Chapter 5

The sun broke over the valley. Light poured in with sharp clarity. Raghu woke up to the scent of damp earth. Something stirred inside him. A hunger. Not for food. He glanced at his watch. Just past six. Then came a knock. At the front door, Meena stood with a small bundle of clothes, wrapped in a faded cotton dupatta.

Raghu had the feeling of possessiveness. He stepped aside, letting her in. As Meena entered, he noticed her ease. She seemed to surrender to his dominance. As the door clicked shut, something stirred inside him. What had she brought? Curiosity tingled.

“What’s that?” he croaked, still groggy, focusing on the bundle.

“My clothes, Saab,” she whispered, gripping the bundle tighter. “Everything I own. I told you yesterday, right?”

Raghu studied the bundle, then her frayed sari. He reached out and took it from her. The material felt thin and coarse. He tossed the bundle behind him. He didn’t feel pity. Pity showed weakness. Instead, he saw her as his possession.

“If you keep wearing this cheap stuff, you’ll have nothing left to cover yourself in a week,” he said, his tone cold.

“But—” she said.

“A woman of mine doesn’t dress like a village laborer. You aren’t a maid anymore, Meena. You soon will be a reflection of my status.”

Meena blinked, confusion etched on her face. She glanced down at her faded sari, then back at Raghu. His expression was serious. For her, clothes were just clothes. They covered her and served a purpose. She patched them up and wore them until they fell apart.

Raghu’s face turned playful, and a slow smile appeared. “After breakfast, we’ll drive into town,” he said, his voice steady. “We are going to buy you things.”

Raghu didn’t wait for her to reply. He stepped onto the veranda. The morning air was sharp. It felt like a bite on his skin. He started his routine. First, a series of push-ups. His muscles flexed, strong and defined. Then came heavy squats. He pressed his heels into the dirt, feeling grounded.

Inside the house, Meena cleaned, dusting the furniture, sweeping the floors, and ensuring everything was neat. As she worked, thoughts of Raghu filled her mind. With him, she had what she needed. Once her chores were done, Meena headed to the kitchen.

After Raghu did his morning exercises, Raghu headed to the bathroom. He turned on the hot water, scrubbing away the sweat from the night and morning. He emerged and put on a crisp linen shirt that highlighted his broad shoulders.

In the kitchen, there was the rhythmic clink of pans and the smell of spices sizzling. Meena prepared poha and strong ginger tea. Meena waited at the table. Her posture was cautious, almost respectful, when he came downstairs and they ate together.

By nine o’clock, the Thar’s engine roared to life. It broke the morning calm. Raghu slid into the driver’s seat and motioned for Meena to join him. She hesitated for a moment. Then she climbed into the passenger seat, looking small against the rugged leather. As he shifted into gear, dust kicked up behind them.

The town center was alive with noise. Horns honked. Raghu didn’t take her to the usual bazaars. He drove straight to the high-end shops. He parked the Thar outside a fancy store. The window showcased bright saris in all shades. Meena’s eyes grew wide with surprise. Raghu took her hand and led her inside.

Meena stepped carefully, her worn sandals clicking on the polished marble. Raghu took charge right away. He pulled saris from the racks with confidence—deep emerald silks, shimmering gold chiffons, and midnight blues that sparkled under the lights. He draped a crimson piece over her shoulder.

Meena stared at the pile of luxury growing on the counter. She had never seen such bright colors; they were worth more than what her father had offered for Saurabh. As Raghu selected sunflower yellows, royal purples, and sheer whites, she felt a dizzying shift in herself.

Who was she becoming? She looked at Raghu, her eyes a mix of awe and uncertainty.

But Raghu didn’t let her think too long. He led her away from the main floor into a quieter boutique. Here, the displays changed. They moved from modest attire to something more intimate. He bypassed the cottons and reached for sheer lingerie—black lace and silk slips that seemed spun from spiderwebs.

Raghu picked up a slip in deep colors, the fabric so thin it barely seemed to exist. His eyes darkened with a thought. He added a bottle of heavy, musky perfume to the pile. This scent would linger long after she left the room.

Then he bought her strappy sandals with gold accents. They seemed delicate but also classy. At the checkout, the counter was piled high with silk and lace. He didn’t look at the prices. He just slid his card across the reader. The whole collection was hers; no second thoughts.

It was late afternoon when they stepped back outside. The sun beat down hard and heavy. Meena walked next to him, her steps unsure. The new sandals clicked against the pavement, a sound that turned heads. They put all the stuff in the back of the vehicle.

Raghu didn’t drive back to the village. Instead, he drove to a quiet restaurant. He led her to a booth in the corner. Without asking, he ordered grilled chicken and a chilled glass of white wine. Meena stared at the silver cutlery. Her fingers trembled on the edge of the white tablecloth.

Raghu watched her, chucking. He let the luxury of the moment sink in. He wanted her to feel the difference between the dirt floors of her hut and the comforts. When the food arrived, Meena took a cautious bite of the food. Her eyes widened at the burst of flavor. Joy washed over her face as she looked at him.

Raghu reached across the table, gripping her hand. His fingers pressed into her skin, a reminder of who provided the meal. She smiled back, her eyes calming with gratitude. Raghu knew that he had made her happy.