The Unexpected Son

by Shobhan Bantwal

  “Who do you think is my donor?” he asked, jolting her despite knowing he’d probably be speculating about his potential savior, just as she and the rest of the family were.

  “No idea, but I’ve considered some possibilities.” Noticing his blanket hanging off one side of the foot of the bed, she shifted and adjusted it, making sure not to touch his foot. It gave her something to do while she pondered his question.

  “Who did you come up with?” he asked when she said nothing.

  “You may not want to hear this.”

  “Try me.”

  “I think it is Som Kori.”

  He frowned, the descending eyebrows looking so much like Som’s that she nearly smiled. “He doesn’t even know who I am.”

  “He does…now.”

  “How?” The glazed look in his eyes instantly turned to a hard sparkle.

  For a brief moment she wondered if she should have pretended to have no idea who the donor was and left it at that. The last time she’d mentioned the Kori name, Rohit and his parents had nearly had a seizure. But Rohit had a right to know. Besides, if it was Som, by tomorrow he would probably be discovered through the hospital grapevine. What difference would a few hours make?

  “I told him,” she confessed.

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s your father and perhaps the most perfect match in the world for you. That’s all that matters.”

  Rohit shut his eyes tight, like he was trying hard to keep his emotions under control. She prayed her bombshell hadn’t done something awful to his blood pressure or heartbeat or some other vital function. She had no idea how it would affect a person with a weak immune system.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I realize you detest the man and he’s your father’s arch enemy and all that, but I just couldn’t stand by and let you slip away.” She paused for breath. “Som had to be told.” She wondered what she could say to offer comfort, while Rohit struggled to come to terms with what she’d just told him. “I couldn’t let you die, Rohit.”

  It was a long minute before he opened his eyes. He was clearly still grappling with the shocking truth. “That’s okay,” he said at last. “I don’t hate the man as much as my father does.”

  She stared at him, puzzled. “But the other day, when I mentioned—”

  “I don’t have any reason to,” he said, cutting her off. “I have no interest in politics. I honestly don’t care which state Palgaum belongs to.”

  “I thought you believed in your father’s cause.”

  “What he wants is impractical. He’s fighting a silly battle where there are no winners, only losers.”

  Vinita continued to stare at him. “I’m glad you’re not involved in any of the violence.” It was a relief to know Rohit didn’t harbor the biases of his real father or his adoptive one. In that respect he’d taken after her. She actively disliked politics, most especially the corrosive, destructive kind that bred distrust and hatred.

  “His daughters have been my students,” he said. “They’re nice girls.” He gave a raspy chuckle. “Of course, I didn’t know they were my half sisters.”

  She beamed at him. “I’m so relieved you’re not angry about Som.”

  He scrubbed his face with one hand. “Anger is such a wasted emotion when you don’t know whether you’ll be alive next week or not.”

  “Puts it all in perspective, doesn’t it?”

  “You know about that?” He gave her a strange look.

  “Oh yes. I nearly died while giving birth to you. That’s when I realized anger was a silly emotion. I know you don’t believe this, but at that moment, all that mattered was my unborn child. I made Vishal promise that he would look out for you if I died. All I wanted was the best for you.”

  Unfortunately, after she’d survived childbirth she’d gone back to her old stubborn ways—anger, belligerence, and all those other negative emotions. But she didn’t tell him that.

  “I believe you now,” he said, closing his eyes again, looking weaker than he had minutes before. Every passing second seemed to drain his energy. “My parents are the best…if you overlook my father’s fanaticism.”

  “I know. I’ve come to know them rather well these past few weeks, especially your mother.” It was odd how Vinita’s initial resentment toward Meenal had evaporated so quickly. Matter of fact, she felt immense gratitude for Meenal’s devotion to Rohit. More and more, Vinita had begun to recognize the wisdom in her family’s decision to give Rohit up for adoption. Of course, she was loath to admit it to them. She couldn’t take their smug we told you so looks.

  “Tell me about your daughter,” Rohit said in the next breath, pulling her out of her thoughts.

  It was an unforeseen request. He’d never asked about Arya in all these weeks. Was it only idle curiosity, or the fear that he could die soon and never have a chance to find out about her?

  “Your half sister is a bright, attractive young lady.” She wondered how Arya was managing, especially with Girish acting like an obstinate old goat. But if anyone could straighten him out, it was Arya. She suffered neither fools nor people who wallowed in self-pity or held grudges. But so far, even she had not been able to make a dent in the wall Girish had constructed around himself.

  “What does she do?”

  “She works in the research division of a pharmaceutical company.”

  “Is she a pharmacist?” His eyes lit up briefly. He was probably wondering if she liked chemistry like he did.

  “No, she’s a bioengineer. She graduated from Johns Hopkins last year, a prestigious university in the U.S., noted for its bio-engineering department.” Vinita couldn’t help showing off. Her baby was so damn smart. Both her kids were smart. In fact, she’d given birth to two bright and personable children. How had she managed that?

  The corners of his mouth lifted in a genuine smile. Vinita detected no bitterness. “She’s very clever, then,” he said simply.

  “Her work involves research in combining drugs and prostheses in stroke and accident victims with partial paralysis. Of course, with only a bachelor’s degree, it’s mostly routine work that she does for the senior scientists.”

  “It still sounds interesting,” he said after mulling it over. “I envy her.” He was quiet for another second. “Is she planning to study further?”

  “Yes. She starts on her master’s degree this fall. Maybe even a PhD like you in the future. Who knows?”

  “Who knows?” he repeated, sounding like a tired old man.

  “Would you like to see a picture of her?” She lifted a brow at him, eager for a positive response. She so badly wanted both her children to get to know each other.

  “Sure, why not?”

  Vinita rummaged through her handbag and realized she didn’t have the pictures. “Sorry,” she sighed. “Guess I forgot to put them back in my bag after I showed them to my family.”

  “That’s all right,” he said with a dismissive wave. “Some other day, perhaps.” He coughed, a brassy sound that came from deep inside his chest. “If I’m still alive after tomorrow, that is.”

  Vinita’s heart constricted. “Of course you’ll be alive! You’ll even get to meet your sister sometime soon,” she said, hoping to put some much-needed optimism into this gloomy conversation. She couldn’t let him lose heart. Not now.

  “Maybe.” He was beginning to fade. “If fate will allow.” Again a fatalistic remark.

  “Everything will be okay, Rohit. I’m praying for your recovery. I know your mother is doing all kinds of special poojas at the temple, too.”

  “I know. She hasn’t stopped praying for the past two years.” His eyelids were drooping.

  “I want you to know something. Arya had offered to fly down to Palgaum and be a donor.”

  His eyes flew open, the astonishment clear. “Very generous of her. I’m just a stranger.”

  “No longer. She’s a very caring girl. She wants to help you if she can.”

  He gave her one of his rare
smiles. “Tell her thanks.”

  “I will,” she promised, her throat beginning to close up. Once again she quashed the need to reach over and touch him. A hug would have been nice. She’d never touched her son. Ever.

  There was a knock on the door before it opened. A nurse appeared. “Visiting hours are over, madam,” she informed Vinita, tapping her wristwatch as she approached Rohit’s bed.

  “I had better leave,” Vinita murmured, and shifted reluctantly toward the door. “Good night, Rohit.”

  He didn’t respond. The nurse had already started to shove a thermometer into his mouth. Vinita shut the door and stood in the foyer for a second.

  Let my son live, God, she prayed as she started to open the second door leading into the hallway. Please don’t punish him for my sins.

  Chapter 34

  The house was eerily quiet as Vinita emerged from the bathroom and got dressed. Dawn was barely breaking, so there was not much traffic yet. The only sounds outside came from the crows foraging for food. Urbanization had spurred a growth in their population.

  The air was a little cool after last night’s thunderstorm had brought a short but heavy downpour, and she shivered as she gathered the pleats on her sari and tucked them in at her waist. She prayed it wasn’t a relapse of malaria. She never wanted to go through that nightmare again.

  She heard a familiar car engine start up and drive away. Vishal’s car. The poor man worked such insane hours. But she supposed he had to. It was his nature to work hard, just like their father used to. All this success didn’t come without a lot of dogged work.

  She hoped Vishal didn’t work himself into the ground at an early age, too, like Papa had. She made a mental note to have a talk with her workaholic brother. Better yet, she would talk to Sayee. Someone had to make sure Vishal slowed down a little, now that he was in his fifties. Surely he had enough money saved by now and didn’t need to slave as much. Hopefully at least one of his twins would soon take over some part of Vishal’s business.

  But no matter how busy he was, Vinita knew for sure that he would stop by the hospital later to check on Rohit’s progress, and on her. He was worried about her. Despite Vishal’s attempts at remaining aloof, she had managed to catch a glance past his façade.

  By the time she went downstairs, her mother and Sayee were already on their second cup of tea. The kitchen smelled of upama—a spicy cream-of-wheat dish seasoned with roasted mustard, cumin, chili peppers, and curry leaves.

  Both women looked fresh and neat—bathed and dressed for the day ahead. They seemed a little tense, though, both sitting at the table in complete silence. It was unusual for Sayee to be subdued. She was usually glowing with good cheer, even as early as this.

  Vinita speculated whether Sayee and her mother could have had an argument. It rarely happened, since Sayee was such an accommodating sort and got along with everyone. But she was human, and Mummy could be a difficult woman to live with.

  Rohit’s transplant was obviously making everyone edgy. Vinita felt the familiar prick of guilt. She was the cause of all the tension and discord her family was suffering.

  “I heard Vishal leaving early,” she remarked, hoping to inject a little conversation into the glum stillness.

  “Hmm,” murmured Sayee absently, offering no explanation. Vinita didn’t belabor the subject. Clearly Sayee was in no mood to talk.

  Her mother, on the other hand, gave Vinita an assessing look before pouring a cup of tea for her. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “A little,” Vinita lied. She hadn’t slept at all. How could she, when her son was about to go through a rare medical procedure? She hadn’t come all the way from the U.S. to sleep or rest. She had come for Rohit. And his life lay in the balance. The threat of rejection or fungal, bacterial, and viral infections was too great to be ignored.

  Every time that possibility stabbed at her, she felt her heart slide a little lower. Was the transplant even worth considering? It was too late to speculate now. Rohit would be going through the procedure within three or four hours. Praying was all she could do now.

  “Have some upama,” said Sayee, stirring from her stupor. “I’ll heat some for you.”

  “No upama, please,” said Vinita. The thought of eating was making her queasy. “I’ll just have a slice of toast. Don’t get up,” she said to Sayee, motioning to her to sit back down. “I’ll help myself.” She went to the toaster and inserted a slice of bread into it.

  She looked around the kitchen while the bread browned. Along with the rest of the house, the old kitchen, too, had been remodeled, with new cabinets, appliances, and flooring, but the sturdy old dining table and chairs remained. A lasting relic from her childhood.

  Hadn’t she sat at this very table once, a teenager on the brink of disaster? She clearly remembered that morning, when she had walked in and found her mother making omelets. Mummy had offered a fresh omelet and toast to Vinita, and the sight of them had made Vinita’s stomach turn over, like the upama was doing now.

  But this time Vinita’s reason for nausea was different. Well, not so different. It still had to do with her illegitimate son. And his survival.

  As she retrieved the toast and put it in on a plate, she sensed her mother’s eyes on her. “I’m going to the hospital as soon as I finish eating,” Vinita said, before Mummy could start grilling her. “And I plan to stay there as long as it’s necessary.”

  “I’ll go with you,” offered Sayee.

  “No, I need to do this alone.” Vinita returned to the table and spread a bit of butter on her toast. “I appreciate it, but I just…have to do this on my own. I’ll walk up to the corner and take a rickshaw.”

  “All right.” Sayee threw a glance at her mother-in-law, making Vinita wonder why the two women were so jumpy.

  “I’ll call to let you know how things go,” Vinita offered.

  Finishing her breakfast, Sayee rose from her chair and gathered up her empty plate and her mother-in-law’s. “But at least come home for lunch,” she said to Vinita.

  “I’ll try, but don’t wait for me. I can easily find something there.” She mulled it over for a moment. “Maybe I’ll go to Vishal’s office and see if I can talk him into joining me for lunch somewhere in town.”

  The plates in Sayee’s hands rattled and fell to the floor with a crash. “Oh no!” She sank to the floor to pick them up, her hands trembling. “So stupid of me.”

  Vinita sprang up from her chair to help her. “It’s okay. They’re stainless steel. Nothing’s broken.” She picked up the plates and stacked them in the sink while Sayee grabbed a wet rag to clean the floor.

  “I’m usually not this clumsy,” explained Sayee. Her voice quivered.

  “Are you all right?” Vinita asked, contemplating whether Sayee was coming down with something. Malaria instantly sprang to mind. But she’d been assured it wasn’t contagious.

  “I’m all right.” Sayee rinsed out the rag and hung it on one of the steel bars over the window to dry. “I think it is just early menopause or something.”

  Vinita patted her on the shoulder. “I doubt that. You may be coming down with a virus. Take it easy for a change. Let Anu handle the cooking.” She gave up trying to finish her toast and tossed the leftover piece out the window to the crows glowering at her. They swooped down on it in a frenzy of flapping wings and greedy caws.

  Sayee began to clear the table. “Mummy and I are worried about you and Rohit.”

  “No need to worry about me. Save your prayers for Rohit.” Vinita glanced at her mother, who was still sitting at the table, wearing a pensive look. It was hard to say what she could be thinking.

  Vinita picked up her handbag and said once again to the two women, “I’ll call you from the hospital.” She checked to make sure she had enough cash in her wallet, then stepped out the back door.

  Hazy sunshine was struggling to penetrate the last remaining wisps of fog as she strode down the street. As soon as the sun turned on its full glare, the tempe
rature would go from cool to warm, and eventually hot.

  She took a slight detour toward the Shiva Temple on her way to the rickshaw stand. The need to visit the temple and pray for Rohit had been nagging her since the previous night. Now her feet automatically took her there.

  Vinita noticed that the temple was already dotted with early worshippers. It was a holy icon in their town, a spotlessly clean building surrounded by lush gardens and lawns maintained by the local military base. She should have felt optimistic, with masses of fragrant roses in bloom and the grass still sparkling like a carpet of emeralds in the morning light. And yet optimism was not what she felt. It was more like a pulsing ache in her chest.

  Armed military guards were posted around the periphery of the compound at all times, which in a way was comforting rather than intimidating. Because of their presence the temple was a safe place, any time of day or night.

  The sweet, woodsy scent of agarbattis—incense sticks—met her nostrils the minute she discarded her chappals outside the building, climbed the dozen or so steps, and entered the temple. Inside the sanctum, it was cool and damp and dimly lit.

  Two tall, brass oil lamps were burning before the idol of Lord Shiva. The idol itself wasn’t very large, but it had an electrifying presence, as if the Lord’s watchful, unblinking eyes missed nothing. As always, He was decked in fresh garlands of jasmine, roses, marigolds, and marva, a fragrant herb. His forehead was covered with holy ashes, a vermillion dot at the center.

  Vinita stood for a moment and drew a breath, let the hallowed peace sink in and soothe her troubled spirit.

  Over thirty years ago, when she’d discovered she was pregnant, she had stood on this threshold, begging God to help her, give her strength. Today she was here again, pleading with him to save the child she’d carried in her womb back then.

  Stepping closer, she picked up a flower from the basket left there by the priest and laid it at the base of the Lord’s idol. Pulling out a hundred-rupee bill from her wallet, she pressed it into the slot of the wooden donation box—her humble contribution to the temple.