Suppressed Truth

Going down to the pond to wash dishes, Aloka caught sight of Arun's new bride. The whole family had sailed out in boats to bring her home.

The bride's hands and feet were painted with alta, her hair parted with a thick streak of vermillion, her arms laden with bright red bangles. So much red that Aloka couldn't look away. Strange—why must a new bride always be draped in red? Why couldn't it be some other color? Her eyes suddenly fell on the dishes in her hands, and shaking off these scattered thoughts, she focused on her work again.

Aloka. Mrs. Aloka Saha, married to Jatindra Saha nine years ago. She had been seventeen at the time of her wedding. Jatindra had been over forty. Yet looking at Arun's bride, one could tell she was at least twenty-six or twenty-seven, possibly older, but certainly no younger. And Arun? He was thirty-one.

"Why did you go and marry such an old woman, Arun? Can a man really make a home with a girl his own age?" Aloka's mother-in-law had asked this question the other day, laughing as she spoke.

Aloka hung her head in shame, as though someone had asked her the question! Arun glanced at Aloka for a moment, then said quickly, "Auntie, you all made homes with men old enough to be your fathers—why don't we just play house instead, like we did as children! Ha ha ha..."

Aloka was stunned! Arun had spoken her secret thoughts so openly! That one truth she had held so tightly against her heart all these years...that very truth Arun had spoken without pause, in one breath!