The Forbidden Daughter

by Shobhan Bantwal

  “He . . . um . . .” The mixed emotions were making Isha tremble. “He killed Nikhil supposedly in self-defense.”

  “How could it be self-defense when he broke into our store THE

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  and stabbed my son to death?” demanded Baba, his mouth quivering.

  “Apparently Gowda couldn’t find the evidence, so he and Karnik left the matter alone, assuming that since Nikhil was dead Karnik would be safe.”

  “So what is happening now?” asked Baba, abruptly and unexpectedly subsiding into resigned calm. His color was beginning to improve but he was unusually subdued, very unlike the arrogant, demanding man Isha had known. She knew for sure then that he blamed himself, at least partly, for Nikhil’s death.

  “Because of my actions, Karnik hired him again,” she admitted. “But Mrs. Karnik told me Gowda is a deranged and dangerous man who’s been extorting money from Karnik. And the killing and kidnapping were Gowda’s ideas, not Karnik’s. All Karnik supposedly wanted was to recover what belonged to him.”

  “Did she mention where the baby is?” Sheila asked, putting a comforting arm around Isha’s shoulders.

  “Gowda supposedly has her in his house. His wife is taking care of her.” Overwhelmed, Isha put her face in her hands. “If he’s unstable I’m afraid he may have . . . killed her by now.”

  “Don’t say that!” Sheila wrapped her arms around Isha.

  “Don’t even think that. If Gowda’s wife is keeping an eye on her, I’m sure Diya’s safe.”

  “Sheila’s right,” concurred Harish. “I know Mrs. Gowda.

  The Gowda’s children are my patients. She seems like a pleasant, normal woman.”

  Harish’s phone started to peal and he flipped it open.

  “Phillip?” He listened for a second. “Oh, Patil has landed? Excellent!”

  “Tell him about Neela Karnik’s call,” prompted Sheila.

  Nodding at her, Harish quickly described the situation to Phillip.

  There was a long pause while he was put on hold, so Harish explained to the rest of them that Phillip was discussing the latest developments with Patil. Then Phillip came back on the line 296 Shobhan Bantwal

  with information, and Harish asked him, “Right now? Very good! And ring me as soon as you know the address. I’ll meet you there.”

  Harish ended the call and thrust the phone back into his pocket. “Patil is gathering his best armed policemen and they’ll head to Gowda’s house as soon as they can. It will take a while for him to make some phone calls, pick up his Jeep from the airport parking lot, and then drive to Gowda’s house. Phillip’s going to let me know when they’re ready to leave the airport.”

  In spite of the new information the word deranged still disturbed Isha. If Gowda was indeed a psychopath, Diya could be dead by now, or perhaps badly hurt. God, she couldn’t bear to think that. A quick and painless death would be better than being tortured. Why, Lord? Why did you give her to me as a gift after that long struggle, only to take her away now?

  They all sat in taut silence, sipping cups of Sundari’s tea and willing the phone to ring.

  Exactly thirty-eight minutes later, Phillip called Harish to inform him that he and Patil were getting ready to leave the airport. He also gave Harish Gowda’s address.

  Harish was striding toward the door in the next instant. “I’m going there to meet them.”

  “I will go with you,” announced Baba, rising to his feet.

  “The police don’t want any civilians around, sir,” said Harish, trying to keep his voice respectful despite his contempt for Srikant Tilak.

  “Then how come you are going?” Tilak demanded.

  Harish sighed. “I’m a doctor. I can help in ways you can’t.”

  Kumar nodded in assent. “He’s right, Baba. It’s best that we leave this to the police.”

  “Harish.” Isha went to him. “Can I please go with you?”

  He shook his head. “Phillip and Patil said no. It’s risky.”

  “Is it safe for you to go, then?”

  “I’ll take care of myself. Don’t worry.”

  “I can’t help worrying.” When she saw the determined light in his eyes, she knew he would go, no matter how dangerous it was.

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  Then she thought of something. “Wait one second.” She ran to the bedroom and returned with a fuzzy stuffed toy—a chocolate-colored monkey with a silly grin on its face. It had miraculously missed the kidnapper’s wrath. “Take this. It’s her favorite toy.

  She stops crying when she sees it, no matter how upset she is.”

  Harish tucked the toy under his arm. In spite of the riveted audience, he put a hand to Isha’s face. “I’ll do my best to bring Diya back. Meanwhile just keep praying.”

  She nodded. “Thank you, Harish. I’ll never forget your kindness.”

  Chapter 33

  As Harish raced to the address Phillip had given him, his heart was hammering wildly against his ribs. Despite his outward calm, put on mostly for Isha’s sake, he was thoroughly scared.

  He had handled a variety of medical emergencies, but this was an entirely different type of crisis for him—so much more personal—with so much more at stake.

  Nonetheless, he had to keep his faith in the fact that Diya was in a woman’s care. With some luck the baby would come out of this alive and well.

  It was still very early in the morning, not quite seven o’clock, and the sun was barely out when he turned onto Temple Road, a community of middle-class individual homes, most of them built some twenty-five to thirty years ago. The streetlights were still on, and he could see that on many homes the paint was mot-tled with mold in places that didn’t see the sun. Lights were on in some windows.

  Deep pink and purple streaks painted the dawn sky. Flocks of crows were already perched on rooftops, foraging for insects and tidbits. It was a cool, dewy, typical Palgaum morning, with puffs of fog still lingering in places. If he wasn’t in such a height-ened state of dread, he’d have driven at a more leisurely pace, savored the scene.

  On the street, there were three police vehicles parked at odd angles amidst the civilian ones. Obviously the police had rushed there and done a haphazard parking job.

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  He left his own car several houses down so as to remain in-conspicuous. Phillip had warned him that the only way Patil would allow the presence of a civilian during a police raid would be if Harish stayed a good distance away and didn’t interfere in the operation. Even Phillip was allowed to be there as a professional courtesy and because of his crucial role in the evolving crisis.

  Taller and wider than the other officers, Phillip was clearly visible. Also, he was the only one not wearing a uniform besides Patil, who had probably driven there straight from the airport.

  The two men stood a little distance away from the others, who were huddled behind a Jeep. They stood in a tight circle surrounding one man who was talking and gesturing.

  They were obviously working out a strategy to approach Gowda.

  Despite the clandestine nature of the police activity and the early hour of the morning, there were a few curious people already emerging from their homes and standing on their verandas, staring at the men. One bald old man stood bare-chested in white pajamas, speaking into a mobile phone. He had probably jumped out of bed and immediately started calling his neighbors and friends, inviting them over for a front-row view of whatever was about to happen.

  Noticing Harish’s arrival, Phillip signaled him over. It surprised Harish, who’d planned on standing at a safe distance because of Patil’s instructions. But Phillip motioned to him again, so he approached the two men.

  “Got here rather fast, I see,” said Phillip, slapping Harish’s shoulder in a gesture of friendly support. His expression said: you were speeding again, weren’t you, you devil?
/>
  Patil offered his hand to Harish. “Dr. Salvi. I’m sorry about the Tilak child.” He raised one thick brow. “The baby is your patient?”

  “Yes.” But Diya was much more than a patient. She was his baby, as much his as she was Nikhil’s. His fear about the possibility of losing her was proof of that. “The Tilaks are close fam-300 Shobhan Bantwal

  ily friends,” he added in response to Patil’s speculative eyes summing up Harish’s role in the nasty business.

  Harish surveyed the modest, single-story house that looked similar to his own bungalow. Not a curtain stirred in the two windows facing the street as the first rays of the sun began to penetrate the fog and cast a dull glow on the panes. Were Gowda and his family still asleep? Or was the lunatic awake and pacing? And where was Diya?

  “The inspector is getting his troops ready to surround Gowda’s house,” Patil explained, indicating the huddled circle of men.

  “Is it safe to do that? What if Gowda panics and does something rash?” Like kill the baby.

  “It’s our last resort,” answered Patil with a resigned shrug.

  “We know he is in there, but he refuses to answer his phone, and it’s too dangerous to go knock on the door. He could start shooting.” He narrowed his eyes on the house. “But he knows we’re here.”

  “How do you know that he knows?”

  “He’s aware of our presence, Harish,” said Phillip. “I bet he hasn’t slept a wink all night, since he’s been writing ransom notes and planning a means of escape.”

  “You think he may have expected this?”

  Patil shook his head. “I don’t think so. But it is no longer a surprise. He is able to see what’s happening outside his house and must realize that we’re here to apprehend him.”

  “And yet he hasn’t tried to make contact with you?”

  “He is overconfident, and he has some psychiatric issues. We have had problems with him ever since he joined the department. Over the years, he has been getting bolder and more . . .

  uh . . . difficult.”

  Harish frowned at him. “Then why is he still on the force? Why wasn’t a renegade police officer with psychiatric issues fired?”

  “Lack of solid proof, Doctor!” snapped Patil, his tone both defensive and condescending. “Government does not function like the private sector, you know.” He obviously considered Harish’s question ridiculously naive.

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  “But there must have been something to make you aware of his activities?”

  “Minor infractions here and there, which we tried to address.”

  Harish noticed that Patil didn’t elaborate on them. The police fraternity was a tight-knit group and very defensive. They preferred to keep their dirty secrets hidden from the harsh, censorious glare of the civilian world.

  “Temporary suspension and other disciplinary measures have not worked with him,” admitted Patil. “He thinks he is invinci-ble.” He let out a tired sigh. He was unshaven and tousled from his long overnight journey. “Gowda is too clever to leave any evidence of his crimes around.”

  “He probably never expected Karnik to confess—or rather, confess through his wife. He certainly wouldn’t have thought Karnik would have a heart attack and ruin his plans.”

  “This must be a shock to Gowda,” granted Patil. “Like I said, he probably had everything planned—taking the money and escaping from the country, most likely to some place like Nepal. I understand it is quite easy to disappear into those mountains.”

  Some movement from behind the Jeep caught their eye and all three men glanced in that direction. “Looks like they’re ready,” said Phillip.

  Harish’s back stiffened. He returned his gaze to the house. As if on cue, a curtain stirred in one of the windows. He couldn’t see beyond it inside the darkened room, but the eerie prickle on his arms was enough to signal that Patil and Phillip were right.

  Gowda was watching them, and he, too, knew something serious was about to happen. He had to be at least a little concerned—the sick, arrogant bastard.

  The armed policemen moved quickly and stealthily, like ghosts flitting about in the first light of dawn. Within seconds they surrounded the bungalow, crouching behind bushes and any other reasonably safe place they could find. Harish watched them position themselves out of direct range of the windows and doors.

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  Looking around the area, he noticed there were more neighbors spilling out now, some of them getting rather close. News was spreading fast. Patil at once rushed to shoo the closer ones away. They reluctantly moved back a step or two. He returned and motioned to Phillip and Harish to crouch beside him behind one of the Jeeps, the one farthest from Gowda’s house.

  With a mixture of dread and fascination Harish followed Patil’s orders. If it weren’t for the fact that there was a child very precious to him facing grave danger inside that house, he’d have considered it an adventure, straight out of a thriller movie.

  How much more Bollywood-ish could it get than this? A kidnapped child, an outrageously large ransom demand, and an elite police team deployed in the predawn hours to apprehend a psychopathic criminal—a policeman himself. No wonder all those spectators stood riveted. They were Gowda’s neighbors.

  They had to know Gowda personally.

  As for Harish, his heart was pounding with terror. Despite the coolness of a typical Palgaum morning, perspiration was gathering on his back and chest, making his shirt damp. A bloody shootout could start any second. People could be killed. Diya could be killed.

  But he couldn’t afford to indulge in such dark thoughts. He had to focus on getting her back in one piece.

  As he observed the inspector bring out a mobile phone from his pocket and start to dial, Harish knew the showdown was about to begin. He had always imagined a tense, dramatic scenario like this would mean the use of a bullhorn. But in the next instant he realized a device like that would attract the entire neighborhood and beyond. A mobile phone and a quiet conversation with the hostage-taker were more practical.

  But Gowda supposedly wasn’t answering his phone. So then what?

  Harish glanced at the other two men and realized it wasn’t just he who was vibrating with anxiety. The tension emanating from Patil and Phillip matched his own. Perspiration beads were glistening on Phillip’s forehead and patches of sweat were form-THE

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  ing around the underarms of his dark blue T-shirt. Patil’s troubled eyes were fixed on the house.

  Even the spectators, who so far had been whispering amongst themselves, now stood in tense anticipation. Harish held his breath as he heard the deep bass voice of the inspector speak into the phone. From that distance it was hard to hear every word, but Harish managed to catch some of it. He was informing Gowda that he was surrounded and requesting him to come out unarmed and with his hands held up.

  His call probably went to voice mail, because he dialed again a minute later and repeated his words, very slowly this time, enunciating every syllable so there was no room for misunderstanding.

  Although Harish didn’t move an inch from his crouched position, from the corners of his eyes he could see more people pouring out into the street. The sun was rising higher and getting brighter by the minute, too.

  He noticed Phillip and Patil making a quick survey of the burgeoning crowd around them. “Bloody hell!” whispered Patil. “Why are they all crowding here? We don’t need more ca-sualties. That idiot could start shooting any sec—”

  Boom! A muffled crack split the air, cutting him off in mid-sentence.

  A gunshot!

  Chapter 34

  The sound of the gunshot sent a jolt through Harish. Instinctively he ducked, shuddered. He’d never heard shots fired from a gun in real life before, only in movies and TV shows. A few shocked sounds emerged from the crowd nearby.

  Turning around, he saw a man with a
large, professional-looking camera furiously taking photographs. The media had arrived!

  He wasn’t sure whom the shot had come from—Gowda or one of the policemen. He was itching to rise and take a peek, to find out for himself. But Patil and Phillip had warned him about such behavior, so he remained in place, his sense of doom mounting.

  Phillip’s gaze met his. He must have read the question in Harish’s eyes. “It’s Gowda’s gun.”

  “How do you know?” Harish’s mind was conjuring up the most horrifying images of Diya blown to bits. Now that Gowda knew he wasn’t going to get his ransom, and that his defeat was near, killing Diya could be his final act of frustration and rage.

  “I can tell from the sound,” replied Phillip. “It came from inside the house. It could be a foolish attempt at bravado in the face of adversity. I hope he hasn’t harmed the child.”

  Harish’s mouth went dry. “What happens now?”

  Patil answered his question. “We continue until we get him—

  dead or alive.”

  A fresh wave of panic washed over Harish. Dead or alive?

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  Gowda could end up butchering everyone in that house along with a few of those brave policemen before he gave himself up or died. Either way he had nothing to lose. The man didn’t seem to have a conscience or a care for his own family. What kind of man would put his wife and children in jeopardy?

  Only a psychopath. What Patil had chosen to call psychiatric issues could very well be serious flaws in the brain.

  Harish braced himself for another shot. When nothing happened for several minutes, he glanced at Phillip, whose brow was creased in speculation. “Everything’s too quiet.”

  “He may be a nut, but he’s a clever one. He’s biding his time, waiting for the police to lose patience and make a move. Then he’ll pounce on them. Cat-and-mouse game.”

  A strange buzzing sound made Harish startle and look around for its source. Then he saw Patil produce his mobile phone out of his pocket and flip it open.

  “Patil speaking.” The man frowned as he listened to the caller, only grunting out monosyllabic responses, looking more and more befuddled as the caller continued to speak. “Are you sure? Did she leave a number?” Tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder, he pulled out a pen from his pocket and wrote the number on his palm. Then he shut the phone and shoved it back into his pocket.