The Forbidden Daughter

by Shobhan Bantwal

  Turning to Sheila, he asked, “Would you mind if I have a few minutes alone with Isha?”

  “Not at all.” Sheila rose to her feet, looking relieved. “Please see if you can talk some sense into her and get her to eat something.” She not only left them alone but, after exchanging a meaningful glance with Harish, closed the door behind her, assuring them complete privacy.

  Harish walked over to occupy the spot Sheila had vacated.

  “Isha, I know this is hard for you to believe, but I consider Diya my own. I’ve seen her and cared for her since she was a day-old infant. I’ve come to love her and Priya as much as any adoptive father can.”

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  When he got no response from Isha, he wrapped his arms around her. “You already know I love you, too. I want what’s best for you. And what you need now is some nourishment.”

  “I’m nauseated by the sight of food.”

  “That’s because an empty stomach produces excess acid. If you eat a little, the nausea will go away. I promise.” He pried the baby’s dress away from her and laid it aside. Then he leaned forward and picked up the cup and saucer. “Do it for me if not for yourself.”

  Unable to resist his caring touch and his gentle plea, Isha took the cup and sipped the tea. She hated admitting it, but it tasted good. It had turned tepid, but the sweet, milky brew Sundari had made for her was astonishingly soothing as it trickled down her throat and into her stomach. Maybe she did need nourishment. All the while, she was conscious of Harish’s strong arm holding her up.

  “Now the biscuits,” he said, and waited till she’d crunched on them and washed them down with the last of the tea. “Good girl.” He smiled. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  She nodded. “You were right. I feel better.”

  “Now, I want you to lie down and rest for a while. You haven’t had a moment’s sleep.”

  “But I can’t sleep until I have Diya back.” She tossed him an accusing look. “You haven’t slept, either.”

  “I’ve become accustomed to that since I was an intern.” He put her empty cup back on the table. “I’ll give you something to help you sleep.” As soon as her mouth opened to protest, he clamped a hand over her shoulder. “Doctor’s orders! The minute I hear something, I’ll wake you.”

  “Promise?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She watched him open the door and leave. Exhaustion was gnawing at her brain, making it feel like a giant ball of wool.

  She’d had a throbbing ache around her temples for hours. It had set in the moment she’d realized Diya was gone. It had steadily become worse. But it was easing a bit now. As usual, he was THE

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  right. Some food and rest were what she needed. They would make her function better. But the need for assurance of her baby’s safety was vastly greater than the need for rest.

  A few minutes later, Harish walked in with his medical bag, rummaged through it, and located a bottle of pills. Shaking a single tablet into his palm, he went to the kitchen for a glass of water and returned in seconds. “Take this and lie down.”

  She obeyed him and swallowed the tiny pill, albeit with some hesitation. What if it made her sleep for hours? What if there was news of the baby and she slept through it? But then he’d promised to wake her. And she trusted him—with her life and Diya’s. He took the glass and motioned to her to lie down.

  Again she followed his instructions with no protest. She was too exhausted to put up a fight, anyway. Besides, it felt good to be taken care of by a man. And something surprised her: Harish’s firmness in dealing with her. She’d rarely seen the strict, no-nonsense Doctor-saheb demeanor before. But instead of resenting it, she realized she liked it. Side by side with his humane qualities, there was a tough-as-steel backbone in him.

  The combination of gentleness and hard resolve was what made him a strong man—a very special man.

  As her head settled on the pillow and Harish shut off the light and pulled a sheet to cover her with, she realized her eyelids were already heavy with weariness. Then he bent down and kissed her. It was just a whisper of a kiss, an unexpected brush of his lips against her mouth, but it was wonderful, like a warm security blanket tucked around her.

  “Get some rest. I’ll be in the drawing room if you need me,”

  he whispered and closed the door behind him.

  As she drifted into sleep she knew for sure he’d be there—

  right outside her room.

  Chapter 31

  Sheila decided to spend the night in Isha’s flat. Although Sundari was now completely recovered from her harrowing experience of the previous night, she wasn’t quite up to taking control of the household while Isha and Priya slept. Harish was still around but he could easily get called out on an emergency.

  Besides, Sheila had made that promise to her deceased brother that she would take care of his family. And nothing would deter her from carrying out her duty toward Isha and her nieces.

  Sundari had looked relieved when Sheila had informed her that she was going to spend the night with them. The attack had scared the old woman more than anyone had realized. She was still baffled about what exactly had occurred, and she’d been crying a lot, blaming herself for not protecting the baby, despite everyone’s assurances that it wasn’t her fault.

  When questioned about her comatose state the night before, Sundari had looked puzzled. “I heard the front door opening, but I thought it was Isha-bayi coming home, so I went back to sleep. I cannot remember anything after that.”

  From his observations, Harish had explained to Sheila what may have happened to Sundari. The kidnapper had probably pressed a rag soaked in chloroform over Sundari’s nose and mouth while she slept. She had no idea what had hit her. Whatever it was, Sheila was grateful it hadn’t had any adverse effect on Sundari’s health.

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  Changing into one of Isha’s kaftans, Sheila settled in the bed next to the sleeping Priya. The poor child had been driven home earlier by Kumar. Before Priya could ask too many questions and become upset once again, Harish had read her a bedtime story, and Sundari had tucked the tired little girl into bed.

  Sundari shut the bedroom door, unrolled her bedroll onto the floor, and lay down in her usual spot. Both the women were wide-awake, so they conversed in whispers.

  “Sheila-bayi, do you think Diya-baby will be . . . okay?” Sundari’s voice was filled with dread.

  “I hope so. I’m praying hard for Diya’s return, Sundari. All of us are.” Sheila tried to keep her own voice steady. She couldn’t afford to let the old woman see how scared she was. Sleep was going to be impossible to come by. If it wasn’t for the sleeping medicine Harish had forced on Isha, she would have been awake and obsessing, too.

  “Poor Doctor-saheb,” said Sundari after a minute of silence, referring to Harish resting in the drawing room. “He is trying so hard to help. And he looks so uncomfortable sleeping on the sofa.”

  “He is a very gallant man. He wouldn’t let anyone else take the sofa and give him the bed.”

  “Very good man he is—so patient and such a good doctor.

  He is doing so much for our Isha-bayi and the babies, no?”

  “You’re right.” Sheila stifled a tired yawn, but she was still too wound up to close her eyes. “I’m glad he takes such an active interest in Isha’s life.” She wondered exactly how far things had progressed between him and Isha.

  She had observed the evolving relationship between those two. It was clear that Harish was in love with her sister-in-law.

  He spent almost all his free time with Isha. His expression often bordered on worship when he gazed at her. But Isha’s attitude toward him was more that of a close friend than as a potential lover or wife.

  “Nobody would do so much for someone who is not a family member, no?” remarked Sundari, interrupting Sheila’s thoughts.
>
  “Hmm,” agreed Sheila. Sundari’s observation only convinced 280 Shobhan Bantwal

  her further that Harish was serious about Isha. Maybe he even wanted to marry her. A twinge of resentment stabbed at Sheila.

  Isha was still very much Nikhil’s wife and her children were Nikhil’s. They were Tilaks by birth.

  Sheila wasn’t sure she liked the idea of another man taking Nikhil’s place. If Harish did end up marrying Isha, then Sheila would no longer command the same status in their lives. She’d be an outsider to her own nieces, and to her sister-in-law, too.

  Probably guessing where Sheila’s thoughts were going, Sundari said, “Nikhil-saheb is not here anymore to provide for his wife and children. But God is taking care of that problem by sending Doctor-saheb to them, no?”

  Sheila shut her eyes and mulled over the comment. “The girls need to remember who their real father was.”

  “And they will. Isha-bayi will never allow them to forget their father. You see the photos of Nikhil-saheb in the drawing room? She is always showing those to the children and mentioning their father. And Doctor-saheb will not allow them to forget, either. He is an honorable man.”

  “You may be right,” admitted Sheila grudgingly. “But they’re my family.”

  “Of course they are. But Isha-bayi is so young and beautiful—and lonely. How long can she be alone, huh? She needs a man.”

  Sheila sighed. “I suppose I have to stop being selfish and look at what’s best for the girls and Isha.” She thought about it for another second. “They do need a man in their lives. And you know what else, Sundari?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I honestly can’t think of anyone more reliable or decent than Harish Salvi to take my brother’s place. He’s a good man.”

  “I am thinking the same thing, no?” Sundari said. “So, you are not worried that he is not a Brahmin?”

  Sheila nearly laughed. “That’s the last thing I’m concerned about. All I want is for my nieces to have a caring father and Isha to be happy once again.”

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  Sundari’s sigh was long and audible. “But I am not sure that Isha-bayi will agree to marry him.”

  “Has he asked her to marry him?”

  “I don’t know. She does not tell me these things. But I know her well and I am thinking maybe she has decided not to get married—to anyone.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I think she worries about losing another man. And she still remembers Nikhil-saheb and is not ready to forget him.”

  “It’s hard to forget one’s husband, you know.” Sheila thought about her feelings for Kumar. She couldn’t imagine anyone else taking his place. That was the way Isha and she were raised, in a culture that groomed individuals, especially women, for monogamy, unconditional acceptance, and lifelong commitment. Men sometimes betrayed their wives, but women rarely strayed away from the straight and narrow path carved out by their mothers and grandmothers. Total devotion was the norm.

  Anything else was unthinkable.

  “I know, I know,” said Sundari quietly.

  Her answer reminded Sheila that the old woman had been abandoned by an evil husband when she was barely out of her teens. But she’d never remarried. Maybe she, too, had worried about losing another man.

  “That’s right. If anyone should know, it’s you.”

  “But my time was different. In the olden days, if our husbands died or left us, we stayed alone for the rest of our lives; we were no more than kachra. Garbage. But now it is modern times and everything has changed. Widows and divorced women can marry again now, and Isha-bayi should think about it.”

  Sheila was silent for a long time before she suggested,

  “Maybe you and I could persuade Isha to accept Harish’s proposal if he decides to offer her marriage.”

  Sundari snorted, a sardonic sound Sheila didn’t hear very often from her. “Isha-bayi may be gentle and kind, but she makes up her own mind. No one can force her to do anything she does not want to do.”

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  “Right again,” concurred Sheila. For a mild and relatively pliable woman, Isha could be surprisingly stubborn when it came to certain things. Hadn’t she proved that by standing up to Baba and Ayee and refusing to have an abortion despite their efforts to coerce her? Later, when the oppression had become unbearable, she’d walked out on them, once again proving that she was a strong woman who did what she thought was right.

  Within the next minute Sheila heard Sundari’s breathing turn deep and even, then gradually transition into snoring. So she turned onto her side and shut her eyes, wondering if Diya would ever be found alive. Tears burned her eyelids. God, please bring her home.

  The doorbell rang. Harish woke up with a start and sat upright from his sleeping position on Isha’s sofa. He pushed his glasses over his nose and was on his feet in an instant, despite the stiffness that had set in from lying on the cramped piece of furniture with its slashed cushions. Years of responding to emergencies any hour of the day or night had made him immune to such minor inconveniences. The brain snapped into action at a split-second’s notice.

  Barefoot he strode to open the door and was puzzled to find no one there. He stuck his head outside and looked in both directions in the hallway. There was nobody. Then his eyes fell on the envelope lying on the floor.

  Harish’s chest quivered and tightened. It had to be from the kidnapper! Bending down to retrieve it, he noticed it was addressed to Isha. Someone had just delivered it in person mere seconds ago. The deliverer had to still be in the vicinity.

  He instantly raced down the hallway and down the stairs, all the way through the foyer and out the building. Outside, there was not a soul to be seen. No sound of running feet, no soft rus-tle of clothing. Nothing. Not a single vehicle was in sight, either.

  The neighborhood looked dead.

  Keeping his eyes and ears wide-open for any kind of movement or sound, he stood on the footpath a long time. Several THE

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  minutes later, there was still nothing. Whoever it was had been quick as lightning—and stealthy.

  Frustrated, he returned to the second floor. If he’d gone to the door two seconds earlier he could have nabbed the bastard—at least caught a glimpse of him. If only he’d been wide-awake instead of fast asleep, he would have heard something and opened the door before the bell was rung.

  But it was too late for any of that now.

  Studying the envelope once again, he noted there was no address, just Isha’s name. He entered the flat to find Sheila and Sundari standing in the drawing room, staring at him, their eyes wide with the same kind of ominous anticipation he felt.

  “What is it?” Sheila demanded.

  “It’s an envelope for Isha,” he said, fighting the urge to tear it open.

  “Who delivered it?”

  “No idea. Someone rang the bell and disappeared by the time I got to the door. I ran and looked outside on the street, but there’s no one. I found this on the doorstep.”

  “Open it!” she commanded.

  “But it’s addressed to Isha.”

  “Then wake her up, for heaven’s sake!” She plopped into the nearest chair and blew out a sigh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t snap at you.” She tucked her disheveled hair behind her ears. “It’s all this stress . . .” She put her hand forward. “Give it to me; I’ll open it.”

  Harish handed it to her and watched her tear it open with little ceremony. Her eyes grew wide.

  “Oh my God!” She put a hand to her chest.

  “What is it?” Panic leapt into his throat. Had they killed Diya? Unable to keep himself from peeking, he noticed it was a typewritten letter, or rather something printed off a computer.

  Naturally the kidnapper didn’t want to reveal his handwriting.

  And he’d probably worn gloves to handle the letter and the envelo
pe.

  “He’s asking for ten lakhs in cash,” Sheila murmured, “along 284 Shobhan Bantwal

  with the information Isha’s holding, to be left in a designated spot.”

  One million rupees!

  “Good Lord!” Harish started to pace the floor. Ten lakhs was more than his gross earnings in a six-month period. But if the kidnapper was looking for cash, then there was a good chance Diya was still alive. But was she well or was she scared and hungry, possibly dehydrated?

  He drove a tight fist into his other hand, flinching at the self-inflicted pain. It was so infuriating! He’d never experienced this kind of desperation to reach a resolution with his hands tied behind his back.

  Who was this evil son of a bitch who obviously worked for Karnik? How did he know Isha lived separately from her in-laws? How had he found her new address in the first place? It only served to confirm his suspicions, once again, that the man was connected to the police.

  “He’s probably taking money from Karnik on the one hand and trying to extort more from Isha on the other,” he said.

  “Double-dipping, as the Americans call it.” He turned his attention back to Sheila and the note lying in her lap. “What else does the note say? It looks like there’s more.”

  Sheila read further. “He’s giving Isha until eleven o’clock in the morning to come up with the cash.”

  Harish looked at the clock. It was a little past midnight. Day-break wasn’t too far off. “He knows the banks open at ten in the morning. The lunatic is giving us precisely one hour to get together an enormous amount of cash.”

  “He says if there are any copies of the evidence anywhere, and he finds out about them later, he’ll resort to other means. If his demands are not met by eleven tomorrow . . . Oh Lord!”

  “What?” Fear was like an octopus that spread a million ten-tacles through Harish’s body. He’d never known anything like it in his whole life. It left him petrified.

  “He . . . uh . . . he threatens to blow up your house.”

  “My house!” It took Harish a moment to digest that. The bastard was going to use every bit of leverage he could find.