The Unexpected Son (27 page)

The orange-red brilliance of the setting sun was a welcome sight. It was a relief to breathe the fresh, clean air, thick with the scent of the pink and white roses growing on both sides of the stoop.

Striding down the driveway, she reached the street and looked around. It would be difficult to find a rickshaw in this out-of-the-way residential neighborhood. She might as well walk the mile or so into town and look for one there. Besides, a brisk walk would do her good—help to banish those assorted emotions of rage, loathing, and homesickness.

And the loneliness. Just like the last time, she was on her own once again, trying to find her way in the dark, hopeless morass. She longed for Girish. She so badly wanted to feel his arms around her. She had become so used to that hand with its missing digits. She'd come to love the unique strength of it, the warmth of it.

Right about now she was willing to settle for hearing his voice over the phone.
Come on, Girish, at least drop me a line by e-mail.
Vinita had been using Vishal's computer to check on her e-mail.

But that wasn't likely to happen. Maybe he was even planning to file for divorce by now. He'd done it once before. He could do it again.

 

Som watched Vinita through the window, until she disappeared from his line of vision. His hands were still shaking with rage, and the damn cough felt like a fire burning in his chest.

How dare she come to his door and talk down to him! He didn't have to take that from anyone. Anyone.

It took another second or two before his coughing subsided and his breathing became more even.

But damn it, why did she have to be right? She hadn't changed over the years—still just as proud and stubborn, just as self-righteous, and so bloody full of idealistic bullshit.

Why the hell hadn't she aborted the child? Didn't the woman have any common sense? But she had always been one of those highly intelligent types who belonged in a lab or classroom, not the real world. He reached for another cigarette.

However, despite his irritation, he grudgingly admitted to himself that she was a woman of courage and tenacity. Against all odds she had borne the child he had rejected. She'd never again asked for his help. It took guts to stand up to one's family and all of society and have a child out of wedlock.

Back then, he had concluded he'd never met a girl like her. To this day, he still hadn't come across another woman like her. That's what was hard to understand—his reluctant admiration for her. She wasn't beautiful or charming, or even fun to be with. And yet, what was it about her that made her stand out in his mind?

The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him. He had a son—a grown son. Som had always wanted a boy who would be an athlete in his youth, then take over the business someday, live in this big house, and carry on the family name and tradition. Every time Neeraja had become pregnant, his parents' as well as his own hopes had soared, only to find out it was a girl.

After the third time, they had decided they didn't want to take another chance. That was the end of it. His mother had passed away some years ago. With no grandson bearing the Kori name, she'd died a disappointed woman. His father was too old and senile to care anymore.

Now that Som had discovered he actually had a son, it turned out the boy had been adopted by his worst enemy, Barve. Of all people, why did it have to be
that
man? Was this Som's karma, a twisted form of punishment for his sins? Maybe Vinita was right about his sins coming back to torment him.

And his son was a college professor, an intellectual. Wry laughter rose in his throat, but what sputtered out was another coughing fit. Who would have thought he'd produce a son who would grow up to earn a PhD? The boy's brains had clearly been inherited from Vinita—bright, serious, studious-as-hell Vinita—and her stuffy chartered accountant brother.

Som was the first one to admit that he himself had been a bad student. His daughters weren't stellar students, either. His youngest, however, was a talented singer. But all three were good girls, well mannered and elegant, groomed for good marriages. Neeraja was responsible for that.

He knew who Rohit Barve was, too, mostly because the boy used to be a good cricket player as a student. Som always kept one eye on the college cricket team, the one thing he truly cared about. He had never dreamt that Shivraj College's young cricket star from ten years ago was his son.

Why had it never occurred to Som that the boy could have been adopted? Barve and his wife were easily in their seventies, while their son was a very young man. It was a logical conclusion that Rohit Barve couldn't be their real son. And yet Som had never been interested enough to pay attention to such details. He'd admired the boy's talent for the sport and that's all it was.

For a moment he wondered what it would have been like to see the boy grow up—excel at Som's own game. If encouraged a bit more, the boy could have become a professional cricketer.

The boy had probably given up the sport to pursue his doctorate—just like Som had given up his sports dreams to get married and join his father's business. Some dreams were not meant to be fulfilled.

Som turned away from the window and stopped short.

Neeraja stood in the doorway, quietly observing him. From the look on her face, he couldn't tell if she'd overheard the conversation between him and Vinita. Neeraja rarely allowed him inside her mind.

Living with his wife was like living with a ghost. She was there, and yet it seemed only her long-limbed body was present. Where was the rest of her—her heart, her soul? Why was she always so remote, like an observer and not a participant?

He was sure she knew all about his activities outside the home—personal, business, and political. But she never once questioned him about them. Always the compliant wife, she was a gracious hostess to guests and visitors, a devoted mother to their children, and an excellent homemaker. The household and its large staff functioned very efficiently under her supervision.

Although his father was now a burden because of his deteriorating physical and mental health, Neeraja was patient with him. Sometimes Som wished his wife would speak up, talk to him like other wives did to their husbands. He wished she'd argue with him, nag him, fight for her rights, even chastise him for his vices. But she never did.

He didn't know if he was fortunate or unfortunate in having Neeraja for a wife. Had she molded herself into the perfect wife for a reason? Or was she made that way?

He looked at her now, standing before him in her elegantly draped sari. He wondered if she'd question him about the strange woman who'd come to visit him. But she didn't.

“Your tea is ready,” she said instead, and strode away.

“I
might be coming home sooner than anticipated, honey,” Vinita said to her daughter, her spirits sagging more than ever. Arya had called to check on her, like she usually did every day.

It was heartwarming to know there was at least one person who supported Vinita wholeheartedly in her mission to save Rohit. And waited anxiously for her to come home.

Cradling the cordless phone between her shoulder and ear, Vinita shut the door to the guest room and plopped on the bed. She liked to converse with her daughter in private. It afforded her a few precious minutes with Arya. Mainly it was a way to gather news about Girish. She hungered to find out what was happening with Girish, and Arya was her only connection to him.

“Really?” Arya's voice became excited. “When?”

“I'm not sure, but since they informed me I can't be a donor, I figured there's no point in my hanging around here. How long can I wait for another donor to surface?”

“Mom, don't be so depressed,” advised Arya, sensing Vinita's mood. “It's not your fault that you got sick.”

“I know, but it's so frustrating. I was hoping…you know.” It was hard to explain. No one would understand her sense of hopelessness. Only a mother—a mother who was forced to stand by with her hands tied and watch her child die—could relate to her sentiments.

“Are you sure you're completely recovered?” asked Arya. “Is it okay for you to travel?”

“Yes,” said Vinita, suddenly feeling very tired. She hadn't slept well since that visit to Som Kori two days ago. She hadn't told anyone about her visit to Som, either. If Vishal and Mummy ever found out, they'd lambaste her for not only humiliating herself but the whole Shelke family. All that drivel about family honor and reputation would start all over again.

But how could Som be so inhuman? Hadn't age done anything to soften him up? Most people learned lessons from living, but he was just as cold and heartless as he was in his youth. And his wife, assuming that wooden-faced woman was his wife, had looked at Vinita with such expressionless eyes. What were her feelings about what she might have overheard in the drawing room?

“Before you change your travel date, you had better check with the doctor, Mom,” suggested Arya, drawing Vinita's attention back to their conversation.

Vinita couldn't help smiling. “I did that, and I've been told it's safe to travel.”

“Good.”

“I just wish I'd been more careful with my own health.”

“I'm sorry, Mom. I know you had your heart set on this.” There was a long pause. “I have a suggestion.”

“What?”

“Do you think
I
would be able to get tested as a donor?”

“No! That's out of the question.”

“Why not? It's only logical that he and I have the same DNA, right?”

“Logical, yes, but impractical, honey.” Vinita felt a rush of emotion grip her. It took her a beat to recover. It was beyond generous for Arya to offer her own bone marrow for a boy she'd never met, never even known about until a few weeks ago. “I won't allow you to do it, dear. It's very kind of you, but it's much too generous. Besides, he's a very stubborn and proud young man. He's likely to balk at the idea.”

“But I want to help, Mom.”

“I know you do, babe. But it's not practical.”

“I could be the ideal donor.”

“I won't hear of it, Arya. Just forget it.”

“All right, whatever,” Arya grumbled. “If you can't do anything more for him, then at least come home. I…we miss you.”

The anguish in Arya's voice was genuine. Her daughter was worried about her, and clearly missed her. Vinita waited for Arya to say something about Girish, but she didn't. “How's Dad?” she asked finally.

“He's okay, I guess. He's in the study, working…or something.” Arya hesitated. “You want me to give him the phone?”

Vinita gave it a moment's thought. “Don't bother. The last time you asked him to get on the phone, he suddenly had to go to the bathroom, remember?”

Arya's sigh was loud enough to be heard. “Yeah. I won't bother him.” She went on to tell Vinita about a conference that was coming up, and her weekend activities.

“I'll let you know when I'm returning,” said Vinita. “I have to check with the airline and see what's available. I'll have to pay quite a bit extra to get the date changed, I suppose.”

“That's okay. Just come home,” Arya repeated. “I think…I think Dad needs you here.”

Instant alarm set in. “Is something wrong with him?”

“He's okay. Don't panic.”

“His blood pressure?” Vinita had been obsessing over his blood pressure since the minute she'd told him about Rohit. She had a suspicion that his numbers had climbed that day and never returned to normal. He could be headed for a stroke. And she'd be the one responsible for it.

“He's fine,” Arya assured her. “It's just that he looks so lost without you. I wish he'd give up his silly grudge and talk to you.”

“I wish he would, too, Arya. But we can't force him. He has to come to terms with this in his own way. Take care of him for me, okay?”

“Okay. And, Mom, don't overdo it. Rest and get well.”

“I will.”

“Don't forget I'll come to the airport to get you. Just let me know when. Give my love to everyone.”

“Okay. Thanks, baby.”

Long after she hung up the phone, Vinita lay on her bed with her eyes closed. Nothing was going right. In fact, everything was going wrong. Her son was dying. Her brother and mother were sore at her for stirring up trouble all over again. Sayee's usual cheerfulness was beginning to wane. Arya sounded depressed. She herself was still slightly weak from her illness.

But by far the worst casualty was her marriage.

With every passing day, the chances of Girish forgiving her were diminishing. She'd been in Palgaum over a month now, and still he hadn't made an effort to communicate with her. She'd stopped leaving him voice-mail messages. What was the point? She could almost feel the void every time she thought about the possibility of divorce. What was she going to do if Girish decided to leave her? Life as she knew it would come to an end.

She'd survive somehow. There was no doubt in her mind that she was a survivor by nature. She had a career and she could be financially independent. She wouldn't be able to afford the lifestyle she had enjoyed for the past two decades, but she could manage to live on her salary alone. Nonetheless those were material things. Her life, her real life, would be empty without the man she loved.

There was a knock on the door. Startled from her reverie, she said, “Come in.”

The door opened and her mother stuck her head in, looking hesitant. “I didn't hear you talking anymore, so I assumed your conversation was over.”

“You're right.”

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes. I was merely resting a little after talking to Arya.”

A smile thawed Sarla's somber face. “How is Arya?” She stood on the threshold but didn't cross it.

“She's doing well. She sends you her love.”

The smile widened, lighting up her mother's face. “She is a good girl. Very intelligent and bold. But it is time she thought about getting married.”

“I'll tell her you said that,” said Vinita, chuckling, wishing her mother would smile more often. It transformed her face—made her look younger, prettier.

But the smile vanished just as abruptly as it had appeared. A troubled look replaced it, making Vinita sit up. Something was wrong. Come to think of it, Sarla rarely came into her room since Vinita had recovered from the malaria, unlike Sayee and Vishal, who stopped by often.

“Come in, Mummy,” she invited, patting the space beside her on the bed. “Sit down.”

Sarla shook her head. “I just came to tell you something.”

“What?” Her pulse jumped. It had to be news of Rohit. Unpleasant news, judging from her mother's demeanor.

“Shashi Barve was in an accident. I heard it on the radio.”

Vinita stood up. “What happened?”

“He was walking to the bazaar when he got hit by a car, they said. He's in the hospital.”

“Is he…He's not badly hurt, is he?” She didn't even want to consider the word
dead.

“The report said he has a broken arm and some other injuries.”

“How sad.”

“You know what else they said?”

“What?” Vinita had an odd feeling about this. Something in her mother's expression was a bit too familiar.

“They said it may not be an accident. Someone tried to kill him.”

Vinita's hands instinctively went up to cradle her face. “Oh my God!” A hit-and-run. Or maybe it wasn't. No sense panicking over a radio report. “How do they know it wasn't an accident?”

“There were many witnesses. They said people saw the car going at high speed over the footpath, directly at Barve. If Barve had not moved in time he would be dead.”

“Did anyone get details on the car and driver?” She was clutching at straws, hoping the witnesses were wrong, that someone wasn't out to kill Barve.

Sarla shrugged. “The report did not mention that.”

Vinita stared at the floor. Just when she'd thought things couldn't get any worse, they had managed to turn nasty. They were quickly spinning out of control. And they could escalate even further. Deep in her gut she had an ominous feeling that this was only the beginning of something big.

“Does it not seem a little strange?” asked her mother, as if reading Vinita's mind. “All of a sudden Kori's office is damaged and Barve is almost killed? Where is all this leading?”

Her mother had a valid point. A name popped up in Vinita's mind, followed by mounting alarm. Som! It was too soon after her visit to Som for this to be a coincidence. Could he have engineered this? Could he be a killer besides being a callous heel?

“Maybe I should go to the hospital and see Mr. Barve?” She wasn't sure if she'd be welcome. She had come to know the Barves in the past few weeks, and in some ways they had become family now. Her heart went out to Meenal Barve. The poor woman had to be suffering. First her son, now her husband. How was she holding up under the strain? Vinita would have liked to offer some comfort, but how? She looked at her mother for her reaction.

With a troubled sigh, Sarla took a step back. “Like I always say, some things are best left alone.” With that said, she turned around and walked away.

Vinita listened to her mother's soft footsteps going down the stairs.

Dear heaven, what had she done?