Obsessions

He looked at her. She was fast asleep, oblivious of
everything. He had always envied her ability to sleep so
soundly. She was dead to the world the moment her
head touched the pillow - like a small child without a
care. She was lying naked, her eyes closed. The black
lustrous hair forming a halo around her beautiful face.
Her full, soft lips half parted as if hoping for the
delicate intrusion of his tongue. His eyes traveled
down....Her firm breasts and the brown delicious tips -
he could still feel the slightly rough texture of her
nipples on his tongue....her flat stomach, her taut
thighs and between them the most delectable part of
her. He remembered the first time he had kissed her
there....very tentatively.....apprehensive she might feel
repulsed. Instead she had moaned and raising her hips
had pulled his head down. That was all the
encouragement he needed. He had buried his face and
with his tongue explored every tiny pore. He had sensed
the tremors and then watched her explode..... As his
eyes took in her naked body, he felt himself getting
turned on again. He raised his hand and as he brought
it down there was a glint of metal.....
***
Jairam fell in love with Arti the moment he saw her.
It was 6th January, a Wednesday. His boss had given
him a ring.
"Jai, I am sending Arti Krishnan, the trainee I was
telling you about. She will be reporting to you."
Five minutes later she had breezed into his room. One
look and he had fallen for her.
Jairam had never believed in love at first sight and
such kind of juvenile nonsense. He was sure what he
was feeling for her for just some kind of infatuation.
But when the malady persisted he made every attempt
to break free from the hold she seemed to be having on
him. He tried to wrestle with his feelings, fight with his
emotions. He knew they were just not made for each
other. He was shy, moody, almost a recluse. She was
vivacious, charming and loved socialising. He was
ordinary looking - of average height, thick set with a
receding hair line and eyes which were perennially sad.
She was tall, with bright, laughing eyes, long hair and a
great figure. But how much ever he tried, he just
couldn't stop thinking of her. He had to admit she had
become his obsession. Once he realized this he began
wooing her earnestly. And in love, as in other things,
he was meticulous and methodical. He found out about
her likes, her passions, her interests and slowly began
cultivating them. On coming to know she adored
Wodehouse, he went and bought 20 books by the writer
and over a couple of weekends read them all up. Now
he could converse freely on the follies of Bertie
Wooster, the brilliance of Jeeves, the vacuity of Lord
Emsworth and the nonchalance of Psmith.
When she told him she loved Chinese food, he started
asking her out to dinner to the fanciest Chinese
restaurants in town. When he learnt she loved ghazals
and was crazy about Jagjit Singh he presented her a
complete set of CDs of her favourite singer.
Arti was from Nagpur. She had come to Hyderabad
after landing this job. She lived with her widowed
mother. Jairam had no one to call his own. His mother
had eloped with a young man when Jairam was just
fourteen, leaving his father shattered. A diabetic, his
father had wasted away and died when Jairam had just
completed his graduation. He had been on his own
since then. He had done part time jobs and completed
his CA and was now Assistant General Manager,
Finance in Sunlight Pharmaceuticals.
Jairam realised he was no match for Arti. But he was
hopeful his persistence and sincerity would win her
over. And it did. A year later he proposed to her. She
asked for sometime to think it over. Those three days
were hell for Jairam. He couldn't concentrate on
anything during the day and kept tossing and turning at
night. On the evening of the third day she gave a ring
and simply said, "Yes."
They were married in a quiet ceremony in Arya Samaj
Mandir. He took her to Ooty for the honeymoon. He had
made one thing clear to Arti that she was not to work
after marriage. She was a good cook and she could
devote her energies in developing her culinary skills or
take up some other hobby. But he wouldn't like her
working. She had agreed without a fuss and Jairam was
delighted and also a trifle surprised.
Arti found Jairam to be a caring husband, a good friend
and a patient, understanding and selfless lover. Unlike
the husbands of most of her friend he didn't believe in
the 'slam, bam, thank you maam' routine. He seemed
much more concerned about her pleasure than his.
He was ideal in every way except for his
possessiveness. He was extremely jealous and she felt
also very insecure. She was sure in some way it was
because his mother had left him when he was very
young. That sense of rejection was probably behind his
insecurity.
He didn't like her talking and laughing with his male
colleagues at office get togethers. In the market, on the
streets if he found anyone staring at her he would go
red in the face. Once a young loafer brushed past her in
the market. Jairam who was walking a few steps
behind her saw what had happened and lunging forward
grabbed the ruffian's neck. And then right there in the
middle of the market thrashed him. Arti was so
embarrassed she could have died. Later they had a row,
their first and only one, about the incident.
"Arti, I can't help it. I know it is not done, but believe
me I don't know what comes over me. Even if someone
looks at you I feel like gouging his eyes out," Jairam
said.
Seeing the maniacal glint in his eyes Arti shuddered
involuntarily. For the first time since their marriage she
felt a trifle scared of him.
Jairam was thrilled with Arti. She was a good cook, an
efficient housekeeper and so very gorgeous to look at.
He knew everyone in the office envied his luck and were
secretly quite surprised at the success of this rather
incongruous pair's marriage.
"I don't know what she sees in him," he had heard
Manjit his colleague in Finance whispering to Chawla,
Manager, Marketing.
On their wedding night, he had told Arti, "Sweetheart
you are my fist and last love. You're the first person I
ever kissed and the first am going to make love to...."
he had paused and looking at her searchingly asked,
"But surely Arti there must have been scores of guys
after you. With your kind of looks you must have
attracted them like flies. Did you... were you....." he
waited with bated breath. "Don't be silly darling. I am
not that sort of girl. You are the first man I have fallen
for and the first to man to have ever touched me," she
had told him, her wide, beautiful eyes as innocent as a
fawn's.
He had sealed her statement with a kiss and they had
made love for the first time...hungry, groping, grasping
kind of love and then again slow, languid, languorous
and then again....
***
Today was their first wedding anniversary. He had
taken her to Nanking - the swankiest Chinese joint in
town. She was looking ravishing in a turquoise blue
chiffon sari with diamond necklace and earrings to
match - he just couldn't take his eyes off her.
When they reached home she made him wait in the
bedroom and changed in the bathroom. Five minutes
later she emerged wearing the new nightie he had
bought for her. The nightie was diaphanous and she
wasn't wearing anything inside. He could see the
outline of her breasts, her brown slightly distended
nipples, her thighs, her long legs... he couldn't control
himself. He peeled off his clothes and leaving them in a
clumsy mess on the floor lunged towards her. It took
him a few seconds to strip her and another few to wear
a condom. He grabbed her and laughing and giggling
they fell on the bed. He began caressing her with his
lips, his tongue. He knew every pore of her body, every
nerve. He kissed her all over till she started moaning
with pleasure. He entered her in one swift stroke and
then began moving gently. Her body started responding
to his stokes. Her eyes were open, a glazed look in
them, she grabbed his hands and placed them on her
breasts. "Faster...faster," she screamed and he
complied.
"Oh! Imran, please....deeper, deeper, Oh! I love to feel
you inside me....Imaraaaan......."
He stopped. Was he imagining things.....was he hearing
voices. Imran! Who the bloody hell was he? He looked
at her. She had collapsed. Her body had gone limp.
There was a look of complete satiation on her face.
"Did..did you...was it good?" she asked, her eyes still
closed.
"Yes," he lied.
He got up and walked to the bathroom. He threw the
condom and walked back to the bedroom and put on
his pajamas. She was fast asleep - dead to the world.
He went to the living room and sat down - his head in
his hands. Who was Imran? Her past lover, her present
one or her fantasy. He just had to find out or he would
go mad. He got up. In the store room was black trunk -
the only item which she had got from her mother's
place.
Once he had asked her, "What is in the trunk? Some
treasure?"
"Only my old certificates and some books and
photographs. Darling my only treasure is you," she had
laughed kissing him on the tip of his nose.
He went to the store room. It was at the bottom, below
the three VIP suitcases. He shifted them, dragged the
trunk out. It was locked and he didn't know where she
kept the key. It was a small lock. He gabbed and
yanked it with all his might. It snapped. He opened the
lid. Inside were, like she had said, certificates, a couple
of rusted cups, a few books and five - six albums of
photographs. He quickly flipped through the albums -
nothing out of the ordinary - Arti in pig tails and a
frock with her parents, with her girl friends in school,
Arti acting in a play, receiving a cup, singing on stage -
the usual stuff. He was about to close the lid when his
eyes fell on an envelope lying at the bottom. He picked
it up. Inside was a bunch of letters. He got up and went
to the living room. He sat on the sofa and started
going through the letters. Gradually, bit by little bit, all
the pieces fell into place and the jigsaw puzzle was
complete.
Arti and Imran were classmates in college. They had
fallen in love and wanted to get married. But because
Arti was a Hindu and Imran a Muslim there was strong
opposition. Arti had wanted to elope but Imran had
chickened out saying his mother was a heart patient
and would die of shock. Imran had got admission in a
college in Pune and shifted bag and baggage. Before
they had parted they had made love not once but many
times. Arti's mother was a working woman and they
had all their trysts in Arti's place. Imran's letters
described in lurid detail every moment of their animal
lust, every nuance of their primal passion.....
Jairam got up seething with a wild uncontrollable
rage..
'That bloody bitch, the bloody whore. She had betrayed
him. And she was continuing to do every moment.
When he was making love to her she was thinking of
her lover. When he was kissing her she was feeling that
bastard's lips. When he was inside her she was
imagining....'
Jairam's hands and legs started shaking with rage - a
sure sign he was about to lose control. He walked into
the kitchen. He found what he was looking for.
***
He raised his hand and brought the knife down straight
into her belly button....She opened her eyes wide and
screamed....The expression of shock, pain and terror in
her beautiful eyes fascinated him. He plunged the knife
in again, and again and again.....
Her screams, echoing in the stillness of the night, were
somehow very soothing - it was almost as if she was
apologising, begging forgiveness for her sins....
He stepped back and surveyed the bloody mess.
"Not at all a pretty site," he murmured. He meticulously
cleaned up the placed and draped a fresh sheet on her
body. He opened the front door. He didn't want anyone
to break open the door in the morning and create a
mess in the living room. He went back to the bedroom,
placed Arti's head in his lap and picking up the knife
he slashed his right wrist and then with some difficulty
his left wrist. As the blood started oozing out he bend
down and kissed her lips.
"Now that I have punished you for your sins, Arti
dearest, I am forgiving you. You should remember
sweetheart, no has ever loved anyone as much as I love
you and no one ever can....
Do you recollect that lovely song by John Denver. Let
me sing it for you."
Lovingly cradling his Arti's head in his lap Jairam
began to sing :
"I'll walk in the rain by your side
I'll cling to the warmth of your hand,
I'll do anything to keep you satisfied
I'll love you more than anybody can......"