The Unexpected Son (33 page)

“Tell me about your daughter,” Rohit said in the next breath, pulling her out of her thoughts.

It was an unforeseen request. He'd never asked about Arya in all these weeks. Was it only idle curiosity, or the fear that he could die soon and never have a chance to find out about her?

“Your half sister is a bright, attractive young lady.” She wondered how Arya was managing, especially with Girish acting like an obstinate old goat. But if anyone could straighten him out, it was Arya. She suffered neither fools nor people who wallowed in self-pity or held grudges. But so far, even she had not been able to make a dent in the wall Girish had constructed around himself.

“What does she do?”

“She works in the research division of a pharmaceutical company.”

“Is she a pharmacist?” His eyes lit up briefly. He was probably wondering if she liked chemistry like he did.

“No, she's a bioengineer. She graduated from Johns Hopkins last year, a prestigious university in the U.S., noted for its bio-engineering department.” Vinita couldn't help showing off. Her baby was so damn smart. Both her kids were smart. In fact, she'd given birth to two bright
and
personable children. How had she managed that?

The corners of his mouth lifted in a genuine smile. Vinita detected no bitterness. “She's very clever, then,” he said simply.

“Her work involves research in combining drugs and prostheses in stroke and accident victims with partial paralysis. Of course, with only a bachelor's degree, it's mostly routine work that she does for the senior scientists.”

“It still sounds interesting,” he said after mulling it over. “I envy her.” He was quiet for another second. “Is she planning to study further?”

“Yes. She starts on her master's degree this fall. Maybe even a PhD like you in the future. Who knows?”

“Who knows?” he repeated, sounding like a tired old man.

“Would you like to see a picture of her?” She lifted a brow at him, eager for a positive response. She so badly wanted both her children to get to know each other.

“Sure, why not?”

Vinita rummaged through her handbag and realized she didn't have the pictures. “Sorry,” she sighed. “Guess I forgot to put them back in my bag after I showed them to my family.”

“That's all right,” he said with a dismissive wave. “Some other day, perhaps.” He coughed, a brassy sound that came from deep inside his chest. “If I'm still alive after tomorrow, that is.”

Vinita's heart constricted. “Of course you'll be alive! You'll even get to meet your sister sometime soon,” she said, hoping to put some much-needed optimism into this gloomy conversation. She couldn't let him lose heart. Not now.

“Maybe.” He was beginning to fade. “If fate will allow.” Again a fatalistic remark.

“Everything will be okay, Rohit. I'm praying for your recovery. I know your mother is doing all kinds of special
poojas
at the temple, too.”

“I know. She hasn't stopped praying for the past two years.” His eyelids were drooping.

“I want you to know something. Arya had offered to fly down to Palgaum and be a donor.”

His eyes flew open, the astonishment clear. “Very generous of her. I'm just a stranger.”

“No longer. She's a very caring girl. She wants to help you if she can.”

He gave her one of his rare smiles. “Tell her thanks.”

“I will,” she promised, her throat beginning to close up. Once again she quashed the need to reach over and touch him. A hug would have been nice. She'd never touched her son. Ever.

There was a knock on the door before it opened. A nurse appeared. “Visiting hours are over, madam,” she informed Vinita, tapping her wristwatch as she approached Rohit's bed.

“I had better leave,” Vinita murmured, and shifted reluctantly toward the door. “Good night, Rohit.”

He didn't respond. The nurse had already started to shove a thermometer into his mouth. Vinita shut the door and stood in the foyer for a second.

Let my son live, God,
she prayed as she started to open the second door leading into the hallway.
Please don't punish him for my sins.

T
he house was eerily quiet as Vinita emerged from the bathroom and got dressed. Dawn was barely breaking, so there was not much traffic yet. The only sounds outside came from the crows foraging for food. Urbanization had spurred a growth in their population.

The air was a little cool after last night's thunderstorm had brought a short but heavy downpour, and she shivered as she gathered the pleats on her sari and tucked them in at her waist. She prayed it wasn't a relapse of malaria. She never wanted to go through that nightmare again.

She heard a familiar car engine start up and drive away. Vishal's car. The poor man worked such insane hours. But she supposed he had to. It was his nature to work hard, just like their father used to. All this success didn't come without a lot of dogged work.

She hoped Vishal didn't work himself into the ground at an early age, too, like Papa had. She made a mental note to have a talk with her workaholic brother. Better yet, she would talk to Sayee. Someone had to make sure Vishal slowed down a little, now that he was in his fifties. Surely he had enough money saved by now and didn't need to slave as much. Hopefully at least one of his twins would soon take over some part of Vishal's business.

But no matter how busy he was, Vinita knew for sure that he would stop by the hospital later to check on Rohit's progress, and on her. He was worried about her. Despite Vishal's attempts at remaining aloof, she had managed to catch a glance past his façade.

By the time she went downstairs, her mother and Sayee were already on their second cup of tea. The kitchen smelled of
upama
—a spicy cream-of-wheat dish seasoned with roasted mustard, cumin, chili peppers, and curry leaves.

Both women looked fresh and neat—bathed and dressed for the day ahead. They seemed a little tense, though, both sitting at the table in complete silence. It was unusual for Sayee to be subdued. She was usually glowing with good cheer, even as early as this.

Vinita speculated whether Sayee and her mother could have had an argument. It rarely happened, since Sayee was such an accommodating sort and got along with everyone. But she was human, and Mummy could be a difficult woman to live with.

Rohit's transplant was obviously making everyone edgy. Vinita felt the familiar prick of guilt. She was the cause of all the tension and discord her family was suffering.

“I heard Vishal leaving early,” she remarked, hoping to inject a little conversation into the glum stillness.

“Hmm,” murmured Sayee absently, offering no explanation. Vinita didn't belabor the subject. Clearly Sayee was in no mood to talk.

Her mother, on the other hand, gave Vinita an assessing look before pouring a cup of tea for her. “Did you get any sleep?”

“A little,” Vinita lied. She hadn't slept at all. How could she, when her son was about to go through a rare medical procedure? She hadn't come all the way from the U.S. to sleep or rest. She had come for Rohit. And his life lay in the balance. The threat of rejection or fungal, bacterial, and viral infections was too great to be ignored.

Every time that possibility stabbed at her, she felt her heart slide a little lower. Was the transplant even worth considering? It was too late to speculate now. Rohit would be going through the procedure within three or four hours. Praying was all she could do now.

“Have some
upama,
” said Sayee, stirring from her stupor. “I'll heat some for you.”

“No
upama,
please,” said Vinita. The thought of eating was making her queasy. “I'll just have a slice of toast. Don't get up,” she said to Sayee, motioning to her to sit back down. “I'll help myself.” She went to the toaster and inserted a slice of bread into it.

She looked around the kitchen while the bread browned. Along with the rest of the house, the old kitchen, too, had been remodeled, with new cabinets, appliances, and flooring, but the sturdy old dining table and chairs remained. A lasting relic from her childhood.

Hadn't she sat at this very table once, a teenager on the brink of disaster? She clearly remembered that morning, when she had walked in and found her mother making omelets. Mummy had offered a fresh omelet and toast to Vinita, and the sight of them had made Vinita's stomach turn over, like the
upama
was doing now.

But this time Vinita's reason for nausea was different. Well, not so different. It still had to do with her illegitimate son. And his survival.

As she retrieved the toast and put it in on a plate, she sensed her mother's eyes on her. “I'm going to the hospital as soon as I finish eating,” Vinita said, before Mummy could start grilling her. “And I plan to stay there as long as it's necessary.”

“I'll go with you,” offered Sayee.

“No, I need to do this alone.” Vinita returned to the table and spread a bit of butter on her toast. “I appreciate it, but I just…have to do this on my own. I'll walk up to the corner and take a rickshaw.”

“All right.” Sayee threw a glance at her mother-in-law, making Vinita wonder why the two women were so jumpy.

“I'll call to let you know how things go,” Vinita offered.

Finishing her breakfast, Sayee rose from her chair and gathered up her empty plate and her mother-in-law's. “But at least come home for lunch,” she said to Vinita.

“I'll try, but don't wait for me. I can easily find something there.” She mulled it over for a moment. “Maybe I'll go to Vishal's office and see if I can talk him into joining me for lunch somewhere in town.”

The plates in Sayee's hands rattled and fell to the floor with a crash. “Oh no!” She sank to the floor to pick them up, her hands trembling. “So stupid of me.”

Vinita sprang up from her chair to help her. “It's okay. They're stainless steel. Nothing's broken.” She picked up the plates and stacked them in the sink while Sayee grabbed a wet rag to clean the floor.

“I'm usually not this clumsy,” explained Sayee. Her voice quivered.

“Are you all right?” Vinita asked, contemplating whether Sayee was coming down with something. Malaria instantly sprang to mind. But she'd been assured it wasn't contagious.

“I'm all right.” Sayee rinsed out the rag and hung it on one of the steel bars over the window to dry. “I think it is just early menopause or something.”

Vinita patted her on the shoulder. “I doubt that. You may be coming down with a virus. Take it easy for a change. Let Anu handle the cooking.” She gave up trying to finish her toast and tossed the leftover piece out the window to the crows glowering at her. They swooped down on it in a frenzy of flapping wings and greedy caws.

Sayee began to clear the table. “Mummy and I are worried about you and Rohit.”

“No need to worry about me. Save your prayers for Rohit.” Vinita glanced at her mother, who was still sitting at the table, wearing a pensive look. It was hard to say what she could be thinking.

Vinita picked up her handbag and said once again to the two women, “I'll call you from the hospital.” She checked to make sure she had enough cash in her wallet, then stepped out the back door.

Hazy sunshine was struggling to penetrate the last remaining wisps of fog as she strode down the street. As soon as the sun turned on its full glare, the temperature would go from cool to warm, and eventually hot.

She took a slight detour toward the Shiva Temple on her way to the rickshaw stand. The need to visit the temple and pray for Rohit had been nagging her since the previous night. Now her feet automatically took her there.

Vinita noticed that the temple was already dotted with early worshippers. It was a holy icon in their town, a spotlessly clean building surrounded by lush gardens and lawns maintained by the local military base. She should have felt optimistic, with masses of fragrant roses in bloom and the grass still sparkling like a carpet of emeralds in the morning light. And yet optimism was not what she felt. It was more like a pulsing ache in her chest.

Armed military guards were posted around the periphery of the compound at all times, which in a way was comforting rather than intimidating. Because of their presence the temple was a safe place, any time of day or night.

The sweet, woodsy scent of
agarbattis
—incense sticks—met her nostrils the minute she discarded her
chappals
outside the building, climbed the dozen or so steps, and entered the temple. Inside the sanctum, it was cool and damp and dimly lit.

Two tall, brass oil lamps were burning before the idol of Lord Shiva. The idol itself wasn't very large, but it had an electrifying presence, as if the Lord's watchful, unblinking eyes missed nothing. As always, He was decked in fresh garlands of jasmine, roses, marigolds, and
marva,
a fragrant herb. His forehead was covered with holy ashes, a vermillion dot at the center.

Vinita stood for a moment and drew a breath, let the hallowed peace sink in and soothe her troubled spirit.

Over thirty years ago, when she'd discovered she was pregnant, she had stood on this threshold, begging God to help her, give her strength. Today she was here again, pleading with him to save the child she'd carried in her womb back then.

Stepping closer, she picked up a flower from the basket left there by the priest and laid it at the base of the Lord's idol. Pulling out a hundred-rupee bill from her wallet, she pressed it into the slot of the wooden donation box—her humble contribution to the temple.

She went down on her knees, shut her eyes, and joined her hands. Ignoring the tears dampening her cheeks, she prayed. If nothing else, at least she gathered blessings for Rohit. If God had to take away her son, despite all the expert medical help he was receiving, the boy would at least go to his Maker with a clean soul.

He's so young,
she pleaded.
Let him see more of life, get married, have a family. And bless the person who has come forward as a donor—whoever it is.
She hesitated a moment. She didn't want to be too greedy, but she added another plea anyway.
Please make Girish forgive me. Don't take him away, too. I couldn't stand it if I lost him.

It was customary to sit down for a minute or two in the temple after praying, so she got to her feet, stepped out of the inner sanctum, and found a place to sit in a darkened corner beside a pillar.

Folding her feet under her, she sat on the cool granite floor. She rested her head against the pillar. It was so peaceful here. She could have sat there for a long time if it weren't for the fact that she had to get to the hospital soon. But she couldn't get Girish out of her mind for some reason, perhaps because she and Girish had visited this temple a number of times during their visits to Palgaum. Her husband had liked this temple, admired its gardens and serenity.

Stress, she concluded. It was the stress of recent weeks that was making her miss him so intensely. On a day like this, when she was scared and unsure of the future, she needed him more than ever. But he wasn't going to offer her comfort. She had to be strong, she told herself. She could do it on her own—keep the faith, mainly for Rohit.

Curiousity about the donor crowded her mind once again. Why the secrecy? Something about the timing bothered her, too. But the rules of anonymity had to be respected. The person must have reasons for remaining nameless.

If it was indeed Som, he was probably doing it without the knowledge of his family. She understood his motives. He couldn't afford a scandal. Maybe she'd never know who the Good Samaritan was. All she could do was send a telepathic blessing to the mysterious individual.

She rose to her feet and slung her handbag over her shoulder. Just as she started to move she stopped short. She noticed Sayee climbing the steps and striding into the temple. She looked distressed, as if the burden of the world lay on her shoulders. If she had seemed oddly agitated a little while ago, she looked worse now. Something was very wrong.

Out of curiosity, Vinita stood concealed behind the pillar and watched her sister-in-law go directly to the holy chamber and pray. She could almost sense Sayee's angst. Vinita emerged from behind the pillar and approached her.

When Sayee turned around and discovered Vinita, her eyes went wide with astonishment. It took her an instant to recover. “Why aren't you at the hospital, Vini?”

“Are you all right?” Vinita asked, ignoring the question.

Sayee hesitated, then let her gaze drop. When she looked up there was something resembling fear in her eyes. “I don't know,” she murmured.

Vinita shifted and took Sayee's hand. “Something is wrong, isn't it?”

“I—I'm really worried about Rohit.”

“Of course you are. And it's very generous of you to have such fond feelings for my son.” Vinita tugged on Sayee's hand and led her out of the temple. Together they walked down the steps. “Come on, I'll walk you home before I hail a rickshaw.”

Sayee thrust her feet into her
chappals.
“I'm not going home. I'm going to the hospital.”

“I don't need a babysitter,” Vinita assured her, putting on her sandals.

“I know, but…it's not just that. I
have
to be at the hospital.”

Vinita frowned at Sayee. Her behavior was getting odder by the second. “Okay, if you insist. In that case, we'll take your car, I suppose?” They started down the winding concrete path that led out of the compound and toward the road.

“No, we need to take a rickshaw.”

Vinita felt the first real prickle of unease. “Why?”

“Because…” Abruptly Sayee stopped and faced her. “I have something to confess.”

Vinita felt the familiar goose bumps on her arms. “What?”

A fine gleam of perspiration had formed on Sayee's upper lip. “It's…um…about the bone marrow donor.”

Suddenly it all began to make sense. “You know who it is?”