Tell A Thousand Lies (37 page)

Over the next few days, I went to the clinic, saw patients, did paperwork, occasionally cooked, generally lived my life as I had before Srikar came back into it. But in the back of my mind was that phone call Srikar had promised me, the call telling me that I could meet my son.

But Srikar did not call.

Instead, he appeared at my doorstep six days later. I looked up from the sofa – and there he was. Aunty gave me a hug in silent support and picked up her purse. She gave Srikar a hug, too, and let herself out of the flat. I felt a rush of affection for her.

Srikar sat on the other sofa. Back and forth, back and forth, the keys went between his hands. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Say something,” I said, unable to stand the tension.

“I married your sister,” he said abruptly.

“Malli?” I was confused. “But she’s already married.”

“Your other sister. Lata. We’ve been married almost six years.” He seemed tortured.

I felt a whirring sound in my head. My husband married to my twin?
No, God, that would be too cruel!

“
Pulla
?” Srikar looked anxious. His voice seemed to come from far away.

I slashed a vicious hand through the air. I’d fall apart if he showed sympathy now.

Srikar’s eyes pleaded for understanding. “What I didn’t mention earlier was that one of the conditions my grandfather laid was down was that I’d have to marry Lata. If I wanted my son, that is.”

“But why?”

“He claimed that it was to provide Lata the protection of a married name. Perhaps he did not want Lata in her grandmother’s home, reminding people that the marriage my grandfather had helped arrange had failed. Whatever the reason, he would not budge on that. He said he would hand the baby over only after I married her. Say something,
Pulla
.”

I couldn’t; my throat had closed.

Srikar continued. “I was angry with my grandfather for forcing me into this sham of a marriage
Pulla
, but I wanted our son too badly. How could I let him be raised by strangers?”

When I said nothing, Srikar said a little desperately, “You know when a woman with children dies, the husband often marries his wife’s younger sister to ensure the children are loved.”

“Not if the sister herself is married,” I said bitterly. “And not if the wife isn’t dead, to begin with.”

He reared back as if struck. “You know this is the only thing I could have done.”

“But Lata? How could you, knowing our history?”

God! Malli, Chinni – almost anyone else, I could have accepted.

“What happened to Lata’s husband?” I asked dully.

“Her husband – her first husband,” he corrected himself, “and his parents threw Lata out.”

“Because of dowry?”

“Because she wasn’t able to conceive.”

I was speechless at the irony. Lata had been forced to marry
because
she got pregnant.

He said, “Lata’s in-laws got their son remarried to another girl, but the second wife couldn’t conceive either.” He looked at me, longing in his eyes. “Pullamma, I wish –”

“Don’t,” I said sharply. I couldn’t handle more pain today. I refused to acknowledge the wounded look in his eyes. “So what now?”

“I don’t know,” he said, miserable.

I was so angry at Lata’s betrayal, I could have wrung her neck. It wasn’t enough that she’d caused Ammamma so much trouble with the illegitimate pregnancy, it wasn’t enough she’d given Kondal Rao something to manipulate me with, it wasn’t enough she’d stolen money; she’d gone after my husband? The husband she knew I cared for more than anyone else?

“Lata is the only mother Pullaiyya has ever known…”

My vengeful sister, the mother of my son – that was the cruellest joke of all.

><

Aunty came back a long time later. I’d not moved from my position on the sofa since Srikar left.

“Did you decide on something?” she asked, a hopeful expression on her face.

Had we decided on how to untangle the mess that was our lives? Was it even possible? “He married my sister, Lata.”

She drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, Child.”

“I asked Srikar why he named our child Pullaiyya.” I rubbed a hand over my chest. I needed an antacid, maybe two.
 

“Lata insisted?”

“She convinced Srikar that was the only way to stop this chain of calamities.”

“Srikar didn’t protest?”

“I never told him how much I hated my name.”

Aunty’s lips tightened. “I know that scoundrel Kondal Rao had a hand in arranging Lata’s marriage to Srikar. Don’t ask me how, because I couldn’t tell you. I just know he did.”

“Lata knew how much I hated my name,” I whispered. “She made fun of me almost as much as the other children did. To name my child that name…” My throat choked from the tears. “She married my husband, Aunty. My husband. She knew how much I cared for him; she made fun of me often enough.”

Aunty pulled me into her arms.

I said between sobs, “And you know the worst thing?”

“What?”

“I’m dreading the day she finds out I became a doctor. She will never let me anywhere near my son.”
I had told Aunty the general story of my life, but not about Lata’s involvement; I was too ashamed.

“Why?”

“Because being a doctor was all she talked about. It was her greatest desire. And she was intelligent enough to be one, too.”

“But?”

“Ammamma fixed up an alliance for Lata behind her back. Lata was so angry that she slept with a boy in the village, and got pregnant by him.”

“Oh God!”

“That boy ran away, so Kondal Rao arranged her marriage to someone else completely beneath her in education.”

“So she got trapped into a marriage she did not want, and ended up with neither a child nor a medical degree.”

“She did end up with something,” I said with bitterness. “My husband and my son.”

“And you ended up with everything she’d ever wanted,” Aunty said. She sighed. “What a nightmare! And to think your grandmother had only your wellbeing at heart.” She paused a beat before asking, “Is Srikar going to let us meet
Pu
– the child?”

“You can call him Pullaiyya,” I said. “That is his name. About seeing him, Srikar said Lata was having a hard time with it.”

“Hard time, my foot! Must be the bloody woman’s way of making you pay for whatever wrongs she thinks you did her.”

Chapter 46

Meeting of the Wives

“H
ow much longer before I can see my son?” I asked Srikar on the phone.

“He’s away on a school trip.”

“The last time I called he was in the middle of exams. Before that it was the chicken pox. Do you ever intend to let me see him?”

“Of course, I do. It’s just that –”

“What? It’s been two whole months. I can’t go on this way.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t working anymore. Give me a time and a date.”

“I –”

“It’s Lata!” I could have smacked myself for not seeing it. “She’s pressuring you, isn’t she?”

“It’s not that.”

“Tell me,” I screamed. “Enough is enough.”

“He doesn’t want to meet you.”

“What?”

“When I told him about you, he ran away from home.” Srikar’s voice sounded strained. “It took me two days to find him and bring him back.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered.

“How could I?”

The phone clattered to the ground. My son didn’t want me. My husband didn’t want me.
Yedukondalavada! What kind of test is this?

I had stopped sleeping at nights because dreams of my husband with my sister tormented me. Now, because my son didn’t want me, would I have to stop sleeping during the day, too?

I ran down the stairs, got in the car and directed my driver to Srikar’s house. I wasn’t really sure what I was going to do once I got there, but I couldn’t sit around doing nothing.

I had the driver park on a side road, and walked to the junction where the house was.

The front door opened. I held my breath as Srikar came out, followed by Lata. I was shocked at the change in my sister – her lips seemed to have a permanent twist of discontentment, frown lines crowded her forehead. Lata said something. Srikar bent down to hear better. Acid burned the back of my throat. Lata held the gate open. Srikar got on his motorbike and drove away. Lata closed the gate, went back in, only to come back five minutes later, a young boy swinging his bag next to her.

I gasped. My son. Almost unconsciously, I raised my arms to him. A passing woman gave me a strange look. A small school bus pulled up. Five minutes later, my son was gone. A pain ripped my chest, the agony so sharp I almost doubled over. I straightened up with difficulty.

This was my son. The son who didn’t want me. I finally knew understood the pain Aunty had lived with all these years. Trembling, I started to walk away.

“Wait!”

Oh, no! Lata had recognized me. Srikar must have told her to expect the changes.

I turned around.

Lata was running to catch up with me.

I started to walk faster. Whatever it was, I did not want to hear.

“Wait, I said!”
 

I started to run, almost tripping on my sari. A hand clamped down on my arm. I was turned around roughly.

“What are you doing near my house?”

I shivered at the hatred in her eyes.

No, how are you, Pullamma. No, where have you been all these years, Pullamma. Just ‘what are you doing near my house.’

No ‘Pullamma,’ either.

“What are you doing with my husband?” I asked back.

She gave my arm a vicious tug. “He is
my
husband now, and don’t you forget it.”

I looked at her, disbelieving that we could have been born of the same mother. Where was the special connection twins were supposed to have?

“We have been married for a long time now,” she said. “Don’t you poke your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

I’d never realized Lata’s eyes could be so cold. My palms became tingly. That numbness again. I forced myself to concentrate. “We registered our marriage.”

Lata froze.

I felt savage satisfaction. She hadn’t known!

“Since Srikar and I are not divorced, you are the other woman. I am still his wife. Ask any lawyer. You have no standing. No rights. None at all.”

“But you abandoned your marriage,” Lata said, shouting. “You have no rights on him anymore.”

So this is what my relationship with my sister had come to – fighting over a man on the streets of Hyderabad. People had stopped to look. A passing peanut vendor took advantage of the gathering. He parked his bicycle and started doing brisk business selling coal-roasted peanuts wrapped in newspaper cones.

“Why don’t we talk inside your house?” I said, embarrassed. “People are staring.”

“You will never step inside the house I share with Srikar.”

“Fine, then,” I said, getting angry. “I did not abandon anyone.”

“You went willingly, no protest, no nothing. Just picked up your bag, and your precious globe and left. How can you complain now?”

“How do you know that?” I asked softly.

Lata must have heard the menace in my voice because she tried to backtrack. “Uh, Srikar must have heard it from someone in your old apartments.”