Karishma

An arranged marriage brings all kinds of surprises and possibilities...

https://www.freepik.com/author/freepic-diller

An arranged marriage brings all kinds of surprises and possibilities...

First off, let me explain what this story is.

I’m inviting other erotic writers to show what they can do on my Substack page. It is part of my evil plan to take over the whole of Substack with erotica! If anyone is interested in being a guest, have a read of this and then DM me, although I am out of the office right now so will take longer to get back to you:

Be a Guest Writer

My fifteen guest writer is Lex de Penny . This is just the start of a much longer story that sounds like it will get very exciting indeed. And it takes me back to my Indian routes and how wonderful that subcontinent is. And of course, how sexy!

So subscribe to them and make sure you don’t miss the next parts xxx

“…So I said well, of course, if you can promise me that the guest of honour will be a real, live cabinet minister, I’m certain my daughter will be only too delighted to perform a striptease.”

“Fine,” Karishma muttered. Today’s chess puzzle in the newspaper was harder than usual, so she allowed her mother’s voice to float by her. Then the words sank in and her head shot up in shock and disbelief. “What? What did you just say?”

“Welcome back to the world, Kari dear. I’m sorry, but I had to say something dramatic to drag you back to reality,” her mother said. “I just wondered how outrageous I would have to be to get your attention. I’m going to hold you to sorting the laundry, though.”

“Laundry? I said I’d do that?” Karishma groaned.

“You did. Thank you for volunteering to do your ironing this afternoon, too.”

“Blast. There’s a maths lecture I wanted to go to.”

Her mother sighed. “Why couldn’t I have produced a nice, girly daughter whose passions run to shopping and pretty clothes? Oh no, not me. I get stuck with a tomboy…”

“…who charges round the hockey field like an avenging angel, terrorises the rest of the family over the chess board and seems to be happiest solving a maths problem.” Kari’s father stuck his head round the door and interrupted his wife. “Did I miss any of your clichés? Molly, my dear, you’re starting to sound like a cracked record.” He ducked back out as the cushion hurled by Kari’s mother bounced off the door. The interruption had given Kari time to organise her response.

“I can’t do anything about my genetics,” she said. “Blame Daddy’s side of the family. He told me Papa-ji and Mama-ji used almost to come to blows across the chessboard. The sport? I’ve no idea. I just love to chase after a ball. Mama-ji said I must have been an Afghan hound in a previous existence.” She missed her grandmother, who had been an important fixture in her early life. With a mother who was a lawyer and a father who taught at the university, she knew she’d been fortunate to have Mama-ji around to bring her up.

“Now I have your attention,” her mother said, “there’s something you and I need to talk about that is even more serious than chess.” The look on her face said she wasn’t joking.

“Is it Daddy?” Kari asked, anxiety visible on her face. She was used to her father’s being in conflict with the administration of the university. His protests about his students being beaten up and arrested by thugs supported by the army and police during the eighteen months of the crackdown had been duly noted. India in the late 1970s was not a place where opposition to the régime was tolerated. Things had changed, but the in-fighting in the current government didn’t give much hope for its survival. If, or more likely when the previous rulers got back in, Kari’s father would again become vulnerable.

“In a way, yes. But it also concerns you. His enemies are just waiting for the moment to strike. Your place at the university is likely to be withdrawn.”

Kari’s face blanched. “They can’t. I was top in the second-year exam by a mile,” she exclaimed.

“Irrelevant. They can do it. But that’s not all. We need to take precautionary measures and you aren’t going to like what your father and I have decided.”

“I don’t get a say in this?” her voice betrayed her anger. “I thought we were, quote, a modern Indian family, unquote. Your words, I think, Mama?”

Her mother sighed. “This is hurting me as much as it hurts you, Kari. I can’t see an end to the uncertainty and you’re an obvious target for those who wish to strike at your father and me. It would be helpful if we can get you out of the country, at least for a while.”

“And go where? To Auntie who was thrown out of Uganda and is struggling to rebuild a life in London?” Kari’s tone was bitter. “I don’t think so. Her situation is no better than ours.”

“No. Not to London, but to Ireland.”

“They won’t let me in. I’ve no connections.”

“There is a way. There is a man. A friend of friends…”

“A man? What man? Who is this man?” Kari spluttered.

“He’s a doctor, a surgeon, in fact. He works in Belfast, which is in Northern Ireland.”

Kari puffed out her cheeks in exasperation. “I did study geography, Mama. I know that. And?”

Her mother took a deep breath. “He’s offered to marry you, which will allow you to live in Britain.”

Her daughter’s face went purple. “You are not serious, Mama. An arranged marriage? The threat can’t be so great.”

“I wish it were not. Please, Kari, consider it, at least.”

“I don’t need to. It’s no, no and no again.”

Her mother stood, tears in her eyes. “I told your father it wouldn’t work. But you’re all we have, and I’m terrified for you.”

Kari got up and hugged her; she could feel that her mother was trembling. “Let me talk to Papa-ji,” she said. “He’ll tell me how it really is.”

When she rushed into Papa-ji’s room, it was no surprise to find him engrossed in a crossword. He flinched as his granddaughter flung herself on him. She was at least a head taller than he was. “Easy, girl,” he admonished her. “I’ve been feeling rather fragile lately, so try not to break me, please.”

“Oh, Papa-ji, I’m sorry, but I’m so unhappy.”

“Not half as unhappy as you’ll be when they lock you up for being your father’s child.” The cool response took Karishma by surprise and she took a step backwards.

“They can’t,” she said.

“Those who lurk in the shadows can do anything they want. I still have contacts who tell me what’s in the pipeline. This government will fall. Then, next time you’re in a protest, you’ll find yourself being held as a hostage for your father and mother’s future silence and co-operation. It’s all arranged.”

Kari sat down with a thump. She’d been aware that things were precarious, but not quite how dangerous her own position had become. An hour and much internal argument later, she concluded that she needed to sleep on the subject before making the decision that she knew was the best…no, the only solution.

The following morning, she lay in bed, hands clasped behind her head and pondered. She shook her head. Stop chewing on it, Kari. It’s inevitable, even though the idea of an arranged marriage, even one of convenience, sticks in your throat. For the sake of the rest of the family, you have no option but to accept.

************

“You look lovely, Kari,” her mother said. A week had passed. Now I understand the expression that time flies. Karishma was wearing her best sari, to honour the visit of her fiancé. If she were honest, she had to admit that she liked how she looked when she was formally dressed. The shalwar kameez that was her usual, slopping-around-the-house outfit was comfortable, but when she put on a sari, especially one of the antique ones she’d inherited from Mama-ji, she felt elegant.

She knew that she stood taller and walked more gracefully when she wore a sari. She was a twentieth-century student, happy to focus on a mathematical or chess problem for hours, but she was also the daughter of a distinguished academic family and she knew how to behave in a correct and traditional way when needed. She’d chosen today’s sari with care. It had to be fifty years old, but the dark-red silk shone like new. She straightened it a final time and walked into the living room to meet her future husband. Husband in name only, she was reassuring herself as she opened the door and stopped dead.

The man who was standing up to greet her was godlike. He towered over Kari’s five feet eight. He has to be at least six feet three. His hawk-like nose and deep, flashing eyes gave him the looks of a film star. He had to be over thirty, she’d worked that out from the fact that he was a surgeon. She was looking at a male specimen in the prime of his life. She swallowed, aware that she was staring in a quite unseemly manner. She gathered her scattered wits and shook hands with him.

“Aravinda, this is Karishma, my daughter. So...” her mother said. “Right. I’ll leave you two to talk,” Her face didn’t look at all relaxed as she closed the door behind her. Karishma and Aravinda sat for a minute or more in silence.

“I’ve heard a lot about you.” Aravinda began at last. “People who know you said never play Karishma at chess, she’ll slaughter you. They told me don’t play cards with her, she’ll ruin you. The one thing nobody mentioned was that you are beautiful.”

“Don’t be silly. This is a business deal. You don’t have to flatter me,” Kari responded.

“Business or not, you’re a very attractive woman, Karishma. I speak as I find.”

Kari felt herself warm to him. It isn’t his fault that the circumstances of this meeting are so strained. “Sorry to be prickly,” she said. “You’re offering my family a very big deal. I intend to accept your offer, but as friends, nothing else. Can you live with that?”

Aravinda shrugged. “I’m happy to help out,” he said. “And to have you around, even as just a friend, will be a pleasure. I’m part of a very small minority where I live. “

“That’s settled, then. We’d better tell the parents.” Kari stood up and went towards the door.

“Wait.” His voice was urgent. Kari stopped, her hand grasping the doorknob.

“In fact, I’m a small minority within a small minority,” he said. “I’m gay,”

She looked at him, puzzled. He didn’t look especially full of fun. Then Aravinda gave her a wry smile.

“Sorry. I suspect it’s a meaning of gay that hasn’t reached India yet. I’m homosexual.”

Kari’s mouth dropped open. For her intended husband to admit to being homosexual wasn’t something she could have ever anticipated. People didn’t just announce things like that. The two boys she knew of in her group of friends kept their feelings for each other well hidden when in public. The further complication, that one was Muslim and the other Hindu, was never referred to.

“So why are you about to get married?” she blurted out.

“In the UK, life will be a lot simpler for me if I have a wife, especially a wife who is as attractive as you. People won’t ask awkward questions about why I am still a bachelor.” That wry smile came again. “It might persuade the nurses to stop pursuing me, too.”

“So, I can see what the advantages are for you. Thinking practically, what do I get, other than that my parents cease to worry that I’ll end up behind bars?”

Aravinda was silent for a moment: “I can promise to be a friend who will care for you,” he said. “Someone who will provide somewhere to live, of course, who will finance your studies in the UK and who will offer you an adequate lifestyle. Who won’t ask questions about your sex life either, as long as you remember to be discreet.”

“Then I agree,” Kari replied, without turning round. Sex wasn’t a major priority for her. Studies came first. Of course, she enjoyed a good orgasm and flirting was fun, but she hadn’t felt the need to involve anyone else in her life thus far. “Let’s do it.”

While she was getting ready for bed that night, Kari was about to have a shower when it crossed her mind that Aravinda had called her lovely. Ridiculous. She grinned. It reminded her of when she had asked her best friend at school why nobody asked her out on a date. They couldn’t have been more than fourteen.

They were in knickers and bra at the time, getting changed after playing hockey. Narina stood back and examined Kari. You’re far too tall and far too clever, Narina pronounced. Any boy who’s tall enough isn’t clever enough and any boy around here who’s clever enough is staring straight at where your tits ought to be. And your eyes. Grey? What colour is that for eyes? All wrong. Your skin isn’t even the right colour. Just look at you, all pale and washed out. You, Kari, are undateable. Narina was, like many of Kari’s schoolmates, a rich chocolate brown and already had a magnificent bust.

Kari was hurt, but only for a moment, as Narina added with a broad grin: Only joking. I will keep my eyes open for a suitable victim. Somewhere there has to be a tall genius with bottle-bottom glasses and whose taste is all in his mouth. In retaliation, Kari walloped her friend’s bottom with her wet towel and their mock-fight continued until the arrival of the teacher and the imposition of one hundred lines each for unladylike behaviour.

Kari decided it was now time to look at herself objectively. She undressed completely, then turned and faced the long mirror. The reflection showed a tall, slim young woman. Her milky-coffee skin, her grey eyes and her height made her stand out from many of her friends at the university, as much as had been the case at school. Her long black hair shone, showing reddish highlights under the neon tube. Her classic oval Indian face featured big (grey) eyes and a curved nose.

It was something of an effort to evaluate her body. She felt uncomfortable examining herself in this way, so she started with her feet. Her long legs had good calves and she’d escaped the big bottom that was the trademark of Mama-ji, from her father’s side of the family. Luxuriant black curls hid her sex from sight. Her waist was slim, which made her breasts seem larger. She cupped her hands experimentally under them. They felt firm but heavy. She had to wear a bra with good control when she played hockey.

Lovely? I suppose I wouldn’t frighten the horses, as Mama-ji would have said. It doesn’t matter anyway. It doesn’t change who I am