The Plunge (23 page)

“Is this your daughter?” he asked, eyes fixed on the child, feeling a sudden sadness. He could see the striking similarity to Anjali. The child hid shyly behind her mother when she became aware of the stranger’s scrutiny.

“She’s my daughter, Manaswini.”

“What does it mean, Manaswini, the name?” he tried to pretend that he was unaffected.

“The beloved,” she said, glancing at his greying head.

“You never told me that you were married.” He felt foolish to have complained.

She said nothing.

“And her father, is he here?

She nodded her head, half searching his eyes.

Siddharth did not wish to meet the man. He still felt possessive about her.

“After all these years…,” he began.

“There you are!” A couple came towards Anjali, interrupting him.

Siddharth watched as Anjali walked towards them, the child sprinting after her.

Manaswini looked comfortable with the couple. The woman scooped her up and started chatting away. The little girl seemed to be fond of her.

Anjali’s daughter was around three years old, which meant she was married soon after they parted. That probably explained why she never wanted to have any contact with him.

The man walked towards him, took Anjali’s bag from the bench, and carried it inside the train.

Siddharth watched Anjali as she hugged her daughter and kissed her greedily before the woman carried the child with them to the train.

The train was about to depart. Anjali held the child’s hand, talking to her through the window. Anjali was not going. The child was probably going away with them on a short holiday, he guessed.

Siddharth waited. Something was amiss. Anjali was weeping inconsolably as she turned away from the child and walked towards him. He placed his hand on her shoulder and looked at her with raised eyebrows and a racing heart. She wiped her tears, and turned towards her daughter, who was waving her scarf at her mother. Anjali managed to smile through her tears.

With eyes fixed on her child’s direction, Anjali almost whispered, “She is going away with them to the UK next week.”

“They have adopted her,” she added, a gasp escaping her frail body.

“What? And why?” Siddharth spat out his disbelief. “Don’t do it, Anjali, don’t.”

“I can’t, Siddh. I’m not well. I can’t even take care of myself. How can I give her love or attention? She is such a lovely child, you know,” she said amidst sobs. “She deserves a perfect family.”

Siddharth stared at her, overwhelmed. Was she out of her mind?

“That’s Swapna and her husband Raj,” Anjali said.

So her friend had remarried!

“My girl is safe with them,” Anjali’s words snapped him out of that thought.

She was justifying the decision to herself more than to him, it seemed.

“What about you? You won’t miss her?” he asked, perturbed.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. He could not believe Anjali could do something so foolish.

“She’ll be with me for her vacations. I can visit her whenever I wish to. If I ever feel like taking her back, I can.”

“What about her father? Where is he?” he asked, jaws clenched. How irresponsible!

“You separated?”

She didn’t answer.

The train rolled out of the station. The little girl at the window waved her hand nonstop at her mother. Anjali waved back, teary eyed.

He could still read her face. Standing there alone, her world passing by, she looked miserable. It pained him. He felt responsible in some way. But why?

He watched the child’s face as the train passed them. She seemed more familiar now, like a face from a recurring dream. He felt his heart would jump out.

Anjali stood there, still waving, though the train had rolled away towards the valley.

He remembered that she had told him nothing about her husband. He placed his hands on her shoulders, turned her towards him and asked in a shaky voice, “The child, is she…?” Words choked in his throat.

Anjali heaved a sigh. She moved away from him. She appeared composed. Siddharth watched the sudden transformation. It reminded him of old times.

“Yes, she’s yours,” she said. She smiled, and walked away, not waiting for his reaction.

He did not know what to do, or feel. The smiling face of the child, his daughter, the daughter he had always wanted, given away to strangers, was now a frozen image in his mind. He felt cheated.

He wanted to stop Anjali. He wanted his child.

Instead, he stood there watching her walk away from him, yet again. But this time, she was more than just another woman in his life. She was the mother of his child, just the way Chandni was.

He did not know how to feel. He realised that he had stopped feeling for some time now.

It was getting colder.

“It might snow in a day or two,” he heard a passerby tell his companion.

It would be the first snowfall of the year.

Siddharth remembered Anjali’s words like a whisper from the past: “How amazing, love, the way the snow makes the proud deodars bow.”

THE END