The Unexpected Son

by Shobhan Bantwal

  He looked around the room—his study. Everything in it had been picked by Vinita—the desk and matching chair, the file cabinet, the thick gray carpeting, the pictures on the walls, and even the desk accessories.

  The whole damn house was hers. Every inch of it bore her stamp—Vinita’s favorite colors, textures, scents. He loved her so much, and so badly wanted her to have her dream house, that he’d given her complete freedom to decorate it her way. And she’d done a fine job. But now the once-pleasant study seemed to be closing in on him, stifling him.

  Throwing his head back against the headrest, he shut his eyes and ordered himself to relax, think rationally. But the tightness in his chest remained. His hands were still clasped tightly.

  He was already under a great deal of pressure at work. The threat of losing his job was growing with each passing week. There were rumblings about yet another downsizing. The company’s stock had plunged along with the rest of the market, so his retirement fund had shrunk to less than half its former size. Many of his colleagues were just as edgy as he was.

  When Vinita had questioned him a few times about his job and its stability, he had brushed it off as nothing to be concerned about. “This, too, shall pass,” he’d said to her with faux confidence. He didn’t want her worrying about it. Perhaps it would pass when the economy righted itself. But more layoffs had been mentioned in passing and Girish had been losing sleep.

  And now this. Vinita couldn’t have chosen a worse moment to dump this garbage on him. But he had to deal with both the grim realities. Somehow.

  As long as he was surrounded by her things, he couldn’t think straight. As long as he shared a bed with her, he couldn’t come to terms with what had struck him with brute force only hours ago. He needed to get away from the things that constituted their life together if he was to solve this problem logically.

  How was he going to handle being married to a woman he couldn’t respect anymore? Could he look at her face each and every day and not remember that she’d deceived him? How could he trust anything she said or did in the future?

  Then there was that man, the guy who was her son’s father. Did she still have feelings for him? Was that another secret she’d kept from him? She’d visited Palgaum a few times since their marriage. She could have visited her former lover during those trips. Hell, she could have been in regular communication with him all these years.

  Dear God, was there no end to the speculation about Vinita’s deceit? Would he begin to question every little thing about her in the future? Could he really live that way for the rest of his life, constantly suspecting her every word and action?

  He wasn’t sure. What he needed was to think about it—do something to keep his sanity intact. But to do that he had to put some distance between Vinita and himself. Perhaps he could take a business trip? It would provide a legitimate reason for him to go someplace far from home. He traveled often enough on business, so it wouldn’t seem strange. Within a minute, his mind was made up.

  Leaning forward toward his computer, he logged on to his office calendar to check his schedule for the next couple of days. He had an important executive meeting on Tuesday morning. Once that was out of the way, he was free to travel on the pretext of checking on the company’s West Coast operation. Switching over to his e-mail, he sent a brief message to his secretary, requesting her to make flight and hotel reservations for him.

  He would not mention the trip to Vinita. If she could be secretive about her activities, so could he. He didn’t owe her any explanations anymore, did he?

  Nonetheless, the decision to keep the truth from her didn’t make him feel any better.

  Chapter 18

  “Are you going to be all right, Mom?” Arya asked Vinita for the third time that evening as they stood in the long security-clearance line at Newark Airport.

  Arya had driven Vinita to the airport and was waiting to see her off. The poor girl seemed to be obsessing over Vinita’s mental condition. Arya had made it clear she wasn’t exactly happy about Vinita’s decision to rush to Palgaum and offer to help her hitherto unknown son.

  “I’ll be fine,” assured Vinita. She wasn’t fine, but she couldn’t tell her daughter that. It was bad enough that she’d shocked and scandalized Arya with her tale of unrequited love and mistakes from the past. Telling one’s child one’s darkest secrets had to be one of the most humiliating and humbling experiences in the world.

  But she’d survived. They’d both survived.

  Arya shook her head, dubious about Vinita’s pat answer. “But Dad and you have hardly talked recently.” She was always highly sensitive to her parents’ emotions. The most minor argument between Vinita and Girish used to have her crying when she was a child—so much so that Vinita and Girish had often waited until Arya was at school or in bed before they’d settled a difference of opinion.

  Now Arya seemed so worried about the palpable tension between them that she had come to stay with them indefinitely—a self-appointed judge and mediator come to reestablish peace. She was an idealistic young lady who liked everyone around her to be happy. Vinita hoped her daughter wouldn’t have to learn about reality the hard way. Happiness was only a state of mind, a fleeting and fragile condition that could be shattered in an instant. She prayed daily that Arya would always be content.

  “Your dad’s upset,” explained Vinita in response to Arya’s remark. “He has every right to be.” Girish had slowly withdrawn into himself since their conversation the previous weekend. Instead of coming to terms with the bitter truth like Vinita had hoped, it seemed as though time had made the situation worse. Instead of healing the wound it had made him internalize the anguish.

  Whenever she’d tried to start a conversation to clear the air, he’d been icily polite, distant. In their queen-size bed, he’d slept as far from her as he safely could. It was so contrary to their usual way of snuggling close under the covers. He hadn’t touched her since that awful day.

  She had watched him become quieter and quieter and, like a turtle, withdraw inside an invisible shell. And what a hard shell it was. All her knocking wasn’t producing any results.

  On the other hand, Arya, whom she had expected would be dismayed at hearing such staggering news about the mother who often preached morality, had been much more reasonable. Naturally she’d been agape while she had listened to Vinita. Afterwards she had asked a multitude of questions that had embarrassed Vinita. Then Arya had trudged upstairs to her room and stayed there for several hours, making Vinita wonder if she’d alienated her daughter just like she’d done Girish.

  But a day later, Arya had calmed down. She had come to accept her mother’s bizarre past. However, she’d gone back to her apartment briefly, packed a couple of suitcases, and moved in with them. Things between Vinita and her had settled into the old mother-daughter rhythm.

  Arya had become more helpful than usual around the house, too. It could have been out of pity for her mom, or perhaps was her way of showing support. Maybe being born and raised in a tolerant and open culture like the U.S. had made Arya more accepting of character flaws, even in her own mother.

  Now Arya studied Vinita carefully while the two of them moved forward a foot at a time in the snaking line of air travelers.

  “But Dad’s had a few days to recover from it,” Arya said, countering Vinita’s argument. “Why is he still sulking like a kid? I got over it.” She rolled her eyes. “Even fuddy-duddy Rohiniattya got over it.”

  Vinita wasn’t so sure about Rohini. But she didn’t want Arya to know about the hurtful things her aunt had said. “It’s a different kind of shock for your dad,” she offered instead. “He trusted me for so many years.”

  “It’s not like you cheated on him or anything.”

  “I suppose it could be called cheating, in a way.”

  “Not revealing a secret isn’t cheating, Mom,” Arya argued.

  “Most Indian men are not very forgiving when it comes to something like this.”


  “But Dad was married before, and you didn’t make a big deal about it.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Oh, come on…” Arya made an impatient gesture with her hand.

  “He was honest about it, whereas I concealed my past. I think that’s what is hurting him.”

  Arya was quiet for a minute, seemingly mulling over Vinita’s explanation. “So why didn’t you tell him when you guys met the first time?” she asked finally.

  I wish I had. “I was ashamed of my past, honey.” Even now, just talking about it made Vinita’s face feel warm with the sheer disgrace of it. “And I liked him. In those days, I wasn’t a marketable commodity in the Indian marriage bazaar. I was lucky to meet your dad. He seemed like a decent guy.”

  “But it’s not like you did anything after you married him. And you were only a kid when that thing happened.”

  “A naïve and stupid kid who fancied herself in love with a lafanga.” Vinita cracked a wry smile at Arya’s valiant attempt to defend her. On some level she suspected Arya was trying to convince herself, too. How could a young adult accept the dirty fact that her strictly raised Indian mother had a sexual fling and produced an illegitimate child? It had to be inconceivable. But Arya was trying to be supportive, and Vinita was grateful for her kindness.

  They shifted ahead as the line in front of them crawled forward some more. Arya was carrying Vinita’s carry-on bag on her shoulder. “But at least you got over that asshole.”

  Vinita shook her head. “There’s a lot more to it than that. I got over that guy a long time ago, way before I met your dad. But I have a son I never knew existed. He’s dying from a serious disease.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about it,” admitted Arya. “I have a half brother.”

  “Do you resent him?” Vinita asked. An unexpected sibling would be cause for resentment to anyone, especially an only child who’d had loving, indulgent parents.

  Arya shrugged. “I don’t really know how I feel about him. I don’t think I’ve absorbed it…yet.” She stared at the floor, like the answer to the puzzle lay in the speckled design of the floor tiles. “You think I’ll ever get to meet him?” she asked, looking at Vinita.

  “I doubt it. He probably hates me. I don’t know of any adopted children who think fondly of mothers who give them away.”

  “But you didn’t give him away. Vishal-mama and Ajjoba and Ajji did.”

  “You think Rohit understands that?”

  “Maybe not.” Arya’s eyes clouded up again. “You’re sure you want to do this, Mom, donating bone marrow and all that?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You hardly know the guy.”

  “The guy is my son,” Vinita reminded her gently.

  “Could be dangerous for you.”

  “I’m quite healthy, dear. There’s no danger to me. But it’s risky for him.” Despite what she wanted to do for him, she wasn’t sure if she’d be considered a suitable donor. Hers had been an impulsive decision, without talking to her doctor or to anyone in the medical field. Overwhelmed by the discovery that she had a son, and he was dying, she had jumped into it with both feet.

  “Are you nervous…about meeting him, I mean?” Arya asked with a curious tilt of her head.

  “I’m scared stiff,” Vinita confessed. She’d been praying that she could at least get there in time to see him—one glimpse of her child. If she could have more than that, she’d be beyond grateful.

  As they approached the barrier beyond which only ticket holders were allowed, Arya gave her a long, tight hug. “Have a safe trip. Call me when you get there, okay?” She sniffed, trying without much success to keep her emotions under control.

  “I will.”

  “Would you like me to come to India if…the bone marrow thing happens?”

  “No.” Vinita patted Arya’s cheek. “Stay here and keep your dad company.” She had to do this alone. Dragging Arya or Girish into her personal mess was the last thing she wanted. This was her problem. Hers alone.

  “Mom, this is serious. How can you brush it off? I’m worried about you.”

  “I know, honey.” Vinita ignored the lump ballooning in her throat. “I’m sorry to put you through this.” She touched Arya’s face again, memorizing the petal smoothness of the beloved skin. “Try not to worry too much.”

  “Fine,” grumbled Arya. “But call me if you change your mind.”

  “I’d rather you take care of your dad.” Vinita was more than worried about him. She’d never known Girish to stay angry at her for more than a few minutes. But then, they’d never had any serious arguments in all these years. He’d looked positively defeated these past few days. She’d managed to bring down a good man, a kind man with a temperate personality. “Make sure he takes his blood pressure medication regularly, all right?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on Dad after he comes back from his trip.” Arya handed her the zippered tote bag with its airline tag attached to the shoulder strap. Then she stepped aside to let a ticket-holding passenger take her place in the line.

  “Bye, honey.” Vinita took the bag and fished out her ticket and passport for the security guards. It was going to be a long flight to India. She had no idea what awaited her there.

  Turning around, she sent a reassuring smile to Arya, who was still standing just outside the barricade, staring at her. She had the same expression she’d worn after Vinita had dropped her off at her first day of preschool: scared, lost, and on the verge of tears, right down to the quivering lower lip. This time Mom was going away for three long months.

  Quickly reining in her own urge to weep, Vinita raised a hand and motioned to her daughter to go home. Then she lost sight of Arya as the crowd swallowed her up.

  Within minutes, Vinita was placing her bags and shoes on the conveyor belt rattling through the X-ray machine. Then she collected her belongings and dragged herself down the lengthy corridor toward her assigned gate.

  As she sat staring out the bank of windows at the planes landing and taking off, she wondered if all this was a mistake. What if she’d trashed the anonymous letter and gone on with her life? Would she have been any happier? Would conflict have consumed every minute of her life as she thought about a young man who was dying—and about whose son he really was?

  She realized she’d never have been able to ignore the letter and live with herself. For the rest of her life she would have questioned her actions. She was curious by nature, analytical, a woman who disliked unsolved puzzles and mysteries. But she also believed in fate. And fate had decided to reveal some deep secrets at this moment, for a reason.

  A half hour later, before boarding the plane, she tried one last time to reach Girish on his cell phone, but all she got was his voice mail. So she left him a message, yet again. “Girish, I’ll be boarding in a few minutes. Call me back, please. I know you’re upset, but please say something, dear…anything.” She waited a beat before she added. “I love you.”

  If something happened to her, like a plane crash or hijacking or something, at least he’d know that she loved him. More than she’d loved any man.

  Chapter 19

  Vinita turned accusing eyes on her brother the instant she settled in the chair. “You remember your words to me thirty years ago, Vishal?”

  “Um-hmm,” he conceded.

  “You promised to take care of my child if I died.”

  “And I kept my promise,” Vishal replied testily as he stood before her, arms folded across his broad chest.

  “By giving him away?” she challenged.

  Vishal and Vinita were in his home office, arguing. Vishal chose to call it a discussion. Vinita’s long journey to Palgaum via Delhi and Goa had taken some thirty hours. Her eyes felt gritty and she needed some rest, but she had to talk things over with her brother first.

  “You didn’t die,” he reminded her.

  “Well, pardon me,” she sniffed. “Since I didn’t die and neither did he, I should have been the one to
raise him. He was mine.”

  Temper sparked in Vishal’s eyes. They resembled her late father’s so much that Vinita had to suck in a sharp breath to ignore the intimidation swirling in their dark depths. “Raised him, Vini?” His voice rose. “How? What were you going to give that boy?”

  “I would have worked hard to feed and clothe him.”

  “Who would have taken care of him while you worked? Had you thought of that? Papa and Mummy certainly couldn’t stay involved in your life once you decided to keep that child. You’d probably have ended up in some big city so you could remain anonymous.”

  She gnawed on her lower lip. “I—I would have managed…somehow.”

  “How, damn it?” He raked impatient fingers through his luxuriant, graying hair. “You were so bloody convinced that a nineteen-year-old could work and study and raise a child, you were totally blind to the obstacles. Did you ever stop to think that your lack of foresight would mean a miserable life for your child?”

  “That’s not fair—”

  “Mummy and I tried to point that out,” he reminded her. “But did you listen? No, you wanted to play the martyr…the victimized heroine in a Hindi movie.”

  “I was never a drama queen,” she shot back, offended by his choice of metaphors.

  “Yes, you were,” he insisted. “You wanted to thrust that child in Kori’s face and prove to him that you didn’t need him—that you could survive. It was your pawn, your way of getting even with him.”

  “No!”

  “You were determined to make him feel guilty. Of course you didn’t know at the time that he doesn’t have a conscience.” Vishal pointed a large finger at her, a vastly familiar gesture. “Is that what you wanted for your child? Bare survival?”

  “I—I’m…” She knew he was right. At the moment, as a sensible middle-aged woman, she could look at it a little more objectively. Maybe she had been trying to prove a point by playing the sacrificial victim. No matter what her reasons, she’d have had difficulty surviving, let alone caring for a child.