The Unexpected Son

by Shobhan Bantwal

  “I understand. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

  Staring at the ground, Meenal seemed to deliberate for a moment before making up her mind. “You have to promise not to tell this to anyone.”

  “Like I said, you don’t have to—”

  Meenal held up a hand to stop Vinita. “I think you should know this.”

  “Why?”

  “Because only you will understand it.”

  “I will?” Vinita’s brow puckered. It all sounded so mysterious.

  “My sister-in-law, my husband’s older sister, was a young girl in college when she became involved with Kori’s uncle. They were classmates.”

  Vinita’s mouth fell open a second time. “Another case of Marathi girl falls for Kannada boy?” A Kori boy, as coincidence would have it.

  It was a day of unpleasant surprises. And the Koris seemed to feature in them. Was there no end to the Kori depravity? Had every man in that family somehow managed to ruin some innocent girl or other? No wonder Meenal thought Vinita would be the one person to understand.

  Meenal nodded. “Apparently my father-in-law found out about the affair and demanded that Kori marry his daughter.”

  “Your father-in-law must have been a broad-minded man to be willing to accept a Lingayat son-in-law.”

  “He had no choice, since the girl’s reputation was ruined. Kori refused to marry her, and my father-in-law and he got into a serious fight.”

  Vinita wondered if Barve’s sister had also become pregnant like herself. But she dare not ask. It was too personal.

  “So what happened then?” Vinita asked instead.

  “Nothing. My sister-in-law eventually married someone else. She has passed on now, but her life was happy…comfortable. She had children and grandchildren. She died a contented woman.”

  “Thank God for that. So she did what I did—got on with her life.” Vinita had plenty to be grateful for. But she could still see the lingering resentment toward Som in her brother’s and mother’s eyes. She could imagine why Barve hated the Koris with a vengeance. “I can see why the hostility is still there.”

  “I do, too, but it frightens me, Vinita,” said Meenal. “Some day they will succeed in killing him.” She drew a long breath. “Or maybe the Marathi Samithi will end up killing Kori.”

  “It could go either way.”

  “Or, even though neither of them is a violent man, they could both end up dead. And for what? Some silly episode from the past, or an equally insane reason called pride in one’s heritage?”

  “I wish I had the answer,” replied Vinita. A sense of relief passed through her. It wasn’t all her fault that the communal tensions were heating up. It was still her mistake to a great extent, but she needn’t take the full blame for it.

  She put a hand on the older woman’s arm. “Go back inside, Meenal-tayi. You have to take Shashi-saheb home. He needs to rest.”

  Meenal squeezed the hand that rested on her arm. “Thank you for coming forward to help Rohit and us. We will never forget your generosity. I’m grateful to my aunt.”

  “Your aunt?” Vinita straightened. “You mean Jaya-bai?”

  “She is the one who informed you about Rohit.”

  Vinita chewed on this new bit of information. “You know this for sure? The letter was anonymous.”

  “I questioned my aunt about it. She admitted that she wrote the letter.” A smile crossed Meenal’s face. “I think she feels responsible for Rohit and his welfare because she arranged for the adoption. She is very fond of him.”

  “Of course,” said Vinita. The aunt’s proprietary interest in Rohit made complete sense. At least the mystery was solved, although she’d always suspected it was Jaya-bai. “I wish I could have been a donor.” She thought for a moment. “If you do find a donor, you will inform me, won’t you? And the offer to pay for it still stands.”

  “But we can’t take money from you, especially if you are not the donor. It is too much.”

  “Please,” said Vinita, slowly withdrawing her hand. “It’s the least I can do.”

  “We’ll think about it.” Meenal hesitated for a moment, then gave Vinita what amounted to an awkward hug. “Have a safe journey back to America.” Her eyes were glazed with tears.

  Vinita held her in a hug for an instant. Sometime during the past few weeks, an invisible bond had formed between the two women, a bond shared by two mothers who had been unexpectedly thrown together. “I’ll pray for Rohit,” she said, her voice turning hoarse. “Maybe there is the perfect donor somewhere out there.”

  “Maybe there is,” repeated Meenal, obviously trying to muster a smile, but without success. She stood there till Vinita said a reluctant namaste and hurried toward the rickshaw stand outside the hospital campus.

  As she climbed into a rickshaw, Vinita turned her head to look back. Meenal was standing in the same spot. If fate really decided to be cruel to Meenal, she could end up losing her son and her husband in the near future.

  Fate. Vinita was beginning to detest the word.

  Chapter 29

  A day and a half later, the Kannada man who had tried to kill Shashi Barve was arrested. But the news reports claimed the man refused to divulge who had hired him. Within hours after the arrest, riots broke out in town, leading to so much vandalism and violence that the police had to impose a curfew, shutting down nearly the whole town and allowing only essential services to continue.

  Suddenly the town seemed dead, like the movie version of the aftermath of a war or pandemic. She missed the hum of traffic, the voices of street vendors peddling their wares, the children yelling at each other across the street. It was almost like the town was in mourning. She couldn’t stand the abnormal quiet.

  Besides, her plans to catch a flight to the U.S. had to be postponed.

  Four long and frustrating days later, things returned to some degree of normality, but not before there were two deaths, one on either side of the warring groups, and dozens of injured men. Som Kori and Shashi Barve were still alive.

  Vinita heaved a sigh of relief when the shops finally started to open for business, and the traffic returned to its noisy, polluting routine. There was comfort in knowing her town was alive, and it would gradually shift into its natural rhythm.

  In the midst of it all, Arya called in a panic one night. “Mom, are you okay? We heard on the Indian cable news about the stuff going on in Palgaum.”

  “I’m fine, dear,” Vinita said.

  “Why didn’t you call and tell us?”

  “What would be the point? The entire town is affected by the riots. Vishal’s office is closed, but he’s working like a fiend from home. And we’re all doing fine. At least for now.”

  “Thank God.” Arya demanded to know exactly what was happening. Vinita gave her a brief account, without divulging that some of it could have been her own fault. She still felt guilty about the part she might have played in all this havoc. Arya didn’t need that kind of aggravation on top of what she was already going through.

  “So there’s water and food at least, right?” asked Arya.

  “There’s plenty of both,” assured Vinita.

  A moment passed before Arya added, “Mom, you’d better get on the first plane available and come home.”

  “I’m trying.”

  Arya seemed to hesitate for a second. “Dad’s worried about you as well.”

  “He is?” Vinita was too stunned to say any more.

  “Yeah. He was worried when you were sick, too. He asked me if I’d talked to you since we heard about the riots in Palgaum.”

  “That’s a switch for him. I was under the impression he was maybe…considering divorce.” Vinita gnawed on her lip. She didn’t know if Arya’s words were significant enough for her to get excited. It could be a temporary thing—a sense of duty and obligation. Once he knew she was all right he’d likely go back to ignoring her.

  “Divorce?” Arya went quiet. “Where’d you get that insane i
dea?” she asked finally.

  “The way he’s been behaving says a lot, don’t you think?”

  “No, Mom, he’s really concerned,” repeated Arya. “He asked me a couple of times to check on you. I think he’s finally coming around.”

  “If he’s beginning to thaw a little, maybe you should apply some shock treatment and tell him I died of malaria.”

  “Mom! It’s not funny,” scolded Arya.

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny. Your dad needs to wake up. He can’t keep sulking forever. Things aren’t going to change because he can’t bear to face reality.”

  “I agree, but telling him you died isn’t the way to do it.”

  They talked for another minute and ended the call. Vinita refused to allow herself to get excited about what Arya had just said. Maybe Girish was a bit troubled, but it didn’t mean anything. If he was really worried, he’d have called—at least sent her an e-mail. He hadn’t bothered with her even when he knew she was seriously ill.

  She’d been desperately checking her e-mails. All she’d been getting was upbeat messages from close friends and colleagues. No, she couldn’t let her hopes rise, only to have them crushed later.

  Why was a sensible, practical man like Girish behaving this way? He’d been through two personal traumas in his life and he’d come through them with no visible emotional scars. So why had he become so bitter and unforgiving this time around?

  She couldn’t wait to return to New Jersey. Now that her business here was concluded, despite her complete failure at helping Rohit, she hungered for her home, her job, her friends. It was time for her to pack her bags and return home.

  Mainly she missed Arya. And Girish. She longed for him with an intensity that surprised her. She’d always missed him when he was away from home, but this time her emotions were loaded with fear and desperation. She was dying to see him, and yet she dreaded facing him just as much.

  Would she be returning home to her husband, or soon-to-be ex-husband?

  Chapter 30

  Girish shifted uncomfortably in his chair and tried to nibble on a slice of pizza. Arya was frowning at him across the kitchen table, condemnation written all over her face.

  The pizza had turned to cold leather. Since Vini’s departure for India, Arya and he had mostly been surviving on takeout food—pizza, Chinese, Thai, sushi. Neither he nor his daughter had any talent for cooking. The house was a mess, too. No one had cleaned it since Vini had left.

  “How long are you going to torture yourself and Mom?” demanded Arya, pushing her empty plate aside and folding her arms.

  His daughter had a direct way of facing an issue—a trait Girish had always admired and encouraged. But at the moment that very characteristic was making him squirm.

  “Thanks for buying the pizza,” he said. He didn’t have the heart to tell her it was one of the worst he’d had—undercooked crust and overseasoned sauce. It was some kind of organic and environmentally friendly whole wheat product that fit into Arya’s latest fad.

  “Don’t try to change the subject, Dad. I know the pizza’s awful—and I don’t give a damn about it.”

  “Who said anyone is being tortured?”

  “You’re not eating much, you’re up at all times of the night, and either pacing or working on your computer since you returned from your so-called business trip.”

  “How do you—”

  “You think I’m blind and deaf? I know everything that’s going on, Dad,” she interrupted curtly. “I know you miss her like hell. I know you were worried sick when you heard she came down with malaria. You’ve never looked this lonely before.”

  “Of course I miss her,” Girish admitted with great reluctance. “We’ve been married a long time.”

  “Twenty-four years, eleven months, and two days.” She wore a smug look.

  “I’m capable of doing the math,” he snapped.

  “And yet you’re behaving like an ass.”

  “How dare you talk to your father like that!” Girish dropped the pizza on his plate and pinned her with his sternest glare.

  Arya didn’t flinch, and held his gaze without a smidgen of alarm. She’d never been the kind of child who feared authority. “What else would you call a man who loves his wife and misses her, and yet pretends he has no feelings left for her?”

  “I didn’t say I don’t love her.” Arya was way too meddlesome and perceptive for her own good.

  “Then why don’t you tell her that?” She let him ruminate on that for a second. “Poor Mom is miserable.”

  “Serves her right for lying to me…to us…all these years.”

  “Don’t you think I was hurt and confused when I found out the truth? But I got over it. If you look at it rationally, she was only a kid when she made that mistake. Vishal-mama and everyone else forced her to lie, and she did.”

  “But she was a grown woman when I met her. She could have made up her own mind and told me the truth.”

  “But telling the truth could’ve had you running. She couldn’t risk that. I think she liked you too much to lose you. Shouldn’t that count for something, the fact that she fell in love with you and didn’t want to lose the chance to marry you?”

  Girish picked up the half-eaten pizza once again and took a bite. He hadn’t really thought of Vinita’s actions in that light. He knew she loved him. Deeply. But had she developed strong feelings for him right after they’d met, just like he had for her?

  She hadn’t said anything about it to him. But then, neither had he. Expressing love had come after they’d been married a few months, after the awkwardness had passed and they’d reached a certain level of comfort.

  “You honestly think that was her reason for hiding the truth?” he asked after a pensive bite or two.

  “Of course it was. She went against her own conscience and hid the truth for a reason.”

  Girish mulled it over for a couple of seconds. “She told you that?”

  Arya nodded. “She said she was lucky to meet a man like you when she didn’t deserve to. Apparently she didn’t want to lose the one decent man who’d finally come into her life.”

  “She didn’t tell me that.” He was discovering a few things about his wife. And himself.

  “Maybe not, but she’s proved it to you all these years. Isn’t that enough?”

  Girish rose to his feet and dumped the rest of his pizza in the trash. He wasn’t hungry anymore. “I need some time to think about it, Arya. I really don’t know what to make of all this.”

  Arya got up from the table and put her plate in the sink. “Dad, you’ve had plenty of time to brood. How long are you going to punish Mom for a mistake she made so long ago?”

  He rinsed both their plates and placed them in the dishwasher. “You think it’s that easy to forgive someone?”

  Arya stood with both hands planted on her slender hips. “If you ask me, it’s you who needs forgiving. You’ve been behaving like an ass instead of supporting Mom when she needs you the most.”

  “You don’t understand what—”

  “Dad”—she cut him off again—“no more excuses. Mom’s been very ill. She’s depressed because she can’t donate her bone marrow and her son is dying. She’s devastated because she thinks you hate her so much you’re going to file for divorce.”

  Girish turned from the sink and scowled at Arya. “What gave her that idea?”

  “You did.”

  “Me?” How and when the hell had divorce come into the picture?

  “You haven’t answered her voice mails or e-mails. What else is she supposed to think?”

  “But I…didn’t say anything about divorce.”

  “Not in words, but certainly in the way you’ve been treating her. I’m surprised she still feels the same way about you when you’ve been so horrible to her.”

  “I haven’t said one word to her, Arya.”

  “Exactly my point.” Arya put away the leftover pizza in the refrigerator.

  Girish contemplated f
or a while. Had he been punishing Vini for her deceit? If it could be considered deceit. Was it time for him to stop acting like a wronged child? His wife was clearly going through a difficult time. Very difficult.

  Arya wiped the table with a damp paper towel and threw him a sidelong glance. “If I were you, I’d start thinking about how to make it up to her.”

  “And I suppose you have some brilliant ideas on how I should go about it, too?”

  “Your twenty-fifth anniversary’s coming up,” she said, discarding the paper towel. “I’m sure you can think of something.” She swept out of the room, her expression smugger than ever.

  Girish listened to the steady hum of the refrigerator and sighed. His daughter was a brat. She had a damn big mouth, too. But she was right about one thing. He was an ass.

  Chapter 31

  “W—what did you say?” Vinita dropped the blouse she was packing in her suitcase to stare at Sayee. Her sister-in-law had just walked into Vinita’s bedroom and made a startling announcement.

  “They found a donor for Rohit,” Sayee repeated, beaming, clasping her hands with obvious glee.

  Vinita stood still. It couldn’t be true, could it? She wondered if she was beginning to imagine things—a mother’s heart dreaming of the impossible. She’d prayed for a miracle, but she’d learned that miracles rarely, if ever, happened.

  Too overwhelmed to reply, she pushed aside the pile of clothes lying beside her suitcase and sat down on the bed. “So soon?” she finally asked.

  Sayee nodded and beamed at Vinita.

  “You’re not joking, right?”

  Sayee’s smile vanished, like the sun slipping behind a cloud. “Would I joke about something like this?”

  “No…no, you wouldn’t.” Vinita put a trembling hand to her throat. “Who told you?”

  “Uh…Dr. Panchal rang Vishal at his office.”

  Vinita frowned. “I wonder why the doctor called Vishal and not me.”

  “He thought you had already left for the U.S.”

  “Of course.” She plucked the cordless phone from the bedside table. “I’m going to call Vishal and get the details.”