“We forbid you to have the child,” Baba had said to them.
“What is the point in having another girl? We need a boy to carry on the family tradition.”
For once Nikhil had put on his most intimidating expression THE
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and stared his father down, making Isha’s heart swell with pride. “You have no right to forbid a child from coming into this world,” he’d countered. “Neither you nor Dr. Karnik can play God. So I would appreciate your not bringing up this topic again. From now on, the word abortion is not to be mentioned in my presence or Isha’s, or Priya’s, for that matter.”
He had thrown his mother a blistering glance, silently warning her to keep her mouth shut, too.
Amazingly the “A” word had never been brought up again, at least while Nikhil was alive.
So now, as Isha’s heart was breaking over how her father-in-law had punished her grieving child, she knew the time had come to go off on her own. God alone knew where she would go or how she’d survive. She had no real skills, no more than a bachelor’s degree, and one and a half children to protect, but she couldn’t live in this sorry excuse for a home a minute longer.
She waited till Priya’s sobbing subsided, then turned to her in-laws. “I think you’re clearly trying to tell me to get out and take my child with me, aren’t you?”
Ayee remained silent and pretended to look out the window.
The servants had retreated from the room but stood just inside the kitchen door, riveted by the unfolding drama. They were probably making plans on how best to spread the juicy gossip.
They lived for such moments.
Baba took a sharp breath, his color still high. “With Nikhil gone, I personally don’t care what you and your daughter do.”
“Is this how much you care for your son’s memory and his child—your granddaughter, your flesh and blood?” Isha shot back bitterly. “According to you, she and the unborn child have no right to exist. Well, let me tell you this much: you can sleep in peace tonight because I’m taking Priya and leaving you right now.”
“Where do you think you’re going, huh?” Baba snorted and went back to his chair. “You have no family; you have nothing.”
“I’ll go to my cousin’s home in Mumbai if necessary. Anywhere is better than being here, where girls are considered no more than insects to be exterminated.” She grabbed Priya’s hand 40 Shobhan Bantwal
and dragged her upstairs. Sundari followed them, wiping away the tears that rolled down her wizened cheeks. She was a sweet and dedicated woman who was much more than a servant.
Within a short time, Isha managed to pack three large suitcases with Sundari’s help, all the while aware of Priya staring in grim silence. The child was clearly traumatized and confused by everything that was happening.
But what could Isha say to her daughter? Priya was too young to understand what was going on around her, so Isha let her sit on the bed, clutching her favorite doll close to her chest.
Her tear-swollen eyes looked at Isha as if she wanted to ask a hundred questions but didn’t quite know how.
“Isha- bayi, please don’t leave,” pleaded Sundari for the umpteenth time. “Where you will go with Priya-baby and your belly filled with one more?”
“I can’t stay here any longer, Sundari. Didn’t you see how Baba beat up Priya? Do you think he’ll spare my other child if she cries? Every time they cry, they will remind Baba and Ayee of their dead son.”
“Why not go to Sheila- bayi’s house, then? It will be a good home for Priya-baby, no? I will come with you,” said Sundari, a simple woman who probably couldn’t comprehend Isha’s logic.
Isha patted Sundari’s brown, work-worn hand. “It’s kind of you to offer, but your place is here. You have worked for Ayee and Baba almost all your life. I’m the outsider and I need to go.”
“But where will you stay, and what will you eat? What will Priya-baby eat?”
Isha sighed with regret at seeing the old woman looking so brokenhearted. She was so caring, so kind. “Please, Sundari, try to understand. I’m not going to harm Priya. I’ll make sure she has enough to eat.”
As Isha went about packing things, taking only a few essentials for herself, including some pictures of Nikhil, but plenty of Priya’s belongings, she tried to beat her brain to think of where she could go. She had no family, as Baba had gleefully reminded her. All her close friends were couples that belonged to the elite Palgaum crowd and they were friendly with the elder Tilaks, as well.
THE
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Sheila was sympathetic and affectionate, but she was still a Tilak, and Isha would never put Sheila in the position of being forced to choose between her parents and her sister-in-law and niece. That would be grossly unfair.
In the end, the convent came to mind as a possible safe haven, at least as a provisional shelter until she handed the insurance claim to their agent. She hadn’t submitted it yet because she hadn’t seen the need for money. Now she had no choice but to cash in the policy.
She had heard somewhere that the nuns who ran the parochial school that she’d attended in her childhood occasionally gave shelter to needy women on a temporary basis. Besides, how long could the insurance settlement take—four weeks, maybe six? She would use the money to buy a place of her own and then see if she could find herself a job.
In fact, quite recently Nikhil had talked about investing in some real estate, perhaps buying one or two flats in that shiny new high-rise building that was in their neighborhood. She could follow up on that idea and buy two flats, since the insurance money would likely be enough to buy two. Living in one and renting the other as a source of income sounded like a viable idea.
She convinced herself she could do it. She didn’t need the Tilaks and their jaundiced philosophy. She could make it on her own. And she would.
There were two thousand rupees and change—something Nikhil and she kept in their room at all times for small, unexpected expenses—in her almirah, or armoire. She shoved the money into her handbag. There was plenty more cash in Baba’s safe, several hundred thousand rupees that were earmarked for emergencies, but she wasn’t going to beg for that. Baba wouldn’t have given her a paisa of it anyway.
Picking up the phone, Isha called for a taxi. A few minutes later Sundari and she dragged the suitcases out the bedroom door and onto the landing. Still sniffling, Priya reluctantly put on her uniform, a blue pinafore and white blouse, then slipped into her red raincoat. “Why did you put my things in a suitcase?” she finally asked.
42 Shobhan Bantwal
“Because we’re going away,” Isha replied.
“Why?”
“We can’t stay here anymore. We’re not welcome here.”
Priya seemed to give it some thought. “Are Papa and Sundari going with us?”
With a tired sigh Isha tried her best to explain once again that Papa was never going with them anywhere. Ever. Sundari couldn’t go with them for other reasons.
“Where are we going?” Priya asked, hugging her doll closer.
“At the moment, I don’t know. Maybe to the convent.”
“I don’t like the convent.” Priya’s mouth settled into a thin, stubborn line.
Isha sat next to Priya on the bed and gently cupped the small face in both her hands. It broke her heart to tear her child away from the only home she’d known. “I’m sorry, pumpkin. It’s not my favorite place, either. But we may have to stay there for a few days. Just trust me, okay?” She placed a soft kiss on the flushed forehead. “Everything will be okay soon, I promise.”
There was no response from Priya, but her silence was enough acquiescence.
When Sundari and Isha hauled the suitcases downstairs, they found that Baba had already left for work. Ayee was reading the paper. Isha stood before her. “Looks like you got your wish, Ayee. Someday, I hope you’ll realize that with Priya and your other grandch
ild gone, you will have lost all links to your only son. For Nikhil’s sake I hope you don’t suffer too much grief when that happens.”
“I have already suffered more than my share of grief. There is no more left.” Ayee gave Isha and Priya a disinterested look and went back to her newspaper. She clearly didn’t believe a word Isha had said. Priya and Isha could have been leaving on a shopping spree for all the interest Ayee showed in their departure.
Sundari put her palms together before Ayee in a desperate plea.
“Ayee-saheb, please stop them from going—at least for the sake of peace for Nikhil-saheb’s soul.”
“Where can they go?” asked Ayee. “By this evening they will be back.”
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Perhaps realizing finally that she wasn’t going to get any help from her employer, Sundari stood by the door, the anguish on her face squeezing at Isha’s heart. In her faded cotton sari and her gray hair in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, she was the very image of a doting grandmother. If only Isha had a definite place to go to, she’d have taken Sundari with her.
And she wished she could take her own car, too. The tempta-tion to climb into the driver’s seat of the silver Maruti Esteem Nikhil had bought for her recently tugged at her, but she suppressed it. She didn’t want anything of value from the Tilaks.
Besides, how was she going to afford the petrol and the car’s up-keep?
By the time the taxi arrived, Priya was more or less back to normal. Sundari offered both of them hugs and tearful words of advice to Priya. “Be a good girl and eat the food on your plate, baby. Don’t give Mummy any trouble. And say your prayers every night.”
Priya readily got into the seat next to Isha. She probably still harbored the hope that the two of them were going on a trip somewhere, and that Papa was magically going to appear.
Their first stop was the bank, where Isha went to the safety deposit box and retrieved the insurance policy that Nikhil had secreted away so his parents wouldn’t find out about it. They’d never have understood the need for a man taking out a policy and naming his young wife as the sole beneficiary.
And now Nikhil’s forethought had come in handy. Did he have a premonition that his end was near? Was that why he’d taken out such a large policy, and so recently? Something must have compelled him to do it. More and more she was convinced of that, considering how he’d made haste to contact the agent secretly and put the plan in motion.
He’d told only Isha about the policy, warning her never to mention it to his parents. When asked about the need for such secrecy, he’d simply said, “It’s for you and the children. What if something happens to me?”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” she’d chided him, trying 44 Shobhan Bantwal
to suppress the chill creeping up her spine. Such macabre thinking was simply tempting fate.
“Life is unpredictable, Isha,” he’d said on a quiet note.
At the time it had sounded like a strange conversation, but now it didn’t seem that weird.
Besides the policy, there was another large envelope crammed with papers in the safe deposit box, mainly their passports, marriage certificate, Priya’s birth certificate, and other things that she had no time to inspect. She also emptied out all the extra jewelry she’d stored there. It was substantial, thank goodness.
Her parents had given her a lot of gold and diamonds over the years.
The conventional rationale behind giving a daughter jewels was this very scenario: if something happened to her husband and she needed instant cash, they would come in handy. Wasn’t it ironic that that piece of ancient wisdom had come into play for her?
She’d always thought of it as some antiquated custom that was too obsolete for these modern times. But then again, she’d never pictured herself a widow at such a young age, either.
She informed the bank’s manager that she had no more need for the safe deposit box, and that he could cancel the account.
After signing the necessary forms, Isha asked the taxi driver to take her to Anvekar Jewelers in the heart of town.
At the jewelers’, she took out three elaborate sets of gemstone jewelry, expensive but with the least sentimental value attached, and asked old Mr. Anvekar to give her a fair price for them. The old man was someone she and her mother had dealt with for many years. He gave her a puzzled look before bringing out his scale and jewelers loupe to examine the pieces.
“Are you sure you want to sell these sets, Isha? They are top quality and will be good for your daughter when she grows up,”
he said, casting a glance at Priya.
Isha took a deep, regretful breath and nodded. “I’m sure.”
When he handed her the cash, the old man looked sympathetic, perhaps recognizing her desperate need.
Isha put the wad of cash in her handbag and walked out with THE
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Priya. She knew Mr. Anvekar’s speculative eyes followed her all the way to the taxi. That was another thing that would seem strange to him: a wealthy woman like her traveling in a dusty taxi when her family owned multiple cars and had a chauffeur.
The old jeweler would be sure to call his wife right away and share his news. Soon half the town would know Isha had sold some of her choice jewelry. And they would draw their own conclusions.
She ordered the taxi driver to take them to St. Mary’s Convent and pulled Priya close.
A new chapter in both Priya’s life and hers was about to begin.
Chapter 5
October 2006
The extreme discomfort in Isha’s belly made her wince. With mounting anxiety she’d been waiting for this signal for a while. She was overdue by a full week. But now that she was nearly there, it caused her heart to flutter.
Excitement combined with dread had been nipping at her since she’d awakened at dawn that morning. And throughout the day, while she had read aloud to the children at the orphanage, sung nursery rhymes with them, and tended to their needs, the pain had put in an appearance every now and then, reminding her of the imminent arrival.
There had been small signs in the past couple of days—minor indications that could have fooled a neophyte, but not her. The nagging ache in her lower back and the intense pressure on her internal organs were gradually escalating. Isha had been through this once before, and knew what to expect.
Millions of women experienced similar trauma all over the universe, and yet there was stark fear in her heart at her im-pending ordeal, mostly because she was in it alone.
She didn’t know what her future held. When the next contraction came, she had no more time to ruminate. The sheer agony of it forced her to focus on one thing and one thing only: the baby inside her womb conveying a clear signal that it was ready to face the world.
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Taking short breaths, she massaged her swollen belly till the contraction subsided. This one was stronger and more painful than the last, the one that had racked her body less than three minutes ago.
Concentrating on the framed picture of Ganesh, she prayed for His help. Of course, most of her prayers in the recent past had gone unanswered, but that didn’t mean He hadn’t heard her, nor did it mean she was going to give up her staunch Hindu faith.
Next to Ganesh was a crucifix, reminding her that this was a convent. It was the only convent in Palgaum. Now it was her home. Thank goodness, when Isha had asked for help, the nuns, although hesitant at first, had been kind enough to let her stay there with Priya and earn her keep by working as a teacher’s aide in their orphanage.
At the moment, Priya was sitting on an oblong chatai—a reed mat—placed on the gray flagstone floor, with a notebook open in front of her. Oblivious to her mother’s distress, she sat with her legs crossed, engrossed in her task. She carefully wrote words in her notebook as she hummed a tune. She was doing her homework—learning to wr
ite in running-hand, or cursive, as the Americans called it.
Isha gazed fondly at the little head bent over her work. The curly brown hair was pulled back in the usual tight pigtails, secured with white ribbons. Her pink jeans were faded at the knees. The white T-shirt was getting a little too short. Soon Priya would need new clothes and shoes. At the moment, Isha had no idea how she was going to pay for those.
Priya had been her only solace in the past few months. Without her, Isha would have been almost suicidally depressed. But children had a way of keeping adults on an even keel. Priya had done her part in maintaining Isha’s equilibrium when she had sunk to her nadir. The child had miraculously overcome her own grief in a hurry and then managed to pull Isha out of the murky depths by the sheer sweetness of her disposition.
The child lived up to her name— beloved in Sanskrit.
Priya looked up at her with a triumphant expression. “Mummy, 48 Shobhan Bantwal
look! My B words are just like Sister Alice’s.” She held her notebook under Isha’s nose and pointed to the words. “See?”
Feigning surprise, Isha widened her eyes. “You’re right! Your handwriting is getting better and better, pumpkin.” Isha was delighted with Priya’s progress. Her little girl was learning exceptionally fast since she’d entered first standard, much faster than her classmates. That was what her report cards indicated.
An angelic smile transformed Priya’s oval face into a vision of dimples, starry eyes, and even white teeth, except for the one missing lower tooth that had fallen out only days ago. “That’s what Sister Alice told me, too.”
Isha’s maternal heart warmed with pride. “That’s wonderful!”
In the next second, Isha had a strong contraction, making her wince. “Oh God—”
Priya’s smile vanished. “Mummy, are you sick?”
“I’m . . . in pain . . . dear,” Isha managed to gasp.
The homework entirely forgotten, Priya stared at Isha with wide eyes. “Is the baby coming?” She’d been told a little bit about the pain associated with labor and childbirth, so she wouldn’t panic when it happened.
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