The Unexpected Son

by Shobhan Bantwal

  “They care about you, Vini.”

  “I realize that. I’ll explain to them later. You go on home and I’ll take a rickshaw after I’m done here.”

  Sayee hesitated. “If you’re sure…”

  “Positive.” Vinita nudged her toward the exit. “I’d like to get to know my son.”

  “Rohit doesn’t know that you have already taken the compatibility tests, does he?”

  “No. But I intend to tell him.” She gave it a moment’s thought as she and Sayee walked out of the waiting room. “There have been enough secrets around here.”

  “It’s not Vishal’s fault that he kept Rohit a secret. He was only trying to protect you. So was Mummy.”

  Vinita couldn’t help smiling. Sayee was such a loyal wife and daughter-in-law. “It doesn’t make it easier to forgive, though.”

  Sayee pushed open the doors leading out into the blinding noon sunlight. “If you can’t find a rickshaw, then call me, okay?”

  “I will.” Vinita stepped outside with her and squinted against the glare of the sun. The tropical heat felt marvelous on her chilled skin, like an electric blanket wrapped around her. “Thanks for driving me here and waiting for me.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Sayee dug the car keys out of her bag and turned toward the parking lot.

  “Don’t delay lunch for my sake. Go ahead and eat without me.” Vinita watched Sayee get behind the wheel of the car and put on her driving glasses. She was lucky to have a sister-in-law who was so protective and caring. Despite the upheaval Vinita was causing in their lives, Sayee was handling it with her characteristic cheerfulness.

  Sayee waved at her and drove away.

  Vinita stood there for several minutes, trying to soak up every bit of sun. An unexpected sense of loneliness crept over her. The building behind her seemed more cheerless than it had earlier that day, a place where people often went in and never came out, a grim reminder that life was fragile and could crumble any second.

  Right from the time she’d read that anonymous letter, she’d been alone in this mess. Matter of fact, she’d been alone going all the way back to her teenage years, when she’d first bumped into Som Kori. More than three decades later, she was still paying the price for surrendering to the lure of the forbidden.

  Turning around, she found her way to the wing where Rohit’s room was located. The chills returned immediately and she started shivering again. It had to be the air-conditioning, she told herself. She’d always been a lover of warm weather.

  Just outside Rohit’s door, she waited, listened for voices. If he had visitors, or maybe a nurse attending to him, she didn’t want to interrupt.

  Hearing no voices and seeing the door open, she did what she’d done the other day: she stood on the threshold and gazed at him. This morning he wasn’t in bed. He was dressed in street clothes and sitting in the only available chair, which was pulled close to the window. A black canvas bag sat on the floor next to him. It looked like he was being released. It was a relief to know he was finally well enough to go home.

  He was staring pensively at something outside the window. He didn’t notice her presence. Taking advantage of the opportunity, she studied him, absorbing all the details she hadn’t had a chance to until now.

  It was amazing how this deep need to know every little thing about her son had come upon her the moment she’d discovered his existence. In fact, in an attempt to absorb the odd wonder of it, she’d silently chanted I have a son over and over again. It was still difficult to comprehend that this young man was her child—the baby that had kicked her with all his might for weeks while growing in her womb. She’d always known her baby was a boy.

  Despite his fierce Kori looks, she could see the resemblance to his cousins, Vishal’s twin boys—mostly around the jaw and hairline. It was satisfying to note that he had some Shelke in him. But she found no likeness to Arya—because Arya had taken after Girish’s side of the family. She hoped her children at least shared some mental and emotional characteristics.

  Dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, Rohit’s hair was neatly brushed. He sat with one foot resting over the other knee. He wore casual chappals on his large feet. He was quite tall for a boy whose mother was petite. The foot resting on the floor was tapping a quick, rhythmic beat.

  Impatience, she concluded, looking at that restless foot. Vishal often did that, too. Rohit seemed to be deep in thought, with his elbow braced on the arm of the chair and his cheek resting on his fist. What was he thinking about? Pleasant thoughts? Or were they about his chances of survival? About his real mother, who had suddenly popped into his life and was now causing such turmoil?

  And what was it she felt for this boy? She couldn’t quite call it love. She didn’t know him enough to love him in the true sense. And yet, the sudden rush of emotion she’d experienced just now, when she’d laid eyes on him, had to mean something.

  When she’d had her fill of observing him in silence, she knocked on the door.

  Startled, he turned his face to the door. Then he hissed out an unmistakable sigh.

  She stepped inside the room despite the openly hostile reception. She might as well have been a poisonous insect that had flown in unannounced. “I made a promise that I’d be back.”

  “Hmph,” he grunted. “I don’t remember asking you to come.” A spark of angry defiance lit up his golden eyes, giving them a feline appearance.

  “No, but I happened to be at the hospital,” she replied, managing to sound nonchalant. “I came to get myself tested as your potential donor.”

  He didn’t respond, but she saw the slightest twitch in his jaw. Her words had registered on some level. The boy was probably all bark and no bite. She’d take her chances with him. He could push her away all he wanted, but she knew how to shove back with equal strength.

  “May I please sit down?” she asked, pointing to the bed that was already made. There was no other place to sit.

  He shrugged, clearly indicating he didn’t care whether she sat down or hung upside down from the ceiling.

  Without waiting for his reply, she sat on the edge of the bed and placed her handbag beside her. She badly needed to sit. She gave herself a moment to think of something suitable to say. “Looks like you’re being released today?”

  “Hmm.” He returned his gaze to the scene outside the window, turning his back to her. Rude behavior—but justifiable in his case. Every time he behaved like a bear, she had to remind herself that he was unwell. Cancer wasn’t some simple illness like the flu. It ruined a person physically, mentally, and emotionally. He was entitled to a little boorishness.

  “Is your…are your parents coming to fetch you?” She looked at her wristwatch. It was past noon. She probably had very little time alone with him if they were expected soon.

  “Hmm.”

  She sighed. But if he thought his monosyllabic answers and body language were going to send her running, he was mistaken.

  “Look, I know you hate me,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “But will you at least let me explain something?”

  He shrugged again.

  “So you’re not interested, but I’m going to explain anyway. I would have told you the other day, but you as good as tossed me out of here.”

  He remained silent, so she continued. “Rohit, I didn’t know I had a son until a few weeks ago. I had no idea you existed.”

  The last thing she expected was laughter, but he exploded into it, a harsh, barking sound that startled her. “Good story.”

  “It’s the truth,” she insisted. “Didn’t your parents tell you anything about your birth? How you came to be adopted by them?”

  She got no answer. It seemed like they hadn’t told him much. So she’d tell him the facts—from the beginning. She’d set him straight. “You were delivered by caesarean under general anesthesia. When I woke up several hours after the surgery, they told me my child was born dead.”

  “They?” That’s when he turned around to look at
Vinita. “Who are they?” His expression still held traces of the earlier mockery. But he wasn’t laughing. Plus, he was talking. They were having an actual conversation, which was more than she’d hoped for.

  “My family and the doctor…and the nurse,” she answered. “I understand she’s your great-aunt?” Anonymous.

  “You believed them?” His eyebrows were raised high.

  She glanced upward at the ceiling, recalling the scene from long ago—the familiar sense of loss, the emptiness that had slowly sunk in when she was told her baby was born dead. The memory still brought a certain amount of hollowness.

  “I know it sounds incredible, but I was suffering from pneumonia,” she explained. “I had a raging fever. You were a breech baby and I was too sick to breathe normally, let alone give birth, so the doctor suggested a C-section. But I refused to have it until the very end, thinking it would harm the baby. I was convinced that the baby would flip over on its own and be born the normal way.”

  That seemed to gain his attention. He shifted in his chair so he faced her. “And it didn’t?”

  “No.” She swiped her knuckles across her eyes to dispel the tears that insisted on escaping. She didn’t want to cry before her son—show him how weak and vulnerable she was where he was concerned. “They told me the baby died—deprived of oxygen because I waited too long to let them perform the surgery.”

  He appeared genuinely intrigued now. His tawny eyes were narrowed on her. Som used to look at her like that at times—in quiet speculation. “Didn’t you ask for proof?”

  “Believe me, the first thing I asked was to see my child. You can ask your great-aunt about this. She was there.”

  “Hmm.”

  That annoying grunt was all he gave. Vinita wondered if he’d ever been told that his aunt had been instrumental in his adoption. Exactly how much did he know?

  “I was told my baby had died hours earlier, and they had to dispose of the body, do what they had to do—as quickly as possible.” She paused for a beat. “For me the burden of guilt was overwhelming. My stubbornness had killed my baby.” That was the part she’d never forgiven her family for, more than anything else. She’d carried the burning guilt all these years, when there hadn’t been any need for it.

  His eyes were wide with dismay. He obviously didn’t know this part. “What about a funeral for him?”

  “A funeral?” It was her turn to give a wry laugh. “I accepted that he was probably cremated very quietly in the dead of night. The whole thing was a big secret, you see. My pregnancy, the childbirth…everything. The minute I confessed to my family that I was having a baby, I was quietly packed off to Bombay and kept behind closed doors in my brother’s flat.”

  “You didn’t protest?”

  “I was a helpless teenager. I had no place to go and no money, so I had to let my parents and brother take care of me. Besides, I was having the baby against their wishes. They wanted me to have an abortion to save them and myself the shame and humiliation of an illegitimate pregnancy. I disobeyed them on that count, so the least I could do was cooperate with them in other matters.”

  Rohit leaned forward, his arms braced on his thighs. “I’m surprised they allowed you the luxury of disobedience.”

  Her mouth tilted at the corners despite the tears that continued to fill her eyes. “If killing me were a viable option, I think my father would have resorted to it. Under the circumstances, they had to do what was best for the family’s reputation. An unwed mother was viewed as a disaster three decades ago.”

  He nodded, probably understanding for the first time what her predicament must have cost her. “It’s still a disaster in our culture.” He glanced at her. “Did they manage to keep the secret?”

  She hesitated. “I think so. The doctor was a friend of Vishal’s and his clinic was in a quiet suburb of Bombay. And then the baby was supposedly born dead. It was hushed up very quickly.”

  He steepled his long, lean fingers and studied Vinita, his expression bland. “And you got on with your life, while your bastard son became someone else’s responsibility.”

  The boy didn’t mince words. The term bastard was precise, if nothing else. “If I had the merest suspicion that my son was alive, he would have been my responsibility. I wanted him…Wanted you.”

  “You were going to raise your child alone?” There was aloofness in his tone, like he was speaking about a stranger.

  “The child was you, Rohit. I would have worked at a nursery school or even as a domestic servant to support you. But I would have raised you on my own.” She gave him a moment to think about what she’d told him. “I’d never have given you up.”

  He stared at her. “But I was given up.”

  “Yes—by my family, not by me.” When was he going to get it through his supposedly smart brain that she had been as much in the dark about his adoption as he was? “Not by me,” she repeated. “But I’m glad you were raised by good, honest people like the Barves.” She raised a brow at him. “They are good parents?”

  “The best.” The same look that had relieved the harshness of his expression the last time settled over his face. He seemed to be genuinely fond of the Barves. “I consider myself lucky when I see some of the misery.”

  “You mean other adopted children?”

  “I mean the children in orphanages. They’re practically starved…and they suffer from every kind of disease, malnutrition, neglect.”

  “My family would never give away a child to some orphanage.” She wasn’t sure of that fact, but she was duty bound to defend her own.

  “You said they were strict—”

  “But not heartless,” she cut in. “Vishal apparently did some research on your parents when your aunt recommended them. He thought they would give you a good home.”

  “And they did.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “And you just pretended like nothing happened.”

  She shook her head. “I never forgot my experience or my child. Yes, I went back to college, got myself a job. What other choice did I have?” She paused for a beat. “I even got married, which was a miracle, considering how I’d been ruined as a young woman. But I never stopped thinking about my son.”

  “Your husband didn’t mind your past?” Some of Rohit’s earlier aloofness had vanished.

  She wondered how much she should reveal, then decided to err on the side of honesty. “He didn’t know about my past.”

  “You deceived him?” His expression bordered on contempt.

  “For a reason. You see, I kept telling the truth to every potential groom who was introduced to me…and every one of them turned me down.”

  “Can you blame them?”

  “No,” she admitted. “Men can do whatever they please in our society and still get on with their lives, but a woman makes a single mistake and she pays for it forever.”

  Rohit nodded his agreement and Vinita glanced at him in surprise. What, no defending his own sex?

  “Eventually, when a man living in the U.S. came to our house to meet me as a potential bride, Vishal ordered me to keep my mouth shut,” she continued. “For some reason I couldn’t tell this man the truth. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. Something held me back. Anyway, Vishal’s command worked.”

  “Does this goddamned Vishal dictate everything to you?” retorted Rohit, his nostrils flaring.

  “Don’t swear!” she reprimanded. “Vishal’s my older brother. He’s your uncle, and you wouldn’t be where you are today if it weren’t for him.” She realized at once that she’d instinctively sprung to her brother’s defense. Vishal wasn’t exactly in her good graces, either, but he’d likely done whatever he’d done out of a sense of duty. And she wouldn’t allow anyone to malign her brother.

  “Hmph,” was all she got from Rohit. He definitely needed a few lessons in propriety.

  Nonetheless, she decided to overlook his churlishness and proceed with her story. Her watch told her she was probably running out of time. His parents c
ould arrive at any moment and whisk him away.

  “Girish, my husband, was divorced, but he was a decent man,” she said. “When he proposed to me, I accepted.”

  “I see.” Rohit was staring at the floor now.

  “I’m glad I did. He’s been a good husband and good father.”

  Rohit raised his gaze back to her. “Tell me something. How did you find out about me—that I was alive—and that I had leukemia?”

  She wasn’t sure if she should mention the anonymous letter. It could be from his great-aunt, and if that was true, then the entire family could turn against the old woman. She had to be quite old by now. “Somehow I managed to discover your existence,” she said.

  “How?” he demanded. “Who told you? Your brother?”

  “No.”

  “Then who?”

  “I got a…letter from some unknown person.” She ignored the chill crawling over her skin and making her shudder again.

  “Is that the truth?” he demanded.

  “Why would I lie to you? My family certainly wasn’t going to tell me. Some stranger wrote me a letter and told me my son was alive, but he had leukemia and I could perhaps help by donating my bone marrow.” When he looked like he wanted her to continue, she added, “I didn’t believe it at first. It was a shock, but then I called Vishal, and he finally admitted the truth.” She paused. “But he didn’t know you were seriously ill until I asked about it.”

  Rohit stared at his hands, as if the answer lay in them somewhere. “I wonder who it could be—your anonymous communicator.”

  Vinita decided to keep her suspicions to herself. “I can’t think of anyone. It’s a big mystery.” She gave him a second to get his mind back on track. “But you know what? I’m glad someone decided to spill the truth at last. I would’ve gone through my entire life not knowing I had a son.”

  Suddenly he changed the subject. “You have children?”

  Vinita smiled. “One daughter. She’s twenty-three years old.”

  “Does she look like you?”

  “Not much. She’s prettier than I am. And she’s a sweet, bright girl.”