Free Dollar Bahu by Sudha Murty

Surabhi. She had worked hard for the money, away from her homeland and under tough conditions, which was being so carelessly spent on the ceremonies and on gifts. She fumed at the way their money was being misused. Of course, she never showed it.
    Why should I feel bitter? I shall just reduce the monthly allowance that we send. Then they will control their expenses on their own. It would be easy to justify, thought Jamuna.
    To please Jamuna, Gouramma would say, ‘But for Jamuna, we would not have hosted the wedding with such grandeur.’ Never once did she even mention Girish; any mention of Vinuta was of course not to be expected.
    Girish went to Dharwad to see his newborn son. Shamanna named him Harsha. Surabhi left with her husband. She did not even bother to call Vinuta and say goodbye. She was engrossed in her new life with her rich husband. Chandru planned to visit Dharwad, and Jamuna promptly went to her parents’ house.

    Chandru was in Dharwad after eight long years. The last time he had been there, there had been much uncertainty in his life. How things had changed since then. His fellow passenger had become his sister-in-law. At that time he had dreamt of going to America, heaven on earth. Today, he acknowledged that it was a great country, and his geographical knowledge had increased. But more than anything else, he now understood one major truth: Ever since he had started earning in dollars, people respected him, envied him and showed him that extra bit of warmth. In the process, however, he had also lost real love and mutual trust. It was an unalterable fact that no amount of dollars could buy the warmth of genuine affection.
    Chandru stayed in Hotel Dharwad. Dharwad had changed a lot. The population had increased and horse-drawn tongas on the roads had become rare: rickshaws had replaced them. Apartment blocks had replaced the vast lush green stretches of open space. Youngsters had migrated to bigger cities and Dharwad had become a city for the older generation.
    Chandru went to Vinuta’s house. The garden was the same but not quite as green and colourful as it had been when he had last seen it. That was natural, perhaps, since it did not have Vinu around to lavish care on it.
    Vinuta was pleased to see Chandru. It was a pleasant surprise that he had come to see the baby. After the preliminary niceties, Vinuta asked about the wedding and enquired after Jamuna.
    ‘The marriage went off very well. Jamuna is fine too. Can I take Harsha on my lap?’
    The proud mother handed over her doll-like baby.
    Chandru kept up a happy chatter, but suddenly thought of something. ‘Vinuta, do you remember you often sang a song whose lyrics were something like,
In
the
lush
green
forest,
the
koel
proves
to
sing/
Shunning
in
contempt
all
the
powers
of
the
king.
    Vinuta smiled nostalgically, ‘Yes, of course I remember.’
    ‘Do you still sing?’
    ‘Chandru, the koel has understood her position. She has stopped singing,’ Vinuta said in a sad tone.
    ‘Why? Is she afraid of the powers of the king?’
    ‘Where is the king? Where is the mango tree? The greed for money has killed the spirit of the koel.’
    ‘No. Don’t call it the greed for money,’ said Chandru coolly. ‘Greed for the Dollar would be more accurate.’
    Vinuta stayed silent and Chandru understood her pain. He sighed. ‘Vinuta, I am unhappy.’
    ‘I can’t believe that. You have everything in life. You are rich. You are in America. You have a wife like Jamuna. Your mother and sister dote on you . . .’
    ‘You, Vinuta, are living among your own people, speaking the same language, sharing the same culture. Your child will grow up with his grandparents, with the same set of values. You are not compelled to live in another country with a different language and alien climatic conditions.’
    ‘Chandru, the grass always looks greener on the other side.’
    ‘Doesn’t this hold true for you too?’
    Vinuta still did not understand why Chandru was