The Unexpected Son (6 page)

“But I heard you scored the most impressive runs,” she offered as a salve for his bruised ego. Scoring ninety-nine runs was quite amazing. The buzz in the ladies' lounge was that despite his having missed a century by a hair, he'd still left the rival team and their bowler totally frustrated. “Besides, it's only a game, Som.”

“Only a game!” he hissed, his eyes wide with shocked disbelief. He reminded her of an incensed cat.

“But your team won, and that's what matters, doesn't it?” She could see she'd upset him by belittling his chief occupation. To her it was just a sport, but to him it was obviously the only thing that mattered in life.

“I suppose so, but coming
that
close and not making it…” He trailed off, pulling out a fresh cigarette from his pocket with one hand while the other grabbed the coffee mug. Sometimes she wondered how his body could tolerate so much caffeine and nicotine. And yet he seemed to thrive on both. She worried about his health, about his future, everything about him.

She'd have to find a way to convince him to give up smoking. It was no doubt going to be a battle.

But she liked hearing him talk about his game, watch the light glow in his uncommon eyes, and hear the unexpected laugh leap from his throat. She listened now to his voice turn gruff with pleasure as he recalled some of the highlights of the previous day's match.

Eager to please him, she had even made it her business to read about the game and learn enough so she could understand him better. When he used terms like
sixer
and
clean bowled
and
downed wickets
, she at least knew what they meant. A girl who'd more or less eschewed sports as the worthless parading of muscle and physical prowess was now taking an interest in them. It had to be love.

Was she crazy to feel this way—throw caution to the winds and think of nothing else but him? Perhaps, but it was nice to experience the heady feeling of being in love—something she'd never thought she'd feel. She'd always convinced herself it was meant for other girls, pretty and popular girls. But now
she
was one of the lucky ones to share in the experience.

She watched his hands as he lit his cigarette. Wielding a cricket bat for years had left calluses on the pads, but it lent them personality. An athlete's hands—firm hands with the resilience of steel, and yet they trembled a little when they came in contact with her skin.

It meant he cared a little. Maybe more than a little. All at once the world seemed brighter, full of possibilities.

If she had to fight a few battles to have him, she would.

Six months later

T
he bile rose in Vinita's throat for the second time that day—bitter and scalding. Excusing herself from her friends, she hurried to the toilet. After she threw up what little was left in her stomach, she leaned against the sink, weak and shaking.

No more speculation about it. She was going to have a baby. And with it came the worst kind of fear she'd ever experienced.

She studied her reflection in the mirror. What she saw was a tired face, weighed down by stress and worry. Did the fact that she was carrying a child show in her expression? Could people look in someone's eyes and tell? She'd heard her grandmother say it was easy to spot a pregnant woman from the distinctive glow on her face. Apparently something changed in a woman's appearance to give away the secret. Only in Vinita's case, it wasn't a happy secret; it was a dirty little fact that she wished she could hide forever.

For the last several weeks she'd been going through this routine: she woke up queasy in the mornings; she hated the idea of breakfast but choked a bit of it down somehow and vomited within minutes; then she waited for the second round of nausea to hit her later in the morning. It was mid-afternoon by the time her turbulent tummy righted itself.

How had she reduced herself to this? She was the brightest girl in her class. She used to be, anyway. She was supposed to concentrate on her studies and move on to a successful career. She was also expected to save herself for a good boy, her ideal man, the one who would respect her for who she was, love her, cherish her.

She'd firmly subscribed to that viewpoint, until she'd bumped into Som Kori—literally. At the time, she'd been swept off her feet by his brand of charm, and considered their chance encounter a matter of fortuity, and that their paths were fated to intersect.

Now, as she recalled that night, she realized it was a curse. She had run into the devil himself that evening, and her simple, orderly life had started to rip apart and scatter. Even her grades were suffering. She wasn't at the top of her class anymore. Her rank had slipped to number five, much to her father's disappointment.

And things were going to get worse. Significantly worse.

At first, shocked and dismayed by the changes in her body, she'd tried to convince herself it was a mistake. It had to be! She hadn't even considered the possibility of pregnancy. She was only nineteen. She was nowhere ready to be married, let alone become a mother.

Once reality had begun to sink in, she'd prayed for her period to show up, but that had proved entirely fruitless. Whoever tried to sell the idea of the power of prayer had to be more naïve than she. Praying brought nothing.

After all the tears and prayers had dried up, she had begun to consider other alternatives. She had increased her weekly dance routine, rehearsing at home after her evening lessons were over, hoping the heavy exercise would make her womb rid itself of its contents. Then there was an old wives' tale that eating papaya caused a miscarriage. Since they conveniently had two papaya trees in their garden, she'd secretly managed to sneak some. That, too, had proved useless.

By now she'd missed two monthly cycles. She was positive she was pregnant. Night after night she lay awake. Sometimes she stepped away from her bed and paced the length of her room till she couldn't walk anymore. Sheer exhaustion and sore ankles would put her to sleep. But the next morning she would wake up tired and grumpy.

She couldn't tell Prema about her problem. It was too scandalous a secret to share with a conservative girl like Prema. Besides, she'd be sure to say
I told you so.

Confiding in her mother was out of the question. Yet the thought of going through this nightmare alone was terrifying.

Her mother had complained that Vinita wasn't eating lately. “Is this some kind of silly diet, Vini?” she'd asked a few times. “Teenagers should not be neglecting nutrition, you know.”

“I'm not on a diet,” Vinita assured her.

“You have also been dancing more. Too much exercise and very little food will make you weak and sick,” her mother had scolded.

“Stop worrying, Mummy. I'm okay,” she'd retorted, all the while wondering how her mother would react if she discovered the real reason for her daughter's aversion to food. She would likely have an emotional breakdown. She was a very sensitive woman. Would she completely sever her ties with Vinita? Being disowned by her prudish mother was a distinct possibility.

Where her father was concerned, Vinita could more or less predict the reaction. There would be a major temper tantrum at first. Then the guilt-inducing reprimands would start. After that thorough lambasting, she'd be dragged out of town to some remote location to have an abortion. Then she'd be kept locked up in her room for a long time, away from curious eyes and wagging tongues, until the scandal faded and disappeared.

Eventually Papa would probably find some low-paid or deformed man to marry her off to, anyone who'd be desperate enough to take on a fallen woman, that is. If no man wanted her, she'd be kept hidden in the shadows forever—a foul reminder of the sins of his and Mummy's past lives coming to demand their due. Her parents would reluctantly accept it as their rotten karma.

She was even more afraid of her brother. Vishal had their grandfather Shelke's sense of haughty righteousness. It bordered on obsessive at times. Their grandfather used to be a dogmatic old man, a freedom fighter who'd fought alongside Mahatma Gandhi. Pride in family and country and loyalty to their strict Marathi traditions often went beyond common sense. Unfortunately Vishal had inherited that bombastic attitude.

Vinita had been going over her options dozens of times daily. Thoughts of swallowing some easy-to-acquire poison and ending the nightmare had crossed her mind a few times, but she was too much of a coward to follow through. And in all honesty, how could she kill the small, innocent being that was growing inside her, especially when she was so in love with its father?

That was a mystery, too. Despite knowing what kind of man Som Kori was, she'd fallen under his spell. Maybe it was the adored athlete she had discovered, and not the real man. Or perhaps it was the lure of the forbidden, the wicked thrill of going behind everyone's back, the idea of carrying around a delicious secret.

The greater excitement seemed to come from the fact that she could be naughty and get away with it. She was finally doing the things some of the more popular girls in college did.

But her stupidity lay in the fact that she'd actually believed him when he'd told her she was pretty. When she'd laughed wryly at the remark, he'd said, “But you
are
pretty. And so different from all the other girls I've known. You're refreshingly unique.”

“Is that why you followed me home and asked me to have coffee with you the first time?” she'd asked, naïvely hoping for a positive answer.

His goldstone eyes had shown a brief flash of humor. “You were a delightful challenge.”

“Challenge? Me?”

“Sure. You're so focused and studious. Always getting top marks. You don't allow any boys to come within ten feet of you.” He'd almost smiled. “That's why your nickname is IQ.”

“As in intelligence quotient?”

His smile had turned into a soft chuckle—a sound she'd heard no more than perhaps a dozen times. “That, too, but mostly it stands for…ice queen.”

“But that's so untrue!” she'd said in indignant protest. “I'm not
that
cold.”

“Hell, you don't even
know
boys exist in this world.”

“Oh, I do notice them…at least
certain
boys,” she'd allowed, gazing into his eyes.

Of course he hadn't pretended modesty or coyness. “I'm flattered.” He'd reached out to tap the blunt tip of her nose. “And you—you're one of a kind.”

She'd mistaken the term
one of a kind
to mean attractively unique. Like a damn fool, she'd also assumed she could change his ways. Wasn't it the universal blunder many women, even bright and intelligent ones, made when it came to falling in love with a callous rake? They actually believed they were a wayward man's savior, that they could accomplish what no other woman had.

Convinced that she was destined to be Som's soul mate, she had continued her relationship with him. It had been hard, doing it on the sly without her parents discovering it, but she'd talked Prema into lying for her. Guilt reared its head often, but the lure of being alone with Som was more compelling than the need to consider her parents' delicate sensibilities.

When she'd begged Prema to go against her conscience and lie for her too many times, Prema had told her off. But she'd begged again. And again.

Each time Prema had issued a grim warning about Som. “He's the last boy you should get mixed up with, Vini.”

“He's changed a lot,” Vinita had argued. “He's rather sweet once you get to know him.”

“Sweet?” Prema had snorted. “You don't know the sordid details of his life like I do. In our Lingayat community, no sane girl wants to have anything to do with him, in spite of his money and influence. He's a loafer.”

“No, he's not.” Vinita had looked at her friend with narrow-eyed suspicion. “Wait a minute. Do I detect a little jealousy here?”

Prema had let out a loud sigh. “I give up, Vini. If you're that desperate to ruin your life, go ahead. Don't say I didn't warn you.”

After that argument, Prema had pretty much left Vinita alone to dig her own grave.

However, as a loyal friend and confidant, Prema had continued to lie to Vinita's mother whenever Vinita was running late after skipping afternoon classes or dance lessons. Oh yes, now she'd sunk from lack of interest in studies to cutting classes.

She'd disappeared with Som more frequently, the secret locations gradually progressing from the semiprivate, curtained café booth to the total seclusion of a flat. They often met in secret at his friend's flat outside of town. His friend was a medical intern and was hardly ever home. For obvious reasons she took a rickshaw instead of riding in Som's car.

When he'd touched her, although hesitant at first, she'd given in when desire had replaced reason. His caresses were like a drenching yet delightful monsoon rain. He was a talented flatterer and he worked her ego like her mother kneaded the soft wheat-flour dough she used for making her thinly rolled
chapatis.

Little did Vinita know that eighteen-going-on-nineteen was a dangerous age—teetering on the cusp of adolescence, tumbling into womanhood—when the surge of hormones could virtually destroy a girl.

Gradually Som had her believing that he was a changed man since he'd met her. Foolishly she'd thought he was serious about her, committed enough to give up his depraved ways and get the college degree that eluded him, join in his father's business and, last but not least, marry her.

Despite knowing full well that her parents would never consent to her marrying a Lingayat man, she had still begun to dream about becoming Mrs. Somesh Kori, an envied position that dozens of her contemporaries had striven for unsuccessfully. Well,
she
was different from those other girls.

Although he hadn't said as much in words, she'd had a feeling he was as much in love with her as she with him. Men were usually more wary about exposing their emotions.

That's when she'd given up her virginity to Som. If surrendering to temptation was rooted in true love on both sides, then it was neither wrong nor ugly. In fact, despite the pain and discomfort the first couple of times, the act of making love had been beautiful, more fulfilling than she'd imagined.

And he was a superb lover. She'd harbored no illusions about Som being a virgin or in any way inexperienced. He'd surely done this with many girls. But caught up in the throes of passion, she hadn't cared about his past. For that moment, he was hers. From that point forward, he would remain hers.

Alas, they were all dreams—fragile-as-glass dreams that had begun to shatter the instant she'd found out he was seeing another girl at the same time he was seeing her. Prema had mentioned it to her some weeks ago. “I know you don't want to hear this, but rumor has it that Som is involved with Sulekha.”

“Sulekha Sheth?” The girl was pretty, but she was so dense she could barely spell her own name. How could Som be interested in a girl like that?

Prema had confirmed it with an emphatic nod.

The news had dismayed more than stunned Vinita. She had seen less of Som in the last several days, and whenever they'd been together he'd been preoccupied. Nevertheless, she was loath to admit that she had failed to hold his attention. She still wanted to believe he was a changed man—because of
her
good influence. He'd said so himself a couple of times.

She had also already begun to suspect she might be pregnant.

But two weeks ago, that last smidgen of hope she'd been desperately clinging to was blown away like a piece of fluff disappearing into the wind. Prema had discovered that Som was spoken for—had been for years. Since his childhood he'd been unofficially betrothed to his cousin from Bijapur, his rich maternal uncle's daughter. They were waiting for his cousin to turn eighteen, legally old enough for marriage, before announcing a formal engagement. And that was supposed to happen within the coming year.

Vinita had shaken her head at first. “How can he marry his first cousin? That's almost incest.”

Prema had shrugged it off. “Happens all the time—even more frequently among rich people. It keeps the money within the family.”

Recognizing the truth in Prema's words, Vinita had burst into bitter tears. Prema had comforted her the best way she could while Vinita ranted. “Why did he lie to me, Prema? Why did he pretend I was the only girl in the world for him?”