The Forbidden Daughter

by Shobhan Bantwal

He put his gear in the trunk of his compact four-year-old Ford, got behind the wheel, and headed out to the convent. It was a trip he made every three months. This was something he looked forward to, even though he didn’t get paid for it. It was his modest contribution to the community. He was blessed, and as a good but not devout Hindu, this was the only way he could give something in charity.

  When he got to the locked steel gates of the convent, he stopped, pulled out his mobile phone, and called Mother Regina’s number so someone could let him in. Returning the phone to his pocket, he smiled to himself. The nuns took their job of protecting the girls under their guardianship very seriously indeed.

  However, neither stone walls nor steel gates could prevent the really tenacious and enterprising ones from sneaking in or out.

  The previous year’s bizarre episode was a prime example. In spite of the keen-eyed nuns watching over their wards day and night, one of their teenagers had still managed to become pregnant.

  The baby’s father was a boy from St. John’s School for Boys, located across the street from the convent. It was run by Catholic priests. St. John’s was Harish’s alma mater.

  Nobody could figure out how those two teenagers had managed to meet, let alone have sex. It was still a mystery, but a testimony to human ingenuity.

  Eventually, the boy and girl had been expelled from school and each sent home to their parents. And that’s where it ended.

  The nuns never talked about it afterward. Anything that sinful wasn’t meant to be discussed in the hallowed atmosphere of a convent.

  A minute later, a novice came to open the gates for him. Har-THE

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  ish drove his car around to the back of the cluster of buildings.

  That’s where the old stone boardinghouse and the orphanage were located. The more modern brick buildings facing the street were reserved for classrooms, where day-students as well as boarders studied together.

  The same novice who had opened the gates appeared from somewhere. “Good evening, Dr. Salvi. I’m Sister Rose,” she said. “I’ll be helping you with the children this evening. I can carry some of your supplies if you’d like.”

  “Thank you, Sister Rose. Appreciate the help,” he said and handed her his bag. He hadn’t seen her before. Like the other novices, she was very young and didn’t wear a cap. They were also referred to as Sister. He had learned that the white cap with black border was something that came after they took their final vows and shaved their heads. That’s when they dropped the title of Sister and took on the venerable title of Mother. Until then, they usually braided their hair and twisted it in the back in a severe knot.

  He picked up the box from the trunk and followed her brisk steps into the building. She looked like a teenager—fresh-faced and innocent—too young to give up everything the world had to offer and embrace this austere lifestyle. Was she an orphan, too?

  Had she chosen this type of existence for herself, or was it the only option for a homeless child raised in a convent?

  The next two hours were spent in vaccinating the children against a variety of childhood ailments. He needed extra help from one other nun besides Sister Rose to hold the children and comfort them while he performed his work.

  As always, there were lots of tears. It came with the territory, so he always brought a large bag of lollipops. A brightly colored lollipop went a long way in putting an end to the fussing, and it worked effectively. And for these poor children, a lollipop was a luxury—pure delight on a stick.

  The pathetic faces of the children never failed to touch him.

  Many of them had been abandoned on the convent’s doorstep.

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  There were both boys and girls. The boys stayed at the convent until they turned five and then they got moved to some orphanage in another town that took in only boys.

  No matter what their gender, they all seemed to be starved for affection. The more outgoing ones clung to his legs and often refused to let go. He gave them a hug and a lollipop. The nuns had to pry them away from him.

  Harish didn’t consider himself an emotional man, but at times he had to suppress tears when that happened. The little tykes nearly broke his heart.

  They were all very thin and suffered from malnutrition in various degrees. The nuns did what they could, but there was only so much they could provide with their severely limited budget and staff.

  He admired the nuns’ efforts and tried to help out in whatever way he could. He gave them free samples of vitamins, baby food, over-the-counter medications, and first-aid supplies. He often wished he could do more, but there were restrictions on his time and money, too.

  Exhausted and hungry, he finally put away his supplies, pulled off the rubber gloves and tossed them in the rubbish bin.

  He saw Mother Regina coming his way, a smile warming her wrinkled face. Her ample hips seemed to bounce as she hurried.

  He had no idea how old she was. He suspected she was at least eighty. But she was a bundle of energy, and despite her enormous proportions, always moved nimbly. He had never seen her sitting down.

  “Thank you so much for everything, Dr. Salvi,” she said to him. “God bless you. You are our messenger from Jesus.”

  Harish smiled. “I do what I can, Mother.”

  “But it takes a generous heart to do what you do, sir. You are a good man.” She was Italian by birth, and despite her very proper English, the slightly soft accent persisted. “So, tell me, Doctor, how are our children doing?”

  “As well as can be expected. And I’m relieved that the flu hasn’t spread here. It’s been a difficult epidemic this year.”

  “Well then, we shall pray that it never comes here.” She did a THE

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  quick sign of the cross. “If it is not too much trouble, may I ask another favor of you?”

  “Certainly.” Harish’s eyes went to his wristwatch. It was nearly nine o’clock. What could Mother Regina want at this hour?

  “A baby was born here last night and I was wondering if you might spare some time to check out the little one.”

  His brows climbed in surprise. “A baby born here? You didn’t have another . . . um . . .” A second unwanted pregnancy in less than a year was a bit much for a convent.

  Mother Regina’s blue eyes went wide behind her bifocals.

  “Oh no! Nothing of that sort! The mother is a young widow.

  This is a very unusual and tragic case. She recently lost her husband, and because of serious problems in her in-laws’ home, she was forced to leave them. She no longer has family of her own, you see.”

  “How did she end up here?”

  “She’s one of our former students, and being a mother of one child and about to have another, we could not turn her away when she asked for help.”

  Harish nodded. “I understand.”

  She looked at him with that questioning tilt of her head.

  “You will see this child, then?”

  “Of course.” How could he say no to such a simple request?

  He picked up his bag and motioned to her to lead the way. His stomach rumbled, reminding him how hungry he was.

  As he followed her through the heavy steel door he realized he was stepping into normally forbidden territory. He had never seen this part of the boardinghouse. No men were allowed here.

  In fact, they were barred from most of the areas except the offices, classrooms, and the orphanage—and that only when strictly necessary.

  Needless to say, he was curious, so he looked around as he followed the aging nun down a long corridor with rooms situ-ated on either side. All the doors were shut, which meant the boarders were either studying or sleeping at this hour.

  The nuns probably didn’t tolerate breaking of any house 62 Shobhan Bantwal

  rules regarding lights out or anything else that was part of their rigid lifestyle. He knew for a fact that the girls
were expected to wake up very early and attend mass at the on-site chapel before they ate breakfast.

  The passage was dimly lit. The nun’s sturdy black shoes and his own sounded loud on the gray flagstone floor. There was a faint acidic smell of stale urine combined with disinfectant in the air—an indication of toilets somewhere nearby.

  At the end of the corridor, Mother Regina knocked on a closed door. “Isha.”

  He heard a muffled reply. “Mother Regina?”

  “Yes, dear. I have the doctor with me. He’s here to examine the baby.”

  “One second, Mother,” said the soft, feminine voice. They waited until she called, “Please come in.”

  They walked into the small room. The woman said, “Praised be Jesus and Mary, Mother,” in the standard way to greet a nun in this particular convent.

  “Forever,” said Mother Regina, using the usual response to the greeting.

  It took Harish a second to adjust to the dim light coming from the single low-wattage lightbulb dangling from the ceiling.

  He looked around the quarters.

  A narrow cot, covered with a faded green bedspread, hugged the wall on one side and an ancient nightstand stood next to it.

  It had a jug of water, a tumbler, and a short stack of children’s books.

  On the floor next to the bed was a bedroll with a child sprawled over it. He could see a small head with curly brown hair resting on a pillow. A little pink ear and cheek were visible, but the rest of the face was buried in there somewhere. The tiny body was covered with a sheet. The child appeared to be asleep.

  Three large, bulging suitcases were stacked against the far wall. There was no wardrobe, or dresser, so the residents obviously lived out of their suitcases. The room was small and cramped, especially for three individuals, one of them being an infant that needed a lot of paraphernalia.

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  After a quick sweep of the room, his gaze latched on to the tableau in the chair by the window. A woman sat in it with a small bundle swaddled in white in her arms. It looked like she might have been nursing the baby. She had a small towel over her shoulder, covering one side of her chest. She wore a simple yellow kaftan.

  When he studied her face more closely, he nearly gasped.

  “Isha Ketkar!”

  She looked up, and her eyes went wide. She seemed equally astounded to see him.

  Chapter 7

  It took Isha a few seconds to recover from the surprise. She couldn’t remember his name. Mother Dora hadn’t mentioned it yesterday, either. This was going to be embarrassing since he had addressed her by her name—her maiden name of Ketkar.

  She had recognized that face at once. It hadn’t changed much over the years. This was a man she’d often seen in college. He was a year senior to her, if her memory served her correctly. She managed to smile. “It’s Isha Tilak now.”

  “Oh . . . of course. I’m sorry, Isha Tilak.” He looked a little flustered. “What a surprise to see you here.”

  “I’m sure it is a surprise. It has been many years.” Who wouldn’t be surprised to see someone like her, a Brahmin woman, residing in a convent, and giving birth to a baby there to boot? It was humiliating to come across someone she’d known in her younger days, when she’d had her looks, youth, and the promise of a bright future.

  Mother Regina looked at her with a puzzled frown. “You know Dr. Salvi?”

  Salvi! It came back to Isha in a flash. His name was Harish Salvi. Saved by Mother Regina! So the quiet, studious boy with the owlish glasses had gone on to become a doctor. Not surprising at all. He was so withdrawn compared to most of the other boys in college, one hardly noticed him.

  She couldn’t remember ever talking to him. The only thing she could recall clearly about him was his scholastic record. His THE

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  name was synonymous with all the top academic honors in those days. At the annual college award ceremony, he was called to the podium again and again amidst thunderous applause to receive his shiny silver trophies and certificates.

  “Dr. Salvi and I were contemporaries in college,” she explained to Mother Regina.

  Dr. Salvi busied himself with his medical bag and pulled out his paraphernalia: stethoscope, reflex hammer, tongue depressor, otoscope, pen, and writing pad. “I was a year senior to Mrs. Tilak, but you know how it is in a small town—everyone knows everyone else.”

  “I see.” Mother Regina seemed satisfied with the explanation.

  “Why don’t you put the baby on the bed, Isha, so the doctor can examine her?”

  Isha tried to get up from the depths of the sagging chair, but the pain that shot through her with the abrupt movement was so sharp that she flinched and blew out a shallow breath. Her per-ineal tear was still painful and it hurt to move. Mother Regina would never understand such things. Only a woman who’d gone through childbirth would know.

  But the doctor immediately stepped around the slumbering Priya and came forward, holding out his arms. “Here, let me take the child. You can stay right there.” He gently lifted the baby and placed her on the cot.

  With infinite care he pulled off the sheet until she lay with nothing on except a cotton nappy, which looked gray with age and years of washing with cheap soap. Mother Dora had produced a supply of those nappies from somewhere.

  Exposed to the cooler air and deprived of her cozy cocoon, the baby started to thrash around and fuss. The little wrinkled face scrunched into a tight, red ball of indignation. Isha’s immediate instinct was to go to her, but she knew this wasn’t the time for it.

  The baby needed to be examined by a qualified doctor, and she was glad Mother Regina had very thoughtfully arranged for Dr. Salvi to come all the way up here to do it. Knowing how strict the nuns were about men coming into this area, Isha real-66 Shobhan Bantwal

  ized the aging nun had broken a few sacred rules to do her a favor.

  Isha watched as Dr. Salvi carefully examined the baby. He was gentle and thorough as he scrutinized every inch, from fuzzy head to tiny toes. He took his time about it and made notes on his notepad. All the while, Mother Regina studied him, too.

  While he went about his task, Isha had time to notice other details about him. He was dressed in neat khaki pants and a tan-and-white-checked shirt. His brown leather shoes had a polished gleam. His clothes, although not fashionable, were of superior quality. The scholarly look, with short cropped hair and rather thick glasses, was still the same, but now he looked more mature, comfortable in his skin. Very professional.

  He had the calm, dependable look and demeanor of a medical practitioner.

  Isha would have liked a few private moments with the doctor to ask him questions and get a few recommendations on the baby’s care, but with Mother Regina hovering over them, it was impossible. Besides, there was no way the old woman would leave a young man and woman alone, no matter how professional the relationship.

  Meanwhile, piqued about being prodded, turned over, and having a cold stethoscope placed on her chest, the baby let out a gusty wail.

  “Good lungs,” pronounced the doctor with a pleased smile.

  Disturbed by the baby’s cries, Priya woke up. She sat up and looked around, seemingly disoriented. “Mummy!”

  “I’m right here, sweetie,” Isha answered, hoping the crying baby hadn’t disturbed the other girls in their rooms. If this happened every night, the nuns were likely to toss her and her children out.

  Fortunately the orphanage was housed in an adjoining building, so the really small children weren’t nearby. The nuns had given Isha a room of her own in the older girls’ boardinghouse, where she could keep her girls. Priya and she could eat in the dining room in return for the work she did at the orphanage.

  They couldn’t afford to pay any wages to Isha, so room and THE

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  board were her main forms of reimbursement,
plus Priya could attend school for free.

  Seeing a stranger and Mother Regina, Priya sprang to her feet and snuggled close to her mother. “Who is that?” she asked, glaring at Dr. Salvi.

  “Shh, it’s bad manners to speak that way,” scolded Isha, hoping Mother Regina wouldn’t chastise the child for her behavior.

  “This is Dr. Salvi. He has kindly offered to examine your baby sister. Please say namaste to him.”

  Instead of greeting him, Priya continued to stare at him. Then her gaze went to Mother Regina. “Why is he touching our baby?”

  “Sorry, doctor, she has become very possessive about the baby,” explained Isha, hoping he wasn’t offended by Priya’s surliness.

  “Perfectly normal at her age,” said the doctor, taking it in stride. Then he turned to Priya. “I need to touch your sister so I can make sure she’s healthy.”

  Priya’s eyes were still round and ripe with suspicion.

  He didn’t seem to be bothered by her guarded gaze. “What’s your name?” he asked her.

  “Priya Tilak,” the child answered after a long pause.

  “That’s a very nice name,” he said. “Do you have one for your baby sister yet?”

  A little less leery of him now, Priya nodded. “Diya.”

  “Priya and Diya!” He raised a brow at Priya, pretending surprise. “How did you manage to find an equally pretty name?

  And one that rhymes with yours? You must be very clever.”

  That melted Priya’s frosty attitude in an instant, and even elicited a pleased smile. “Mummy chose the name, not me.”

  “Then your Mummy must be clever, too.” He glanced at Isha with a hint of conspiracy in his dark eyes.

  Isha returned the look. It was he that was clever. With very little effort he’d managed to break through Priya’s reserve. The discovery came as one more surprise. When had this quiet and serious man become so friendly and witty? Was he always like that, even in his youth?

  Entirely comfortable now with the doctor, Priya slowly 68 Shobhan Bantwal

  shifted from her mother’s side to stand beside him. Natural curiosity about what he was doing to the baby was another possible reason. Pointing to the dark stub sticking out of the baby’s navel, she wrinkled her nose. “Eew! What is that?”