Vishal must have seen the brief spark of comprehension in her eyes. “You see why we did what we did? Instead of merely surviving, that boy was raised in a good family with good values.”
“They’re still strangers.”
“Will you just listen to me?” His scowl turned fiercer than ever. “His parents may not be wealthy, but they’re comfortable. The father worked as an engineer until he retired. The boy went to college, even got a PhD in chemistry. He’s very bright. He teaches chemistry in college.”
“A professor?” she asked, intrigued.
With an almost gleeful nod, Vishal confirmed it. “Would you have been able to educate him and make him a professor?”
Most likely not, she conceded silently. But chemistry? She with her statistics and accounting background, along with the not-too-bright Kori, had produced a son who had excelled in chemistry? How interesting. She stared at Vishal. “How do you know all this?”
He began to pace the room. Even the way he strode back and forth, with his hands clasped behind his back, was reminiscent of their father’s habits. Dressed in conservative brown pants and a white shirt, the resemblance between father and son was remarkable. The only thing different was Vishal’s thick hair. That he’d inherited from their mother.
“The adoptive parents are relatives of Ram’s nurse,” Vishal answered finally. “A childless couple.”
The nurse. Jaya-bai. Something clicked in Vinita’s brain. The anonymous letter writer? The well-wisher? It had to be that woman. Who else could it be? But that wasn’t so crucial at the moment. “Where in Bombay does my son live, anyway?”
Again Vishal took his time responding. “He doesn’t live in Bombay.”
“Then where?”
“He was raised in Palgaum. He teaches in Palgaum.”
Her eyes widened. “He lives in this town?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God!” All these years he’d been living here. Ever since she’d heard about him, she’d assumed he had been adopted by someone in Bombay, maybe because he was born there. Anywhere but this town. “And you never once thought to tell me.”
“How could I?”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Convenient, isn’t it? That Jaya happened to have relatives in our town? And they happened to be childless?” When he didn’t respond, her jaw tightened. “I want the whole truth this time.” Her clever brother had somehow manipulated her life and her son’s. Again.
Vishal shut his eyes for an instant, as if to muster strength. “I wanted to make sure the boy went to a good family…had a good life.”
“Very kind of you, I’m sure. But why?”
He hesitated. “Because he’s your…uh…my—”
“Nephew,” she interjected. “Still ashamed to say the word, Vishal?”
“Don’t assume things,” he warned her. “I had his best interests at heart.”
“So you handpicked a family that lives here?” Something inside her tightly wound stomach eased a little, warmed even. Despite all that macho bluster and careful reference to her son as the boy, her brother obviously cared a little about his nephew. Why else would he go to such lengths to secure the boy’s future?
“Not exactly. But I mentioned my concerns to Ram. He discussed it with his nurse. Her niece was childless after many years of marriage and Jaya-bai thought the niece and her husband might be able to give him a good home.”
“Convenient,” Vinita repeated.
“For your information, they had no plans to adopt. Jaya-bai convinced them to do it.”
“Why?”
“Because he was a healthy and good-looking baby boy, something most people in our culture value very much.” He sounded exasperated by her endless questioning. “And her niece couldn’t have children after years of trying. It was a good match.”
Vinita digested that for a minute. Her baby had been born healthy, good-looking. The sad fact was that the healthy little boy wasn’t so healthy anymore. He was deathly ill. And Vishal’s explanation still sounded a little too contrived.
“Why is my son receiving treatment in Palgaum when he could get better care in a big city?”
“You’ll be surprised at the quality of health care in our town. Palgaum has grown big in the last decade. Some U.S.-trained doctors have set up a modern hospital that offers almost everything your American hospitals do.”
That was easy enough to believe. Many foreign-trained Indian medical professionals had returned to India to start state-of-the-art medical care facilities. “Do you see Rohit at all?”
He nodded, almost grudgingly. “From a distance. I see him here and there, on his motorcycle. Of course, he doesn’t know who I am—at least not my relationship to him.”
Vinita considered the irony of it. Her son had been right under her nose when she’d visited Palgaum a number of times in the past. And she’d never known. She would have given anything to see him, if only from afar.
Was it possible that she could have seen him over the years, as a stranger? He could have been any one of the little boys at the ice cream shop, or the teenagers browsing through videos in the electronics store or, more recently, one of the young men riding motorbikes around town. And to think she’d never recognized him. Wasn’t there supposed to be instinctive radar in every mother?
She sat in silence for a minute, looking over the room. The office boasted a modern desk and leather swivel chair, a computer, and two guest chairs, one of which Vinita was sitting in. A compact-disc player sat atop a small table in the corner.
Their old home had been expanded, with two more bedrooms and a bathroom added on, and the kitchen and drawing room upgraded. Vishal’s new home office was what used to be the old master bedroom.
Vishal had taken over their father’s business and made a huge success of it. He had several employees on his payroll, and a bigger, trendier office in town. Shelke & Son was renamed Shelke Financial Solutions. It was no longer just a modest accounting outfit offering income tax preparation services. It was now a financial consulting firm, with a large and wealthy clientele. As the town had gradually expanded in size and degree of sophistication, so had Vishal’s business.
Vishal was living his lifelong dream. Their father would have been proud of his only son if he hadn’t succumbed to that heart attack at sixty-nine.
Notwithstanding his achievements, Vishal was a first-class liar. Her temper climbed again. He’d been lying to her all along. They had all been lying to her—her brother, mother, her late father, the doctor, his nurse. God knows who else was party to the elaborate hoax.
She’d been kept in the dark by the very people she’d loved and trusted. And the fact that they’d all conspired behind her back stung like hell. She’d heard all the explanations from Vishal and the family by now, about protecting her and her marriage, but she was still enraged about their deceit.
No matter how much they loved her and wanted to shield her from the harsh repercussions of her follies, they had no right to keep the truth from her.
But now, despite all the running and hiding she’d done for twenty-five years, her past had managed to catch up with her—a past she was neither proud of nor liked to recall. All the filth she had supposedly buried deep was now unearthed. And the stench was hard to stomach.
She, the woman who’d thought there could be nothing more devastating than what had happened to her as a teenager, was now struck by a second bolt of lightning. Whoever had made up the adage about lightning never striking twice was mistaken.
“Vishal, tell me something,” she said, posing a question she’d been grappling with for days. “When I ended up having to undergo a C-section, it became a convenience for you and Papa and Mummy. What would you have done if Rohit was born naturally? You couldn’t very well have told me my child was dead.”
Vishal’s cheeks flushed and his nostrils flared—a sign of extreme discomfort. “We would still have tried to convince you to give him up for adoption.”
She quirked
an eyebrow at him. “And if I didn’t?”
“We wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we?” he said very simply.
His calm reply only served to make her blood boil more furiously. Perhaps because he was right. And so damn sanctimonious. But she had to set aside her bitter rage over something that happened ages ago and move forward. She stared at her hands, willed them to stop shaking.
She was here for a reason. And she needed to focus on that.
Finally she looked up. “What does he look like?”
Vishal’s eyes warmed. “Nice-looking boy. Not as tall as Kori, but looks a bit like him.”
“He looks like Som?” Had he inherited that same dangerous sex appeal from his father? Was he a lady-killer and heartless philanderer like Som? She hoped not.
“I think he has your nose, but the shape of his face and eyes are like the father’s.” Vishal shrugged. “You’ll see for yourself, since you insist on meeting him.”
Good Lord, her son had those unusual golden eyes? Captivating feline eyes. Could the whole town have guessed his connection to Som? She turned her attention back to Vishal. “Did you know about his illness, or is that something you chose to hide from me as well?”
“I had no idea he was sick. I swear, Vini. He looked healthy enough.”
“Hmm,” she allowed with a grunt. “Do his parents know about me? That you’re his uncle?”
“They do now,” he said after a long pause. “The Barves and I knew of each other, but I formally introduced myself to the family for the first time after you called to tell me you were planning to do this.” He made an impatient gesture with his hand—probably to mean her insane impulsiveness. “I was forced to tell them…everything.”
Barve. Her son’s official name was Rohit Barve. She rolled it around in her mind, tested it for sound. Ro-hith Burr-vay. “What did they say?”
“What do you think?” He lifted a cynical brow. “All they had been told was that the biological mother was a young, unmarried girl from a good family.”
She studied her hands. “Some of it is true. The young girl from a good family part.”
He came to sit in the chair beside hers. “You know how difficult it was to broach the subject to those people? After all these years, to show up at their door as their son’s long-lost uncle?”
“I’m sure it was awkward.”
“Try mortifying. They thought I was a lunatic. They were almost ready to throw me out of their house. Until some days ago they knew me only as Vishal Shelke, chartered accountant and businessman.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, wishing her brother hadn’t had to suffer such humiliation on her account. “I’m sorry.” It seemed like the word sorry was firmly entrenched in her vocabulary. But then she was in the habit of bringing grief to everyone around her.
He picked up a pen from his desk and twirled it absently between his fingers. “But surprisingly, they appeared somewhat relieved after the initial shock wore off.”
“Relieved?” When they’d raised Rohit as their own, wouldn’t they resent the real mother’s appearance?
“When I told them Rohit’s mother was my sister and was willing to donate bone marrow if necessary, their attitude changed. They’re desperate to see him survive.” He put the pen down. “But they wanted to know how I got wind of their son’s illness.”
“What did you tell them?”
“The truth—that you received an anonymous letter. They were completely puzzled, just like you and I.”
She mulled over that for a beat. “Do they know who the father is?”
“I didn’t tell.”
“How come?”
“If you knew who the Barves are, you’d know why. Shashi Barve has been the leader of the Marathi movement in Palgaum for the last fifteen years or more. He resents Kannada people with a passion. On the opposite side, Som Kori is the leader of the Kannada movement.”
“Som’s a leader?” She shook her head. “But he hates communalism. He told me so.”
“That was then, when he was a young loafer. Now he’s a man with a family and a business to run. Some years ago, when Marathi vandals set fire to Kori’s grain-distribution warehouse, he decided to become the leader of the Kannada faction. He and Shashi Barve hate each other. If Barve ever found out Kori is the father of his child, there’d be a mini war in Palgaum.”
Vinita continued to frown. “Has the Marathi-Kannada sentiment become that volatile?”
“Much worse than it was when we were growing up. Now the Hindu Séna has joined hands with the Marathi Samithi.”
“Oh no!” The Hindu Séna, literally meaning Hindu Army, was a militant group of fundamentalist Marathi men and women who stopped at nothing, including violence, to promote their culture and language. They also had some rich and influential members with ties to politicians in the highest echelons of government. The Kannada side had equally big names in their court. Neither side could be called the underdog.
No wonder it spelled unrest on a larger scale, and escalating violence in Palgaum.
“I’m glad Papa isn’t here to see some of these atrocities,” said Vishal, voicing Vinita’s own thoughts.
“What about your office in town?” She wondered how a staunch Marathi guy like her brother got treated by the other side. “You get vandalized like Papa used to?”
He nodded. “Once in a while…but I’ve hired some Kannada employees. Plus I have a large number of wealthy Kannada clients. Between those two groups, I get spared—most of the time.” He looked at her expression. “I still detest those bastards, especially Kori. But I have a business to run. I keep my personal opinions to myself. Sayee and the boys follow the same rule.”
“Good for you.” Smart man, thought Vinita, with a mental nod. She always knew her brother would make a good businessman. She didn’t know he was this diplomatic, though. If other businessmen in town would do the same thing and keep their personal ideals and business lives separate, Palgaum would be a much better place.
“So you definitely want to do this?” he asked, reverting to the topic at hand. “You really want to dig up all that rotten history and let the stink spread?”
“I have no other choice, Vishal.”
“We’re dealing with two influential and vindictive men with political power. This is likely to pitch them against each other.”
She turned that over in her mind for a second. “But no one has to know who Rohit’s father is. I won’t tell anyone.”
“The truth has a way of coming out—whether we want it to or not.”
“I have to do it,” she said, ignoring his warning note. “I’ll understand if you want to stay out of it. I can stay at a hotel, do this discreetly on my own…make sure your name is protected.”
“Stay out of it? How, when I’m in it up to my neck?” he demanded. “There’s no question that you will stay here. This is your home.” He dismissed any further debate with a stern scowl. “But what if your son is hostile?”
“I’m willing to risk it. Someone took the trouble to write me an anonymous letter for a reason.”
Vishal stroked his mustache in his typical pensive gesture. “I think I know who might have written that. I even called Ram with my suspicions. He agrees with me.”
With raised brows she waited for him to continue.
“I bet it’s that nurse, Jaya-bai. She has to know about the boy’s condition.”
“That was my guess as soon as you told me who the Barves were.” She’d deal with Jaya-bai later—if she needed to. Right now the important thing was that the truth was finally out in the open.
“You still want to meet your son?”
She nodded. “It’s a bit scary,” she confessed.
“Then think about it some more before we take the next step. Maybe you’ll change your mind.” He sounded hopeful.
“Not likely.” She hadn’t come this far only to turn tail and run back home to New Jersey.
He looked at the clock on his
desk. “You must be exhausted from jet lag. Why don’t you get some rest before dinner?” He plucked the cordless phone from his desk and handed it to her. “You should call Girish and tell him you arrived here safely.”
“Thanks,” she said, accepting the phone, loath to tell her brother that Girish couldn’t care less about her safe arrival. What she was suffering was beyond exhaustion. She’d been functioning purely on adrenaline for several days. The widening rift between Girish and her had added to the stress.
He hadn’t even said good-bye to her when he’d taken off on his business trip a few days after she’d sprung the news on him. He’d packed up his suitcase, left for work in the morning, then gone directly to the airport from his office.
It wasn’t unusual for him to do that, being a busy man with a job that involved frequent travel, but what was different was that he hadn’t called from the airport like he always did before boarding a flight. And he hadn’t called after arriving at his destination, either.
She had a feeling he’d deliberately chosen to be out of town on the day she was flying to India. Maybe it wasn’t even a business trip. It could be his way of punishing her. Or he could have gone off to lick his wounds, to come to terms with what she’d done to him.
“I’ll rest a little,” she said to Vishal, rising to her feet. She walked out of the office with the phone in hand and through the passageway toward the guest room. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she wondered how she was going to handle her problem with Girish. He had seemed distant while they were home in the U.S., but now, with her in India, he seemed even more uncommunicative.
When she dialed Arya’s cell phone, Arya picked up within two rings. Vinita informed her that she’d arrived in Palgaum, assured her again that she was going to be okay. “Any news from Dad yet?” she asked, hoping there’d be some sort of message from him. Girish’s continued silence was troubling.
“Yeah. He sent me a one-line text message. But he didn’t give me his address. Can’t he at least tell us where in California he is?”
“Did you ask him?” Vinita wondered if he was really in California or somewhere else.
“Uh-huh. I texted him twice.”
The Unexpected Son Page 17
