The Forbidden Daughter (11 page)

“But you can’t miss a meal, Harish,” his mother chided. “It is bad for you. You work so hard; you need to eat.”

“I won’t starve. I’ll stop at a restaurant or something,” he assured his mother.

“But restaurant food is not even hygienic, let alone healthy.”

His mother sounded disappointed at not being able to feed him her home-cooked meal.

“One restaurant meal won’t kill me, Mamma. It’s late. Go to bed and stop worrying about me.” He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so he added, “I’ll come over for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Okay, then.” That seemed to appease her. “I’m making
poori
and
bhaaji,
” she added, perhaps hoping to entice him with the puffy fried bread and its traditional accompaniment: a spicy sautéed potato-and-onion dish seasoned with mustard and cumin seeds. He was spoiled in that respect. And it made him feel even guiltier when he thought about the sad, neglected faces of the kids at the orphanage.

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Finally he decided to forego the restaurant as well. Parking his car in the portico of his modest house, he let himself in. It was a small, single-story bungalow with two bedrooms, an old-fashioned bathroom, a drawing room, a dining area, and a kitchen.

He had purchased it only months ago from an elderly couple.

The neighborhood was desirable because of its prime location.

Maybe someday he could get a big, rambling custom-built home like some of the other successful doctors in town. But for now, he was young and single, and this was plenty for his needs.

Inside his kitchen, he helped himself to a glass of milk and a banana. He didn’t really taste any of it because his thoughts were occupied by Isha Tilak and her children. The woman had gone through labor only a day ago and she looked exhausted.

She badly needed some rest.

He hoped she had a mobile phone at least and would make an effort to call him. He’d made it clear that he was willing to help her in any way he could. Under Mother Regina’s watchful eye, the only way he could convey his offer to Isha was by way of that cryptic message he’d scribbled on the back of his calling card. Had she even thought of reading it?

In any case, he needed to make a list of some of the things he could give her. Picking up a notepad, he stood at the kitchen counter and started on it while he sipped the milk. Naturally, any medical care that the children needed, including inoculations, he could give her at no cost.

His list grew as he thought of more and more items: formula, first-aid supplies, baby soap and shampoo, nappies, talcum powder . . . What he didn’t already have in his clinic, he could buy.

He decided he’d drop off all the items at the convent for her before he started work the following morning. When he slipped into bed sometime later and tried to sleep, he wondered why he was so deeply affected by the plight of one woman and her children. There were millions like them in the world, and yet he was fixated on Isha Tilak and her children.

Somewhere deep down, he knew the answer. Back in his college days, he’d had a crush on her, just like a lot of other boys 76
Shobhan Bantwal

had. She’d hardly even bothered to look at him. But then, nobody did, since he was a typical nerd who kept his bespectacled eyes glued to his books and on his dream of becoming a doctor.

Besides, Isha and he came from entirely different castes and circumstances. She was an upper-caste Brahmin girl from a well-to-do family while he was a poor non-Brahmin. Their parallel worlds were not meant to intersect at any time. In spite of all the modernization India had undergone, the caste system still ruled social interaction to a large extent.

With her smooth skin, attractive honey-colored eyes, and curly brown hair, Isha Ketkar could hold her own in any crowd.

He had admired the petite, elegant girl with the sunny smile from afar, like one would gaze at something in an exclusive shop window or museum, wanting to touch it, wishing to take it home, but knowing all along that it was impossible.

After he’d gone off to medical college, she’d faded away, along with all his boyish interests. He had assumed that like all respectable girls, she had married, and had a happy home and a family. His life as a medical student had become too busy to think about girls or anything else. He had kept his focus strictly on his career goals.

And he’d achieved them. He was content.

However, tonight that sense of contentment was curiously absent. He had laid eyes once again on the fantasy girl of his student days. She was still as appealing as she was then, only a little more mature. And, oh, yes, she’d been married to a man her parents had picked for her with great care, and she had the projected two children. But other than those two things, she didn’t seem to have that dream life he had envisioned for her. Instead she was a widow. And she didn’t appear to have what most wealthy widows had—enough money to live well.

So why was he getting upset over Isha Tilak’s unfortunate fate?

He couldn’t find a logical answer. All he knew was that he felt compelled to do something for her—anything that would make her life easier. So he’d start helping her first thing in the morning.

Now that the monumental decision was made, maybe he could get some sleep.

Chapter 8

The boardinghouse was quiet at the moment, except for the shuffling footsteps of the elderly maid, Clara, who cleaned the bathrooms and floors every other day. It was nearly eleven in the morning and Priya was at school.

The boarders, young, active girls between the ages of nine and seventeen, made a racket each morning and noon as they rushed up and down the corridor, used the bathrooms, and gossiped and giggled before heading for breakfast or lunch, and then to the building next door that housed their classrooms. The dinner hour at sundown was the same way—noisy and boisterous—

despite the nuns’ censorious frowns and frequent reprimands.

Thank goodness for the stringent lights-out rules, which meant they went to bed early. It gave Isha some quiet time before she settled in for the night.

She watched her infant as she nursed hungrily. Finally, after a day and a half of suffering hunger pangs, the poor angel was getting some nutrition. Isha’s milk had finally come in, and it was a relief. The child would have to survive on mother’s milk for God knew how long. Eight to ten months was usually the maximum a baby could be nursed. After that, what was Isha going to feed her?

Just as she had finished nursing and had laid the baby against her shoulder to burp her, there was a knock on the door. Who could it be? Nobody ever came to visit her. “Come in,” she called.

“It’s unlocked.”

78
Shobhan Bantwal

The door opened and two novices carried in a large cardboard box. Isha raised a brow at the two fresh-faced young women in their stiff white habits. “What is it?”

“We don’t know. Mother Regina asked us to deliver it to you.”

“Is she sure it’s for me?”

They both nodded. “She said it’s for the baby.”

More puzzled than ever, Isha thanked them and they went on their way. Putting the snoozing baby down on the cot, she sat on the floor beside the box and ripped open the plastic tape holding the flaps together. She couldn’t wait to see what it was. Who could have sent anything for Diya? Nobody even knew of her birth other than the nuns.

For a moment she wondered if her in-laws had experienced a change of heart. In the next instant she dismissed it as wishful thinking. Those people had no heart.

Discovering a folded sheet of paper inside the box, she began to read. There was something familiar about the handwriting. It took her a second to recognize it. Dr. Salvi! Again it took some time to decipher the scribbled words, but she managed to read it all the way through.

Dear Mrs. Tilak,

Enclosed is the powder formula I promised for Baby Diya,
and a few other items I felt you will need at this time. I added
some chocolates and books for Priya and you. Please consider
them a humble gift.

Once again, please ring me if you need any help.

—Harish Salvi

After reading the letter once again, Isha put it aside and stared at the box for a long time before taking inventory of its contents. Incredible! These were gifts from someone she barely knew. She started lifting out each item, marveling at the thoughtfulness of the sender.

In addition to most everything an infant could need, from THE

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nappies and pacifiers to baby lotion, there were two children’s books and three bars of chocolate for Priya. And as if that weren’t enough, he had two paperback novels for Isha.

He had thought of everything and everyone. Oh God!

She buried her face in her hands and burst into tears. Such kindness from a man she’d technically met yesterday. What was she going to say to him? Of course she couldn’t accept such a generous gift. And yet, would she hurt his feelings if she returned it? Besides, most of the items she badly needed.

Had he asked his wife to help him with this package, or had he taken it upon himself to do it alone? But then again, the types of things in the box seemed to show a woman’s touch, especially the paperbacks for her and the chocolate for Priya.

Whoever was responsible for the gift box was very caring and gracious. And the thought made her weep some more.

After a lot of deliberation, she decided she’d offer to pay for it. She wished the insurance money had come through. Didn’t those lazy, callous people realize how desperate she was for that cash? Had they no idea how difficult it was for a widow with two children to make ends meet? The bureaucratic red tape in India was tangled beyond imagination.

All these years, with her sheltered way of life, she’d never had to deal with any of it directly. But now she knew exactly why Nikhil used to get so frustrated at times with the business of selling tires. She also realized why he had to go against his principles and bribe several people just to be able to get some simple things done. It was a matter of survival.

From deep inside her suitcase she pulled out the mobile phone Nikhil had bought for her a while ago—for use in an emergency. She’d kept it hidden from the nuns. They didn’t approve of such expensive, modern gadgets. It went against their puritanical code of living.

But the mobile was the one thing she intended to keep. Fortunately, in spite of her lack of enthusiasm about owning a mobile phone, Nikhil had insisted on buying her an advanced model along with a comprehensive, unlimited-calls service plan for an 80
Shobhan Bantwal

entire year in advance. “Just keep it in your purse. You never know when you’re going to need it,” he’d advised her.

She gazed at the phone for a moment. Was this, too, something Nikhil had anticipated as her future need? She’d hardly ever used the phone, but now it was her lifeline to the world outside the convent walls.

With some hesitation she dialed the number indicated on Dr. Salvi’s card. He was a busy man, so she was probably interrupting his work, but she
had
to talk to him. The phone rang several times before his voice mail came on. She left a brief message requesting him to call her back.

Noticing the phone’s battery was low, she retrieved the cord from the suitcase and plugged it into the only electric outlet in the room, and then covered the phone with a sheet. If Mother Dora or someone else came by, she didn’t want to be caught with it. Since the walls were thin and the girls around her were naturally curious, she shut off the ringer and set it on vibrate mode.

Half an hour later, an odd buzzing sound startled her. It took her a second to realize it was her phone vibrating and not an insect hovering around the baby. She picked it up quickly, before it could go to voice mail. “Hello.”

“Mrs. Tilak?”

“Yes.”

“Harish Salvi here.”

“Oh . . . thanks for ringing back.” Now that he was on the phone, she didn’t know what to say. Earlier, she’d had it all planned, what she would say, and how she’d say it, but now she felt awkward and tongue-tied. “I . . . um . . . I wanted to thank you for your generosity. I got the package this morning.”

“I hope you can use most of the things. As a pediatrician I know exactly what Diya needs, but with Priya and you, I wasn’t very sure.”

“It’s still very kind of you. You even sent
me
some books.”

“It’s nothing.” He laughed. “Although, I don’t know if you’re fond of reading and whether you like that type of fiction.”

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She couldn’t help smiling. “I love reading, and the novels are perfect for my tastes. How did you know what to buy?”

“I asked my sister-in-law, my older brother’s wife. She reads quite a bit.”

“Then I suppose she and I have similar tastes in books.” A long and awkward silence ensued. She had to put an end to it.

“The . . . uh . . . reason I rang was to say I’d like to pay you for the things you brought over this morning.”

“What!” He sounded shocked. “They’re a gift. Didn’t I say that in my note? Or was it my horrible handwriting you couldn’t read?”

“No, I read every word, but . . . but you hardly know us, Dr. Salvi. I can’t accept all this from a virtual stranger.”

“We’re not strangers. We knew each other in college, didn’t we?” he said in a flat voice.

“We didn’t
know
each other, Doctor. We attended the same college, but we never exchanged a word.”

“Does it really matter? We know
of
each other and I wanted to make your life a little easier, that’s all.” He was quiet for a second. “No strings attached, Mrs. Tilak—none whatsoever.”

Oh, no! He’d completely misunderstood her. “Dr. Salvi, I’m sorry if I didn’t make myself clear. I only meant to say your generosity is overwhelming and I feel burdened to accept something this expensive from someone I barely know. I realize there’s no hidden agenda here. You’re just being kind.”

His drawn-out breath was audible, even over the static of the mobile phone. “I’m glad you don’t think I have an ulterior motive. Most of the baby items are samples from my clinic, so I didn’t purchase them. The rest were very affordable, so please don’t worry about it.”