Vinita drew a long, slow breath. “Important thing is he’s all right. I bet he’ll eventually call you. He can’t bear to not talk to you for too long.”
“Okay, but if he doesn’t call by tomorrow, I’m going to be really mad. I’m ready to yell at him.”
“Give him a couple of days, babe. Let him cool off.”
Arya agreed reluctantly and ended the call. Vinita left another voice-mail message for Girish. This time it was on his office phone. He couldn’t ignore that, could he? Where was he? His secretary, who was usually very friendly whenever Vinita called, had given a vague answer when Vinita had spoken to her a couple of days ago, politely implying that Girish had sworn her to secrecy.
It was as if he’d made a deliberate effort to disappear from Vinita’s life.
Earlier, before her conversation with Vishal, she’d unpacked her bags and handed out the small gifts she had brought for everyone in the family. Following that, she’d had an awkward conversation over a cup of tea with her mother and sister-in-law. Sayee had brought out some of her most delicious homemade snacks to go with the tea, but Vinita had barely touched them. Food was the last thing on her mind.
Her mother’s eyes, now weakened by macular degeneration, had looked at her with both gloom and wariness. It was so unlike the other visits Girish, Arya, and she had made in the past, when Mummy had welcomed them with warm smiles and plied them with their favorite foods. Arya had been spoiled and pampered as the only granddaughter. Girish and Vinita had been treated like visiting royalty.
During this visit, however, the message in her mother’s eyes was clear: Why are you here to stir up trouble again? Haven’t you done enough damage already?
Vinita lay down on the wide bed. This was her old room—awash with bittersweet memories. It had been repainted and the furniture was different. Her report cards, certificates and prizes earned in school and college, and her dog-eared autograph book with hundreds of signatures collected from classmates and friends, sat in two cardboard boxes stored under the bed. If all of her childhood and adolescence could fit into two small boxes, they hadn’t added up to much.
But then, some memories weren’t worth saving.
Compared with the old days, the present sounds outside the small window were a din, with the increased traffic, both auto and pedestrian. Palgaum had evolved from town to city by government definition—which meant a huge swell in population. Now there were new movie theaters, schools, colleges, shops, restaurants, and hotels.
Her friend Prema was married and settled near Bangalore for the past twenty-seven years. According to Vinita’s mother, Prema and her husband had three children, all boys. She could almost picture Prema’s face with its thin mouth, reprimanding the boys over some misbehavior or other.
Under ordinary circumstances, she and Prema would have still been friends. But they hadn’t been in touch since the day Vinita had boarded that plane and gone off to Bombay to have her baby. She would have liked to visit Prema, exchange news about their respective lives—see if Prema still liked to gossip, still liked fiery hot food and sweet-as-sin sugarcane juice. It would be wonderful to meet Prema’s husband and children, too.
But she couldn’t contact Prema at the moment. Maybe never.
Staring at the ceiling fan, Vinita recalled something. While she’d been lying on the operating table all those years ago, just before succumbing to the anesthesia, she had seen a ghostlike image of a baby floating near the ceiling. She’d convinced herself it was her dead child. Now that she knew her son was alive, she wondered if it had been her drugged mind playing tricks on her.
She turned onto her side and tried to take a nap. But she was too wound up to relax. Tomorrow she’d most likely meet her son. It was ironic that he had been not only right under her nose all these years, but his real father and adoptive father were bitter enemies. And both lived in the same town. What a bizarre coincidence. But then…it wasn’t really. Vishal, in partnership with her previous obstetrician and his resourceful nurse, had more or less orchestrated it.
On the heels of that thought came another one. Was her brother right? Would her desire to save her son mean more problems for everyone? It was likely to stir the incendiary Marathi-Kannada monster for sure.
What if her actions caused serious damage to the town? Was it worth that kind of violence?
Chapter 20
Vinita cast a glimpse outside her bedroom window as she got dressed. It was very early in the morning. The first sounds of traffic were building up. The sun was not quite visible yet. But it was there, in the eastern sky. Soon it would burn through the early-morning fog, warming the air, brightening the landscape.
Going down the stairs a little later, she sniffed the pungent air, infused with the aroma of onions, chilies, and curry leaves sizzling in oil. She heard the kitchen radio delivering the news. Sayee was obviously up earlier than anyone else and already busy in the kitchen. But she had help. Anu, the girl who helped her, apparently came in at dawn, too. Breakfast was likely to be elaborate and delicious.
Seeking out her mother, Vinita headed past the kitchen toward the dév ghar, the altar room. Sure enough, she found her mother sitting on a chatayee, a straw mat, rolling the cotton wicks she burned each day in the oil lamps on the altar.
Mummy’s hair had grayed a lot more since Vinita’s last visit, but it was plentiful. Her mother still had good posture, upright and proud. She was every bit the Maratha woman, steeped in her warrior roots. Her skin, despite the expected wrinkles, showed no age spots.
“Vini!” Her mother looked startled at seeing her standing on the threshold. “I didn’t expect you to be up this early.” The greeting was cordial enough, but there was no smile to accompany it.
“Am I disturbing you?” Vini hesitated to step into her mother’s sacred prayer chamber, although she’d spent many hours in this very room while growing up.
“Not at all. Come, sit down,” Sarla invited her, patting the place next to her on the mat. “I’m only making some wicks.”
“Let me help.” Vini came to sit beside her.
Sarla studied Vinita closely as she settled on the mat. “I don’t need help, you know. We can just talk.”
Despite her mother’s words, Vinita broke off a small wad of cotton from the fluffy white ball and started rolling it between her palms.
An awkward silence stretched between them as they both steadily worked the wicks. It was not easy to guess what was going on in Mummy’s mind, but her tight expression signified disapproval.
Sarla was the first one to speak. “Tell me, how is little Arya? We didn’t talk much about her.”
“She’s doing well.” Vinita smiled. “She’s not so little anymore. Wants to go for a master’s soon.”
“Getting another degree is a way of postponing marriage, I suppose.” Sarla chuckled. The amused snicker was unexpected and rare. “So, how is Girish?”
There was a slight pause. Vinita’s smile vanished. “He’s fine.”
Her mother threw her a sharp look. “Girish is angry, isn’t he,” she said, not so much a question as a statement.
Vinita went still. “A little,” she admitted.
“Why, Vini?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you not leave the matter alone? Girish and you were happy. You have a nice life, a comfortable house—and Arya.”
Vinita’s lip quivered. “I also have a son. The son you and Papa and Vishal kept from me.”
“We had to do it for you.”
“You did it for yourselves—that inflated sentiment you call aabroo.”
“But we—”
“You were ashamed to have a daughter who was tainted by scandal,” interrupted Vinita, “so you did everything to smooth it over.” Like putting a bandage on an ugly wound and pretending it wasn’t there. “You set out to make yourselves respectable again.”
“Maybe,” conceded her mother. “But it was something we had to do so you could have some kind of future.
And Vishal, too.”
“Vishal would have done okay.”
“Who would have given their daughter in marriage to your brother if word had spread that his sister had disgraced herself, and on top of that kept her illegitimate child?” Mummy stared hard at Vinita before picking up another cotton ball. “Did you want your brother to suffer?”
“Of course not.”
“You can’t deny it has been a good life for you since you married Girish. Why are you deliberately trying to ruin it? I’m sure your husband is very unhappy about this.”
“Mummy, please.” Vinita tossed the half-rolled wick on the mat. “If you must know, Girish isn’t just unhappy, he’s devastated.”
“I knew it,” her mother said. “What about Arya? That poor child must be in shock.”
“She’s handling it quite well, actually. She’s been very supportive.”
“Hmmph.” Mummy frowned. “Does Girish know the entire truth?” she asked.
Vinita nodded. Tears were beginning to burn her eyes.
“Years ago, you were too young and inexperienced to make intelligent decisions. But now you’re a responsible woman and the mother of a marriageable girl. Who will marry your daughter if they discover this?”
“Arya will be fine,” Vinita said, defending herself. “The kind of young men Arya meets in the U.S. are different. Their attitudes have changed.”
“Then why haven’t you changed? You’re still acting childish and selfish.” Mummy made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Don’t you ever think of anyone except yourself?”
Tears began to roll down Vinita’s cheeks. She chose not to answer Mummy’s question.
“After successfully deflecting your scandal years ago, we managed to recover. Now Vishal is a happily married man. His business is thriving. The Shelkes are respected in this community. But now we are surely headed for ruin,” Mummy lamented. “A second time.”
Vini blew her nose with a handkerchief. “I am trying to think of someone else: my son. I want to give him a chance to live. Is that selfish on my part?”
“But he is not the only person in your life,” her mother reminded her. “There are others—many others whose lives could be ruined.”
“If I were truly selfish, I would’ve tossed that anonymous letter and pretended it never existed. Later, after I’d discovered my son was alive, I still could have ignored the fact and gone on with my life with Girish and Arya.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I couldn’t. If my son dies, do you think I…” She pinned her mother with a cutting look. “You think you could live with that? He’s your grandson.”
Mummy shifted her gaze. “He could still die. I hear transplants are not always successful.”
“But would you let him die without at least trying to help?”
“I don’t know, Vini. I don’t know.”
“But you must have at least given it some thought,” Vinita demanded.
“I have given it a lot of thought, more than I have to any other problem in many years. I don’t see any good coming out of this. I think your stubbornness is going to cause trouble.”
“It’s too late to go back. Vishal is driving me this morning to meet Rohit.”
“The rest of your family means nothing to you, then?” her mother asked in a tight voice.
Vinita sat still and silent for a second, then rose to her feet and strode out of the room.
Powering down his computer, Girish folded his arms over his desk and lowered his head over them. He was home now, back from his trip to California. He’d returned only after he was sure that Vini had arrived in Palgaum. He wasn’t ready to face her. Not yet.
All the soul-searching he’d done for days in his hotel room hadn’t helped much. He was still miserable, still undecided about his feelings regarding Vini’s shocking disclosure, still wondering if he could ever forget it.
He’d just finished reading her latest e-mail. She’d been sending him lots of e-mail. While he was on the West Coast, she’d left him voice-mail messages, both on his office phone and his cell. When he’d failed to respond, she’d started sending e-mail, apologizing for her deceit, telling him about her plans to leave for India to see her son.
Later she’d written about her arrival in Palgaum, told him that she was bracing herself to meet her son for the first time, and that she missed Girish. That she loved him.
Damn it, why was Vini tormenting him with her long messages? Why didn’t she leave him alone to wallow in his unhappiness? Did she really have to tell him every tiny detail of what was going on in Palgaum?
Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but read every one of her messages, over and over again. It was almost an obsession—so much so that on the one day she had failed to send him a message, he had missed it, wondered if she’d given up on him. He’d gone into his e-mail account and searched for the familiar address. Finding no address, he’d felt let down.
Why couldn’t he just hate her for lying to him for so long, for letting him think she was a cancer survivor, and making him fall in love with her? But he couldn’t detest her, even if he tried. She was the woman who had brought order to his aimless bachelor life, and warmth to his cold, empty shell of a house. She’d given him a purpose in life, a home, a precious child.
After he’d recovered from his divorce from Nadine, he’d set out to find a wife in order to have a more stable lifestyle, a companion. In fact, he’d been a little afraid to commit his heart completely. He’d been hurt once. He couldn’t handle it a second time. However, Vini had slowly become his focal point, his better half, and he’d fallen in love with her, much more deeply than he’d done with Nadine.
Lifting his head from the desk, he sat back in his chair. The chilly spring rain had stopped. The house was quiet, except for the sounds of the heating system kicking in every now and then. Arya was visiting with her friends tonight. She needed some time away from him. She’d moved back into the house even before Vini had left. Then she’d stayed on, supposedly to keep him company while her mother was in India.
He was grateful for his daughter’s cheerful presence, but she nagged him constantly, needled him into talking about Vini. She’d lambasted him for not calling sooner while he was away in California. “I was concerned about you, Dad. All I got from you during the first three days was a cryptic text message.”
“I’m a grown man, Arya,” he’d lashed out, annoyed at himself for making his daughter suffer because he was disappointed in his wife. Nevertheless he’d tossed back a defensive frown at Arya. “I don’t need to check in with you each and every day.”
“Yeah, but Mom and I were worried. What if something happened to you while you were on a so-called business trip?” she’d shot back, her eyes ablaze with indignation.
They’d argued about it, then managed to call a truce after a day or so. He could never stay angry with his daughter for too long. But Arya continued to badger him at least once a day about calling her mother, writing to her. Arya could be as stubborn and aggravating as a gnat sometimes. “Don’t you miss Mom?” she queried often.
Of course he missed his wife. He didn’t want to…but Lord knew he did. The past few days had been some of the loneliest of his life. He’d tried to come to terms with the truth, but it was difficult. He still couldn’t understand why Vini had felt the need to hide something so significant from him. She’d said she was afraid of his reaction.
Was she really that intimidated by him? He’d never been harsh with her. He’d always given her all the freedom she’d needed or wanted, always supported her in everything she’d done. He would have understood about the indiscretion in her past—if she’d told him at the beginning of their relationship.
So why had she never allowed him into her private world?
She’d never trusted him.
Her latest e-mail said she was going to meet her son for the first time. It was early morning in Palgaum now. Vini was probably up and raring to go, dressed in something neat and s
ubdued—suitable for meeting her grown son.
Naturally Girish was curious about the boy. But he quickly banished the thought from his mind. He didn’t want to waste a single thought on his…stepson. Vini could have all the pleasure of meeting her unknown son all by herself.
Convincing himself that Vini’s illegitimate child was of no interest to him, Girish stood, shut off the desk light, and made his way toward the master bedroom. The photograph of Vini and him on their brief honeymoon in Goa stared back at him.
He’d been looking at the photo a lot lately. Her face had looked so fresh in that picture, so innocent, so damn honest. He never would have guessed that his bride had been keeping secrets from him.
After brushing his teeth and changing into pajamas, he slipped into bed. The mattress was cold, but he settled himself into a comfortable position and tried to get some sleep. Tried to pretend he didn’t miss Vini’s warm body nestled against his.
Chapter 21
Vishal parked his car along the narrow street, shut off the ignition, and turned to Vinita. “Last chance to change your mind.”
“No way.” Vinita held his gaze. Her brother looked well-groomed and distinguished in his office attire. His hair was combed back from his forehead and he wore a pleasant aftershave. Her brother had always been a sharp dresser. This morning he was going to drop her back home after this visit with the Barves, and then drive directly to his office.
“Let’s go, then,” he said in a resigned tone, opened the driver side door, and climbed out.
Vinita stepped out from the passenger side. Despite the town’s progress, this street hadn’t changed much in thirty years. The potholes were visible on its tarred surface and the reddish dust native to these parts clung to the edges.
The culverts on either side of the street that used to drain the rainwater and some amount of sewage were now covered with concrete slabs. And what a relief that was.
She lifted her gaze to study the Barves’ house. Her son’s house. It was a single-story structure with an old-style roof of terra-cotta tiles. The whitewashed front and the teakwood door and windows looked clean and cared for. Two small shrubs flanked the concrete steps leading up to the front door. A shade tree cast a heavy shadow on one side of the house. It was a typical middle-class bungalow in suburban Palgaum.
The Unexpected Son Page 18
