The Unexpected Son

by Shobhan Bantwal

  Rohit’s words weren’t all that unexpected. Nor were they vicious. She’d known her son would be unfriendly. How could he not, when he believed she’d rid herself of him like garbage right after he was born?

  She thought she’d come prepared for his hostility. But it was his quiet logic that hurt: I don’t need another. Its sheer simplicity made it sound heartless. Maybe hatred would have been less cutting than the passionless statement.

  “Vini.”

  It was Vishal calling her, but she ignored him and continued striding forward.

  “Vini, wait.” He caught up with her in the next instant and guided her into what looked like a waiting room, with chairs lined up against three of the walls. “Sit down,” he ordered, pushing her into one of the chairs.

  He waited until her sniffling subsided. “What did you expect? Warm and friendly?”

  “Unfriendly I can handle,” she said, blowing her nose.

  He stared at her with raised brows.

  “All right, maybe I can’t. But he was being deliberately cruel. You heard him.”

  Vishal started to say something, but they were interrupted by the Barves’ entrance.

  “I am sorry about Rohit’s behavior,” said Mrs. Barve, looking contrite. “He is not himself.”

  “He is usually a very polite and well-behaved boy,” added Mr. Barve. He motioned to his wife to sit down and then plopped into the chair next to Vishal.

  Vinita sniffed. He’s not a boy. He’s a college professor. But she couldn’t say it aloud.

  “He’s sick…under a lot of tension, Barve-saheb,” Vishal offered. “It’s understandable.”

  Vinita knew her brother was right. The boy was ill and couldn’t be expected to behave rationally.

  “Yes, yes,” agreed Mrs. Barve, clearly relieved and willing to grasp at any excuse. “All those medicines have side effects, also.”

  How true. Vinita gave herself a mental kick. What was wrong with her? Like Vishal had pointed out, she couldn’t have expected anything but resentment on Rohit’s part. Under the circumstances, the young man had shown remarkable restraint. He’d never raised his voice or shown anger or open hostility. He’d calmly told her to stay out of his life.

  Maybe she had taken umbrage unnecessarily. But she was under a load of stress as well.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Barve,” she said. “It was silly of me to get upset.”

  Mrs. Barve nodded, her face looking more haggard than before.

  Vinita realized all this had to be even more nerve-racking for Mrs. Barve. The woman had been suffering through this for quite some time.

  “My wife and I will talk to him,” offered Mr. Barve. “Make him understand.”

  “He is a very stubborn boy,” added Mrs. Barve. “But he is not unreasonable.”

  Vishal looked across at them. “Do you think it would help if I talked to him?”

  Both the Barves shook their heads.

  “It is best that we do this on our own,” said Mr. Barve. “He is a bit shocked right now, but I think he will listen to us when he feels better.”

  Vinita stared at the wall across the room, and the brass plaque engraved with the names of several generous donors to the hospital. A couple of the names were familiar—old names she’d known all her life—wealthy philanthropists. But her interest in them was fleeting. All her thoughts were centered on her son.

  Had her trip to Palgaum been for nothing? Had she jeopardized her relationship with Girish and her marriage for nothing? Like a madwoman she’d rushed to get on the earliest plane so she could help her dying son. Her one thought had been to rectify her past mistakes. Now it seemed he was so hostile that he wanted nothing from her, even if he knew he’d die.

  She remained silent for a long while before turning to the others. “I’m the one who should talk to him.”

  Mrs. Barve’s eyes widened. “But—”

  “I need to talk to him privately,” Vinita said, cutting her off. “There are some things he has a right to know. Perhaps I can make him understand the circumstances under which he was…born and adopted.”

  She noticed Vishal’s face hardening. She was offering to drag the sordid details of her past out into the open. It was his worst nightmare. Anything that cast a shadow on the Shelke family’s reputation and integrity was a catastrophe for him. It was even more damaging for her aging mother. But there was no other way.

  Vinita sent her brother a mute look of apology. But his expression remained frosty.

  The Barves exchanged anxious looks. A long, awkward moment followed. The only sounds were from the two other people in the waiting room, speaking in whispers.

  “Okay,” said Mr. Barve finally, his stance clearly telling Vinita that this was surrender on his part. “Maybe you can try to convince him.”

  “Please don’t upset him too much,” pleaded Meenal. “He is very sick and he gets emotional easily.”

  Vinita sighed. “I can only promise to try.”

  “But you have to be very careful, you see.”

  “I don’t know him or his personality. What I’ll tell him would not be easy for anyone to understand, let alone Rohit.” She saw Meenal Barve’s mouth open to protest, and her husband grabbed her arm to stop her. “Thank you,” she murmured to both of them. “I’ll do the best I can.”

  Vishal got to his feet, his dark eyes looking like cool, polished marbles. “Vini, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “What I need to do.”

  “One simple remark from him earlier got you upset…”

  Vinita started moving toward the doorway. “That was an instant reaction. It won’t happen again.”

  “Like hell it won’t!” He fell in step with her. “If you’re going to upset that boy and tell him every dirty secret, then I’m going with you.”

  “No.” She stopped in her tracks and glared at her brother. “Haven’t you done enough damage by keeping my son away from me?”

  His brow descended in an enraged scowl. “How does common sense and taking care of one’s family translate into damage?”

  “Damn it, Vishal!” She heaved a sigh. “I didn’t mean it that way, and you know it.”

  “What else does it mean?”

  She ordered her taut shoulders to loosen a little. “Look, I need to talk to Rohit by myself. It’s not something a man would understand.” A tension headache had begun to set in. “Just leave me alone with my son for a while.” She glanced up at him and held his gaze for a beat. “Please?”

  He shut his eyes briefly, a habit of his when he was trying to rein in his temper—a habit Vinita knew well. When he opened his eyes, the ice had thawed around the edges. “Suit yourself.” But he held up an index finger. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  He looked just like their late father. Vinita shivered a little.

  Nonetheless she nodded her agreement and turned around to go back down the same corridor she’d walked twice in the past half hour. This time she proceeded slowly, using the time to think, to plan what she was going to say to her son—assuming he allowed her in his room. He could very well order her out and she’d have no choice but to leave. And then what?

  The door to his room was open. She straightened her back and tucked her hair behind her ears before approaching it. She was going to deal with her mulish son one way or the other. She could be just as headstrong as he.

  She heard voices coming from the room and hesitated for a moment. She and Vishal and the Barves had barely been out of there a few minutes and Rohit already had other visitors? It was a female voice that conversed in hushed tones with Rohit’s baritone. Did he have a girlfriend? She mulled it over. Entirely possible. And why not? He was an attractive young man—hopefully with a healthy and happy future.

  Her speculation ended when a plump, middle-aged nurse came out of his room. She eyed Vinita with interest for a second and went on her way. So much for the girlfriend theory.

  Hands clenched into fists, Vinita stood on the th
reshold of Rohit’s room. He was still propped up with pillows, reading the same magazine he’d been reading earlier. He seemed relaxed, very different from the uptight young man she’d met a little while ago.

  He must have sensed her presence, because he lowered the magazine and looked up. Immediately his expression turned to stone. “You’re still here?”

  “I want to talk to you.” She battled the urge to turn and run.

  “I don’t want to talk to you.” His mouth compressed into a tight line.

  She took a firm step forward. “What you want isn’t important,” she informed him, despite the nervous perspiration gathering under her arms. “What you need is.”

  He slapped the magazine down onto his lap. “Who are you to decide what I need?”

  “I’m your mother, whether you like it or not.”

  “Is that right?” One thick eyebrow rose in contempt.

  “Neither you nor I can change that.”

  “Doesn’t mean you have a right to come barging into my life.”

  She drew a calming breath, reminded herself not to lose her temper. “Perhaps not. But you owe it to yourself to grab whatever help you can get.”

  “I have all the help I need. You can go back to your comfortable life in the U.S.”

  Despite the lecture she’d given herself, anger shot through her like a speeding arrow. But she quickly sheathed it. “I came here for a reason, and I don’t plan to go back until I’m finished. Or at least given it my best.”

  “You have given it your best.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Now go back.”

  “No.” Vinita crossed her own arms to emulate his stance, then locked her gaze with his. Two could play this game. “You want to live, don’t you?”

  “Of course I want to live. But I’ll do it on my—”

  “Then stop being a brat. You’re a college professor. Start behaving like one.”

  “What if I don’t?” he tossed back.

  “I’ll return,” she replied. “I’ll keep coming back till you get it through your thick head that I’m not your enemy.”

  “What else would one call a mother who dumps her bastard and takes off to make a cozy life for herself?”

  The boy certainly knew how to go for the jugular, but she refused to back down. “An ignorant bitch…perhaps…but not an enemy.”

  Vinita bit into her lower lip to stop the trembling. She hardly ever used vulgar language. But it gave her satisfaction to see the look in her son’s eyes go from mutiny to astonishment. “Shocked you, huh?”

  His arms unfolded and fell to his sides on the bed. “I don’t feel very well. Please go.”

  She noticed the droopy look to his eyelids and mouth. Although the rage continued to spark in his eyes, he did look feverish and exhausted. Guilt enveloped her instantly. Regardless, she wasn’t ready to give up on him yet. At least she’d managed to engage him in a conversation of sorts. That was something.

  “I’ll go for now. But I’ll be back later,” she said. “You can be sure of that.”

  He slid lower into the bed and lay flat on his back. “Is that a threat?”

  “No, it’s a promise.”

  Chapter 23

  She woke up with a lethargic feeling and a headache for the second morning in a row. Today the pain in her skull was significantly worse—pounding like a hammer around the crown. Vinita dismissed it as the result of a restless night punctuated by bad dreams. For some reason, during this trip, jet lag was still bothering her after several days of being in India.

  As she reluctantly slid out of bed and stood up, an unexpected wave of dizziness made her sway and slump back onto the bed. It passed in seconds, but a violent shiver ran through her, giving her goose bumps. She blinked a couple of times to clear the peculiar sensation.

  Maybe it was frustration and tension that were causing her to feel fatigued. She was tired of waiting for Rohit to recover and get discharged from the hospital, tired of waiting for her blood tests to be done, tired of waiting to hear from her irate husband.

  She hoped Rohit could go home today. His infection had supposedly cleared up. About time, too, since he’d been there for several days.

  Her blood test for HLA typing was scheduled for later that morning. It would determine if she was a compatible donor for her son. As his mother, it was more or less certain she would pass the test, and she was impatient to get that over with. The sooner she could donate her bone marrow to Rohit and see him on the road to recovery, the better she’d feel.

  Minutes later, as she bathed, her shivers intensified. Was she coming down with the flu? If so, the timing was rotten. The blood test would have to be postponed. But she couldn’t afford to wait. She’d already used up several days of the maximum twelve weeks of family leave she had been granted by her employer. She couldn’t stay in Palgaum indefinitely. She had to stay healthy. Quickly she toweled herself dry and put on some clothes.

  When she appeared for breakfast a while later, Sayee eyed her with a frown. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure.” Vinita put on her sunniest smile.

  “Your eyes are red. You look tired.”

  “Lack of sleep.” She mulled it over for a bit. “I think it’s also those tests I’ve been going through.” As a potential marrow donor she’d been tested for everything from stress to hypertension and asthma, from heart disease to lung and liver function during the past week. She’d been forced to talk briefly to a psychiatrist as well.

  She’d readily agreed to each and every one of those tests. And she’d passed every one.

  “You may be right.” Sayee put a scalding cup of tea in front of her. “What you need is a good breakfast. Anu is rolling fresh chapatis. I made fresh garlic chutney to go with it.”

  “Sounds delicious.” Vinita took a sip of the rich tea and closed her eyes. “This tastes wonderful. Hot chapatis and tea brewed with loose tea leaves are a luxury for me.”

  “Relax and enjoy, then.” Sayee busied herself getting plates. “Mummy should be done with her pooja in a few minutes.”

  The thought of having to sit across from her mother and face her silent condemnation was hardly pleasant. Vinita braced herself for it.

  Thankfully, before Mummy could appear at the table, Vinita finished her breakfast and escaped to the sanctuary of her room. The feverish feeling had worsened while she was eating, so she lay down and covered herself with a blanket, then fell into a deep sleep.

  Later that morning, Vinita watched the rich, cherry red blood trickle from her vein into the glass tube. The sight of her own blood rarely bothered her. It was other people’s blood that made her light-headed. When Arya was a child and had to have several stitches in her head after she’d fallen off her bicycle, Vinita had become so dizzy from looking at the copious amounts of blood oozing out of Arya’s scalp that she had nearly passed out.

  “That’s the last of it, Mrs. Patil,” said the lab technician as he gently drew the needle out of Vinita’s arm and pressed a wad of cotton on the punctured skin.

  “When will I know if…I’m a match?” Vinita asked the technician.

  He was a somber young man with eyeglasses and a goatee. Quiet, fast, and efficient, he had square, steady hands that seemed to be built for his occupation. He tossed the cotton ball into a trash can and put a small adhesive bandage on her arm before answering her question. “The results should be back within a day or two. The doctor will talk to you about it.”

  “All right.” She observed him while he carefully sealed and labeled the tubes of blood. It had to be a hard job—taking samples of blood, urine, mucous, saliva, and God knows what else from people all day, every day. Inaccuracy could literally be a matter of life and death.

  Thanking the man, she stepped out of the lab. It was a relief to walk away from that sterile room with its rows of tubes, bottles, syringes, and charts. It reminded her of what lay ahead.

  What if, after all this effort, she still lost Rohit? It was hard to imagine, now that she’
d seen him in the flesh, talked to him. Transplants were dangerous, unpredictable procedures. Rohit could die sooner than anticipated. The uneasy thought made her shiver. The headache from the morning was still with her.

  Standing in the hallway for a minute, she ordered herself to ignore the chills and put a stop to the pessimism. This was only the beginning. She needed to be strong for the rest of the difficult journey. Maybe giving blood was making her a little shaky. Another long nap in the afternoon would fix that.

  She started walking toward the staircase and took the single flight of steps down to the lobby, her legs feeling a little weak. What was the matter with her?

  Sayee, who had driven her to the hospital and had been sitting in the waiting room, gave her an anxious look. “Did everything go okay?”

  “Yes.” Vinita mustered up a smile for Sayee’s sake. Her sister-in-law generally had a ready grin and a warm sense of humor. Vinita didn’t want to ruin her sunny mood.

  “You still look tired—in spite of your long nap this morning,” Sayee observed, rising from one of a dozen or so wooden chairs in the waiting room. “Let’s go home and make sure you eat a good lunch.” Sayee’s answer to any problem was eating a hearty meal.

  “I’m not hungry,” said Vinita.

  “After you give blood, you should drink and eat something immediately,” Sayee scolded gently. “Otherwise you’ll feel weak.”

  “I don’t want to go home yet.”

  “You want to go shopping, then?” There was no mistaking the eager note in Sayee’s voice. Next to feeding people she loved shopping.

  Vinita shook her head. “Why don’t you go on home, Sayee? I want to visit Rohit before he’s released from the hospital.”

  Sayee’s smile vanished. “I heard the boy was very nasty to you the other day.”

  “Can’t blame him. He’s been stuck in a sickroom for several days. He’s impatient and frustrated.” Vinita was surprised at her need to jump to her son’s defense.

  “Of course I feel sorry for the poor boy,” Sayee allowed. “But Vishal and Mummy will be upset if I leave you alone with him.”

  “Vishal and Mummy get upset over the most trivial things.”