The Forbidden Daughter

by Shobhan Bantwal

  It didn’t take a genius to figure it out, even if Gowda had assured him that Salvi’s message for Patil had been intercepted by him, therefore no one at the superintendent’s office knew about a call coming in for their boss.

  Isha Tilak had probably already called all her friends and started an ugly rumor about Karnik’s alleged role in the kidnapping of her child. Before the sun came up, the police would be on top of it.

  Then the media would go wild about the latest crime to hit the small, previously unsullied town of Palgaum: a beautiful, father-less baby girl kidnapped from her bed and her devoted nursemaid rendered unconscious with drugs. And the baby just happened to be the posthumous child of a recent, high-profile murder victim—and that murder was still under question. It was so damned dramatic, exactly what the public loved, a made-for-Bollywood type of sob story.

  And then Karnik would be ruined for life—if he wasn’t already.

  “I can’t go on with this,” he told Gowda after a minute of silent deliberation. He’d had enough. He was getting too old for this kind of excitement. Murder and kidnapping had no place in his ordinary life in this dull little town.

  Gowda went still. “What do you mean?” His scowl was fero-THE

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  cious. His mustache twitched with barely concealed fury, making Karnik’s head snap backward.

  Nonetheless Karnik put on his bravest front. He couldn’t show Gowda that he was scared stiff, terrified enough to piss in his pants. “Exactly that. I’m obviously dealing with a lunatic.

  You have landed me in more trouble than it is worth.”

  Gowda stepped forward and poked a long finger into Karnik’s bony chest, his eyebrows joined together over the bridge of his nose in an enraged knot. “Don’t blame this on me, old man! Nikhil Tilak attacked me like an angry bull when I asked him to hand over the stolen material.”

  “Likely story,” Karnik shot back. His legs were shaking.

  “I asked politely, but he turned on me. I only defended myself.”

  “By stabbing him again and again? That was not self-defense; that was unnecessary butchering. If you had to kill him, why couldn’t you use your gun and put a quick bullet through the brain?”

  “My gun is a registered firearm and the bullets are trace-able.” Gowda threw him a disdainful grunt. “You should know that simple fact. Don’t you watch any crime shows on television?”

  “How would I know anything about guns?”

  “Well, I do!” Gowda fumed. “And stabbing was the best way to make it look like an armed robbery gone wrong. And after all the trouble I went to for you, I found nothing in his office.”

  “He was apparently not foolish enough to keep it in an obvious place,” Karnik hissed. “He kept it at home. And now his wife has it.”

  “I’m telling you, it’s nowhere in that flat. She has nothing.”

  “Then it could be in her father-in-law’s house, or her safe deposit box. Maybe that’s where Nikhil had always kept it.” He should have known an astute man like Tilak wouldn’t store incriminating data in an easily accessible place like his office.

  “Aha! Then the only way she will give it to us is if she knows her child’s life depends on it.”

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  Karnik slumped in his chair and blew out a long, labored breath. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.” The ringing in his ears had just gone up by several decibels. It was getting harder to breathe. What the hell was he going to do about Gowda, about the kidnapped child, about himself, his family?

  Gowda leaned forward with his hands braced on Karnik’s desk, his face barely inches above Karnik’s. “You better get the money together.” His voice was menacingly low. “I’ll worry about the child. If losing her baby doesn’t work, I have something else that will work on Isha Tilak. I have a hunch the evidence is hidden in Salvi’s house. They were both in his house after she confronted you. They went to her flat late at night and he returned home with a bag on his shoulder. His house is probably where they’re hiding the material.”

  Karnik shook his head. “Please, no more killing. I’ll give you the money I owe you. But just go away and leave me alone.” He shut his eyes and pressed his fingers over his temples. His mind was revolving in such tight circles that he couldn’t think or concentrate on anything at the moment. He was too dizzy for rational thought.

  Straightening up from the desk, Gowda headed for the door.

  “If the money is not in my hands by tomorrow, I’ll never leave you alone. My own reputation and career are at risk, Karnik. I have a family to support. You may be a rich old man, but I’m not.” He pointed a finger at Karnik, his hand emulating a gun.

  “Don’t forget that, Doctor-saheb.”

  Watching the man leave, Karnik knew Gowda’s threat wasn’t an empty one. That evil man would stoop to anything. To make matters worse, the bastard was a police officer. He was not only trained to kill, but he was bright enough to rise from a mere constable to the rank of inspector, greedy enough to get rich on bribes and crimes, and clever enough to cover up his bloody tracks.

  It was Karnik’s bad luck that he had stumbled upon Gowda, or rather Gowda had found him, when he had unexpectedly THE

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  come poking around to review Karnik’s records some two years ago. Somehow Gowda had got wind of the abortions and secretly approached him, talking about an investigation. He had also dropped subtle hints that if Karnik paid him a certain amount, he would forget the whole thing. So Karnik had paid him the requested amount, and everything had been blissfully quiet after that point.

  Of course, at the time, Karnik had been so scared and naive that he hadn’t thought of questioning Gowda about the legiti-macy of the so-called investigation. In a state of panic, he had assumed it was an official directive from the police department.

  It was only later, after he’d paid the man an exorbitant amount of cash, that he’d analyzed the whole episode, even wondered if Gowda had played the same trick on other doctors in town. The man was both conniving and convincing. He was evil.

  Back then, Gowda had also hinted that he’d do most anything to make extra money on the side. That’s the reason why Karnik had gone to him for help when Tilak had become a threat. But that was his first big mistake. That single error was now turning into a ghastly nightmare: one gruesome murder, one kidnapping, and heaven knew what else in the future.

  Gowda had just mentioned something else—something perhaps deadly.

  The media would cover every sordid detail, just like they had with Tilak’s murder. This would turn into a sequel to that story.

  Palgaum had never seen so much excitement.

  What other horrors were about to break out? Karnik cringed at the thought.

  He absently massaged his shoulder. It had begun to throb.

  His throat felt dry and his stomach churned. He didn’t know how much longer he could go on like this. His blood pressure problem had escalated recently. He was suffering from insomnia and heartburn once again, too.

  His wife was worried about his deteriorating health. She had even called their son and daughter about her concerns, and those two had started asking him curious questions.

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  On a tired breath he leaned back in his chair and stared at his hands for a very long time—a killer’s hands. And yet, they were trained to be healing hands.

  The clock on his desk read 2:16 AM. There would be no sleep for him tonight.

  He shut his eyes—and wondered if it was better to die than to lose face and end up in prison.

  Chapter 29

  There was a knock on the study door. “Vivek.”

  Karnik’s eyes flew open. Oh no! Neela! “Yes?”

  The door opened and he turned his head to see his wife standing on the threshold.

  “Why aren’t you in bed?” he asked her, wondering how long she’d been standing there. T
here was something about her still-ness and expression that made him wonder how much she’d heard.

  Her kaftan looked rumpled, and her graying, plaited hair was disheveled, which meant she’d probably just climbed out of bed.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she answered, studying him with that anxious look she had more and more lately, which seemed to cast a shadow over her pleasant face. “And you never came to bed.”

  “Try to sleep, Neela.” He felt too ill to face an interrogation by his wife. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “That’s what you said two hours ago.”

  “I was busy!” he snapped.

  “You don’t look busy. And you don’t look well,” she murmured. “Is it the angina again?”

  He nodded. “Don’t worry. I just took my pills; I’ll be all right.”

  “That man was here again—the computer repairman,” she said, approaching him. It was the way she said it—wariness bordering on accusation—that told him she knew more than she was letting on.

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  His fists tightened. “How long were you standing outside the door, Neela?”

  “Long enough.” She pulled up a chair beside him and sat down. “Isn’t it time you told me what is going on, Vivek?”

  Her eyes continued to search his face. What was she looking for? Guilt? Shame? Regret? He was suffering plenty of all three, and then some. The physical pain in his upper body more than matched his emotional torment.

  “It’s nothing.” He dismissed her question with a wave. “Just a complicated computer problem.”

  She placed a hand on his arm. “You know and I know he isn’t a computer repairman.” When he opened his mouth to deny it, she cut him off. “Show me a single repairman in Palgaum who works at this time of the night.”

  “I—” He didn’t know what to say. His wife was too damn perceptive.

  “I’m not stupid, Vivek!” Her grip on his arm tightened. “This has to do with the Tilaks, doesn’t it? And please don’t try to deny it.”

  He was silent for a minute. He’d never heard such angry reprimand in his wife’s voice in the more than four decades he’d been married to her. “How much did you hear?”

  “Most of it. But then I had suspected it long before tonight.”

  His labored breath came out in a hiss. “How?”

  “I’m not blind, either,” she said. “You have been stressed and restless for well over a year now. Your blood pressure and heart problems have escalated. What is happening to you?”

  “I’m seventy years old, Neela. Hypertension, heart problems—these things come with old age,” he said, rubbing his burning eyes.

  “Does dishonesty and immorality come with old age, too?”

  When his eyes went wide at her cutting sarcasm, she added,

  “Oh yes, I know more than you think. I have been observing you very closely. You had something to do with Nikhil Tilak’s death, didn’t you?”

  Dear God! She knew! She’d known all along. He scrubbed THE

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  his face with one shuddering hand. “Not directly. I didn’t want it to happen, Neela. I swear!”

  “How could you stoop to this? ” Her eyes were ripe with enraged disappointment. “How could a doctor kill a man deliberately?”

  “I didn’t! That . . . that man, who just left, ended up killing him when he shouldn’t have. I never wanted anyone dead.” He knew his excuse sounded lame. And it was lame, even to his ears. He was just as guilty as Gowda.

  “And you never told me about this?” The anger was gone from her eyes now. There was only pain there, and it broke his heart to see what he was doing to her.

  “What could I tell you? That I hired someone to do something mildly illegal, but things didn’t go as planned, and somehow it ended up in a man’s death?”

  “Then why did you hire someone?”

  “Because I had to protect myself and you and our reputation.”

  “And what exactly is mildly illegal?” she demanded. When he hesitated, she groaned like she was in real, physical agony.

  Maybe she was, just like he. “All this has to do with killing unborn female babies, doesn’t it?”

  He sucked in a stunned breath, wondering how she had figured all this out. Always caring, always nurturing and supportive of his career, she had never once asked pointed questions about his work, nor indicated that she suspected anything—at least not in this fashion. “You know that, too?” he asked, frowning.

  “I may not be highly educated like you, but like I said, I’m not without a brain. Don’t you think I can figure out why your patients have so many baby boys and so few girls? Even my friends ask me how you can be so lucky as to have practically every patient of yours give birth to a boy.” She sighed. “I have no logical answer to their curious questions.”

  He remained silent. While he’d gone about his tasks quietly and efficiently (or so he had assumed), his wife and everyone else had been drawing certain conclusions.

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  “And why is it that only in the last few years you have been working so often on Sunday afternoons and very late evenings?

  At a time in your life when you should be taking it easy and not doing additional work, you have been working harder than ever. What does that say?” She stopped to stare at him. “You have been secretly performing abortions, haven’t you?”

  In all his years of marriage to Neela, he’d never lied to her, nor hidden anything from her, except this matter of abortion—

  and all the nasty things that had come as a result of it. Because of how honest and religious she was, he had never worked up the nerve to confide in her. He couldn’t lose the respect of the one person who loved him unconditionally. She had been a faithful, trusting, and adoring wife.

  He nodded. “It was wrong on my part.” And foolish.

  “Why, Vivek?” she queried softly. “You are such a brilliant doctor and you have made more than enough money with a large and wonderful practice. When God has been so generous to us why did you need to do something unconscionable like this?” She put a hand to his face. “Does it not bother you to kill so many unborn babies?”

  He leaned his head back and gazed at the rotating ceiling fan.

  She was right—so bloody right.

  “Don’t you think of our own daughter when you get rid of all those tiny infants?”

  He mulled over her hurtful questions. At first he had thought of his own daughter and the joy she had brought into their lives.

  But just like a doctor gradually learns to accept blood and pain and disease and death as part and parcel of the medical profession, he’d become immune to the procedure.

  That’s all it was after the first few times—a sterile clinical procedure.

  “What will you teach your grandchildren, my dear?” she asked, her voice a mere murmur. “And don’t forget you have a young granddaughter who loves you very much. What if she had been eliminated when she was just a fetus?”

  His precious little granddaughter! Dear God! Hearing those words from his wife’s mouth was like a knife being thrust into THE

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  him again and again. He felt his chest constrict. The angina was worse than ever. The pain was becoming unbearable.

  Despite his iron control on his emotions the floodgates opened up. Everything he’d been holding inside for months erupted at once. He leaned forward, placed his arms on the desk, and rested his head over them. The sobs that came were loud and pitiful.

  He felt Neela’s hands gently stroke his back. “Shh. I’m sorry I said some hurtful things,” she said, weeping with him. “But you needed to face this, Vivek. You need to resolve it. You cannot go on like this. All this internal turmoil is killing you little by little.”

  As a strong man, he had never wept before his wife. In fact, he couldn’t remember crying since he was about twelve years old, when his bicycle ha
d been damaged in an accident. Now he just couldn’t stop sobbing. He lifted his head, turned around, and wrapped his arms around Neela. “I’m s-sorry. I’m so very sorry.”

  She cradled his head on her bosom. “Shh, it’s okay. It will be all right. You can stop this abortion nonsense right now, and ask God for forgiveness. Then we’ll pray together,” she consoled.

  “We’ll do a special vrath, ” she said, referring to an intensive religious cleansing ritual that included fasting and praying and making special offerings to the temple.

  “No vrath in the world is going to absolve me, Neela,” he sobbed. “You don’t know the worst of it.”

  He felt her stiffen. “You mean there is more?”

  Retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket, he pulled away from her and dried his eyes and nose. He had to confess to his wife, or he would explode. Now that the cathartic process had been put in motion, he couldn’t seem to stop it from barreling ahead. He wanted to get the burden off his chest. If he died tonight for some reason, he would at least go with a clearer conscience. “Some time ago, my records of the abortions were stolen.”

  Neela’s eyes went wide. “You actually kept records of those . . .

  horrible procedures? Where?”

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  “In my home computer,” he said, inclining his head toward it. He tried to take a deep breath to ease the increasing tightness in his chest, but it didn’t help much. His wife’s expression was so full of contempt it made him squirm. “I had to, Neela! Don’t you understand? It was a medical procedure. Somehow I had to keep an account of when and where and how much money was involved in each transaction.”

  Comprehension slowly descended over Neela’s face. “But what does Nikhil Tilak have to do with all this?”

  “Tilak was the one who stole my abortion data and threatened to take it to the police. So I paid Inspector Gowda to get it back from Tilak.”

  “Who is this Inspector Gowda? How do you know him?”

  “It is a long story.” He haltingly explained to her everything from the beginning, including his recent run-in with Isha Tilak.