A Scandalous Secret

by Jaishree Misra

  Chapter Nineteen

  By her third day in Ananda, Neha felt as though Arif was an old friend, although this she knew was born of sheer relief at being able to talk to someone who knew nothing at all about either her present problems or her background. She had briefly mentioned a husband with political ambitions to Arif, who was himself a widower with grown children, but he had not quizzed her further, perhaps because he knew little about the Indian political scene. He had also not asked the standard questions about where she lived which, in Delhi, was usually an immediate giveaway of one’s financial and social standing.

  ‘Hey, did you want to come on this trek tomorrow?’ Arif asked as they were drinking jasmine tea on the terrace one evening. He was leafing through the resort’s brochure as Neha, resting between treatments, sipped contentedly.

  ‘The one to the hilltop temple?’ Neha asked. ‘I’ve heard people talk about it but have never been. I tend to come here to Ananda and just flop.’

  ‘Five kilometres … gentle uphill climb … Jeep pickup to return to the resort,’ Arif read out loud.

  ‘I can manage five kilometres easily,’ Neha said, adding, ‘and I like the sound of the Jeep pickup! Although I’m not that keen on uphill, I have to say.’

  ‘I doubt it will be too bad. That just wouldn’t be Ananda, would it?’

  ‘Too right. Even the adventure trails have to be sort of uber-luxury, air-conditioned and padded with cushions.’

  ‘Sounds like my kind of trek,’ Arif grinned. ‘Shall we try it then? Tomorrow morning?’

  ‘I’m certainly game,’ Neha smiled.

  ‘Right, then. I’ll book us on. Think we may need to be accompanied by a guide.’

  ‘And it’s a crack of dawn start,’ Neha warned, getting up with a look at her watch. ‘Well, I’m off for my second treatment of the day. Shirodhara. This is the life, eh? Just floating from treatment to treatment …’

  ‘Enjoy!’ Arif grinned before returning to his reading.

  Neha walked towards the spa building, surprised at how a bit of normal conversation and laughter had revived her spirits. The human mind was indeed a wonderful thing, able to expand and take on quantities of emotion without cracking. And in Arif she had found a particularly entertaining companion, one who was as capable of fun as serious philosophical discourse, as she had discovered at the Vedanta lecture this morning. Just chatting with him about life in general, she found she was feeling altogether stronger about the situation with Sonya, and ready to face whatever awaited her in Delhi when she returned. Off and on she had toyed with the idea of calling the number in Sonya’s letter but a terrible fear assailed her every time she thought of the events that might be sparked off. Besides, what reasonable explanation could she ever have for abandoning her child?

  The following morning, Neha discarded the regulation Ananda uniform of cotton kurta-pyjama for jeans and a tee-shirt in preparation for her trek. Luckily she had packed a pair of trainers and so she wore these before pulling a light jumper on as the pre-dawn air was light and cold. Making her way out of the darkened corridors, she headed for the meeting point in the spa building. Arif was already waiting, seated on the silk sofas with a couple of other guests and the guide who had been organized by the resort. The hotel had provided a small picnic of fruit and drink and the small group soon set off, leaving Ananda’s wrought-iron gates to start walking towards the foothills. The distant mountains were edged with a pale silvery light as the time for sunrise approached and soon the skies were turning a buttery yellow.

  In an hour, the group was climbing and, when they reached a grassy flat stretch, the guide suggested they stop for a snack. Sitting on a rocky outcrop, Neha was munching on an apple when she felt the phone in her satchel buzz. After that short aborted call from Sharat a night ago, she had lost her phone signal again and so she hastily fished the instrument out of her purse, answering it in a hurry as she saw Sharat’s name flash on the screen.

  ‘Darling!’ she heard her husband say, with relief in his voice at finally having managed to get her.

  ‘Oh, Sharat, I can’t believe I finally have a signal. Could be because I’m outside the spa right now, actually, on a trek. It’s the only thing about Ananda I don’t like, the lousy phone signals!’

  ‘Well, part of the reason people go there is to get away from it all,’ Sharat laughed.

  ‘I didn’t need to get away from you, for heaven’s sake! Tell me, are you okay?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. It’s been a bit busy so perhaps it’s just as well you’re not here.’

  ‘Things okay at home? Ram Singh does tend to take things easy if I’m not around to supervise.’

  ‘Naah, he’s managing all right. Even made “Eenglees” cuisine for my dinner last night.’

  ‘English cuisine?’ Neha laughed. ‘What did he turn out? Don’t tell me roast beef and Yorkshire pudding?’

  ‘Oh, nothing as elaborate as that. Just some potato cutlets, boiled vegetables and coleslaw actually. Oh “Eenglees” reminds me. I forgot to say the last time I called – a pair of girls were here asking for you a couple of days ago. Foreigners. English, I’d guess from their accents.’

  Neha’s blood suddenly ran cold. She felt faint as her surroundings swam around her. It took her a few seconds to regain her composure and she had to swallow hard before she could speak. ‘English girls? Looking for me? Did they say why?’ she asked finally, her voice sounding strangulated to her ears.

  ‘No, they seemed strangely reticent, in fact,’ Sharat replied. ‘I asked them to return in a few days but Ram Singh later said that he gave them your mobile number. Not that they’d have been able to get through to you at Ananda! But it was a reminder that we must instruct Ram Singh not to give out our numbers to all and sundry. Maybe he was just rattled by them being foreigners. I’m sure they won’t call and pester you while you’re there but I thought I should warn you. Probably something to do with your drama troupe, I’d say. Were you expecting a pair of English volunteers?’

  ‘Did they not give you their names?’ Neha asked, her heart still beating rapidly.

  ‘Nope. Nothing. They were in a great hurry to get out of here when they found you weren’t around. Wouldn’t accept anything to eat or drink except for a glass of water, Ram Singh said. Very peculiar.’

  Neha heard little of the rest of Sharat’s conversation as he told her about his meeting with the Home Minister. When he had finally hung up, she sat holding her phone in her limp hand, staring unseeingly at the distant mountains. Then she jumped as a hand tapped her shoulder.

  ‘Jeez, I didn’t mean to frighten you,’ Arif said. He stopped smiling as he saw the expression on Neha’s face. ‘Hey, are you okay?’ he asked.

  Neha nodded, getting to her feet. She dusted the grass off her jeans, avoiding eye contact, certain that her face would give everything away. She had plainly not succeeded, for Arif was looking at her now with concern in his eyes.

  ‘Not bad news, I hope?’ he enquired, glancing at the phone that Neha was tucking into her bag.

  ‘No, thanks for asking,’ Neha replied, aware that her voice was still shaking. Luckily the crackly phone signals would have prevented Sharat from hearing her shock.

  Neha and Arif joined the rest of the group who were already assembled at the gravel path and followed them as the hike resumed. Neha’s mind was in utter turmoil and she could barely hear the banter among the rest of the group, let alone join in. Arif was, however, his usual cheerful self, joining in the general chatter with all sorts of wisecracks. Every so often, he darted a glance in Neha’s direction, conscious, she knew, of her sudden change of mood. Partially to mollify him, she made a couple of attempts at conversation but it was no use. Her mind was darting all over the place. Sharat’s news of the foreigners’ visit was simply devastating. Of course, one of those girls was Sonya. It could be no one else. Which meant she had kept her word. Sonya was, as her letter had threatened, now in India and in search of her. How long would she be able t
o hide, Neha wondered? How long before she would have to face the inevitable and let everything come out? What did Sonya want from her? And what would it do to Sharat and their world? It was just too frightening to contemplate.

  When the group finally reached its destination two hours later, there were loud groans as realization dawned that they would need to climb a tall flight of stairs to get to the temple. Neha silently joined those who had already started tramping up. Even though she was tired and her legs ached, she barely noticed her fatigue. When she arrived at the temple, she lined up alongside the others, awaiting the blessings of the priest. An old man with a lined and kindly face tied a red thread around her wrist and marked her forehead with vermilion while chanting something under his breath. Neha looked into the darkened interior of the minuscule temple and prayed for forgiveness. What she had done to her baby was among the worst things a woman could do. And, while she had always thought that she had already been punished by being robbed of more children, clearly her trial was only just about to start.

  Chapter Twenty

  Later that evening, back in her room at Ananda, Neha stood looking out at the dusk falling on the valley as the phone behind her rang and rang. She knew it was Arif, calling to check on her welfare after the trek, but she simply did not have the heart to respond. It had been partially to avoid his questions that Neha had climbed into the front seat of the vehicle that had come to pick them up from the hilltop temple and she had spent most of the rest of the day in her room, pleading illness. She cancelled both the body scrub and the yoga session that had been booked earlier and, when the light headache she had nursed all day started to worsen, she ordered a salad lunch in her room. Off and on, the phone had rung and Neha guessed it was poor Arif, worrying about her. While Neha longed to talk to someone about her dilemma, she didn’t think an American tourist, in India for the very first time, would either understand or be able to help in any way. Nevertheless, it would be sweet relief to be able to unload some of her burden. And so much easier to talk to someone she was very unlikely to ever meet again. Arif was, after all, a Vedanta enthusiast and in possession of a wise and philosophical bent of mind …

  Neha finally lunged at the telephone to stop its incessant ringing. ‘Hello,’ she said softly.

  ‘Heyyyy, are you okay? I’ve been worrying about you!’ Arif’s voice was friendly and cheerful.

  Neha sank on the edge of her bed, wondering how to respond to such an innocent question. And one to which the answer was so very complicated. After a pause, she said, ‘It’s really sweet of you to be enquiring, Arif, and I’m sorry I’ve been so aloof.’

  ‘That doesn’t answer my question,’ Arif insisted in his inimitable style.

  Neha took a deep breath before replying, ‘Well, the honest answer is no, I’m not okay, Arif. But I’m not telling you what the problem is simply because there’s nothing you – or anyone else for that matter – can do.’

  ‘Try me,’ Arif said. When Neha remained silent, he added, ‘It was that phone call while we were on the trek, wasn’t it?’

  Tears started coursing down Neha’s face and she tried stemming them by balling up a face towel to press over her eyes. She was sure Arif could hear her crying and she made another attempt to gather herself together. Finally she spoke, her voice shaking. ‘No, … it wasn’t the phone call, Arif. That was from my husband, who also knows nothing about this problem of mine …’ she trailed off and took a deep breath. ‘It’s something that goes back much further … it’s … what shall I say … it’s a secret … a scandalous secret from my past …’

  ‘Neha, I’m coming to your room,’ Arif said in a firm voice. ‘Whatever it is, you must know that I’m not going to judge you. But you need to talk. Something is eating you up and it’s not right that you should be carrying this burden on your own. Can I come?’ he asked.

  Neha accepted his request, feeling immeasurable relief suddenly course through her body. She thought of the foolishness of unburdening her eighteen-year-old secret on someone she had barely met, but suddenly she knew that she had no other option if she wanted to keep from going mad.

  In a few minutes, Arif was knocking at her door. Neha opened it and stood aside to let him in. He took the armchair in the corner of the room while Neha seated herself on the sofa opposite him. Outside, the valley had darkened to complete blackness and the lights of the village were starting to come on, one by one. Neha glanced hesitantly at Arif’s face and saw nothing but his usual open and curious expression. Unusually, however, he was silent, giving her the opportunity to speak.

  ‘You won’t judge me?’ she asked.

  Arif’s eyes were sympathetic. ‘You know I won’t,’ he promised firmly.

  Neha looked down at her hands, suddenly unable to meet such a clear and direct gaze. Playing with the rings Sharat had given her, she started to tell her story.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was 1992, my eighteenth birthday party – the last time I was happy in a totally, absolutely unqualified way. We had a double celebration that night, marking not just my birthday but the admission offer from Oxford University too. The whole Chaturvedi clan had gathered – thirty-six of us – in the Blue Room of the Delhi Gymkhana and we ate and drank far too much, even Mama – normally so collected, so much in control – was tipsy on two glasses of wine, openly telling Satish Mama of how proud she was of me, much to my surprise. And the very next day, with my stomach still full of reshmi kebabs and chilli fish, I was taken to IGI airport to board my flight for England.

  All twenty aunties and uncles didn’t come to the airport, of course – it was a Saturday and businesses and offices had to be attended. But my gang of twelve cousins and a whole lot of friends and classmates turned up, overwhelmed with excitement as I was the first amongst us all to be going abroad to study. There was such a celebratory atmosphere at the airport but, as the time for my flight approached, Papa’s excitement seemed to deflate a bit. Compared to the bright, blown-up exhilaration of the previous evening, he looked all shrivelled up and old and very, very anxious about letting me go. Mama kept him in check, even though she too was not in best form. As for me, whatever anxiety I had felt throughout the process of preparing and packing for Oxford was quite suddenly gone, vanished into thin air. Maybe it was because Papa and Mama were doing all the worrying, but suddenly I was on top of the world. I felt so lucky, so blessed. Oxford University only happened to the luckiest of people, and I was one of them. I thought nothing or nobody could touch me.

  Despite her distracted state, Mama still managed to corner me at the airport for some last-minute advice before I checked in: ‘Boys,’ she said, ‘boys will chase you for one thing and one thing alone. So be careful, okay Neha?’ I nodded. That was easy. Boys had never interested me that much anyway.

  I made a friend on the flight. An Englishwoman who had been to a naturopathy centre in Gurgaon and was going back to start up something similar in Surrey. She gave me her address and said I was to visit if I was in the area, which was so sweet. It felt like a good omen that the first English person I had met was so nice. I was never really the chatty type but, so excited was I at the thought of flying to England, I talked to dozens of people on that flight, all the flight attendants, the people queuing up outside the toilet, everyone. And then, there we were, nine hours later, about to arrive in England! The place I had been reading about since I was five! Truly Blake’s green and pleasant land, I thought as we circled Heathrow and I saw squares of green patched together in a soft swelling blanket.

  A distant relative had been pressed into picking me up from Heathrow. Mummy and Papa had insisted, even though I had begged to be allowed to take a taxi or a coach, as instructed by the university literature sent to overseas students. Mahinder Tau-ji, Papa’s elderly cousin, was standing at arrivals with a placard that had my name on it, and my photograph that Papa had sent earlier to be quite sure he would not miss me. As Tau-ji and his son took me to their car with my suitcase, I could tell so
on enough that they were a bit put out by having had to accommodate my arrival and, typically, Papa had not bothered to check that it was in fact quite a long journey they’d had to undertake to pick me up. So I insisted that they take me only as far as the gates of Wadham College and this seemed to please everyone.