Vikram with a woman at a bar. She had asked him about it. He dismissed it as an after-hours meeting with a potential client. A reasonable explanation.

Again, a few months later, Priya dropped by. She remembered watching them hug goodbye. A little longer than necessary. A little too close for comfort.

She had ignored it all. Janya was a progressive-minded woman. A man and a woman could have an innocent, platonic relationship, she reasoned.

"Really?"

The voice arrived uninvited.

"You know that's not always true."

Another voice laughed softly.

"It's rarely that simple."

And it kept adding up.

Math was never her forte. Design was. A designer looked at patterns, at spaces, at relationships between things. But one day Janya saw the entire architecture laid out open in front of her.

Vikram, in one of those rare moments of indiscretion, had left his laptop open.

Janya took it all in. The intimate photographs. The messages. The late-night exchanges. The pieces she was never meant to see. A picture of humiliation and indifference sitting side by side all this while.

Her breath quickened. Her blood boiled.

That was what led to the walls caving.

Vikram came home whistling. He looked happy.

Janya exploded.

Years of doubt, humiliation and unanswered questions poured out of her in a torrent. The shouting had begun almost immediately. Then came the anger. Raw. Ugly. Unrestrained.

She remembered his face contorted with fury. The sting across her cheek.

"How dare you look at my computer?" Vikram had thundered." You are a neurotic, unhinged woman."

His hand gripping her wrists. The smell of his aftershave. Her own heart hammering in her chest.

Lightning flashed outside.

The memory fractured.

The kitchen.

A scream.

The metallic scent of blood.

A crack.

Something heavy hitting the floor.

Red-black liquid spreading across the tiles, pooling across the kitchen floor.

Then it was gone.

The pounding started again, inside her head.

There was a knock on the door.

Outside, her sister stood soaking wet.

"Janya."

Keertana stepped inside, shaking the water from her umbrella.

"Just wanted to check on you. It's raining. Maa and Pa are travelling. How are you holding up?"

Janya shrugged.

"Have you been taking your medicine?"

The question lingered in the room.

"You have an appointment with Dr. Vohra tomorrow."

For a moment neither woman spoke.

The garden around the house looked lush after the incessant rains of the past few days. Especially the floral patch in the corner. The blooms swayed gently in the breeze, giving out a heady fragrance that mingled with the scent of wet earth, masking the smells of the city.

"The flowers look lovely," Keertana remarked.

Janya smiled.

The rains had been kind to them. The flowers flourished. The earth stayed firm.

Very kind.

Her sister smiled at her.

Ever since Vikram had gone missing a few months back, the doctors had called it psychosis.

His last recorded sighting was at a Starbucks in downtown Bangalore.

Janya called it certainty.

Keertana called it providence.