The Forbidden Daughter (7 page)

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” she’d chided him, trying 44
Shobhan Bantwal

to suppress the chill creeping up her spine. Such macabre thinking was simply tempting fate.

“Life is unpredictable, Isha,” he’d said on a quiet note.

At the time it had sounded like a strange conversation, but now it didn’t seem that weird.

Besides the policy, there was another large envelope crammed with papers in the safe deposit box, mainly their passports, marriage certificate, Priya’s birth certificate, and other things that she had no time to inspect. She also emptied out all the extra jewelry she’d stored there. It was substantial, thank goodness.

Her parents had given her a lot of gold and diamonds over the years.

The conventional rationale behind giving a daughter jewels was this very scenario: if something happened to her husband and she needed instant cash, they would come in handy. Wasn’t it ironic that that piece of ancient wisdom had come into play for her?

She’d always thought of it as some antiquated custom that was too obsolete for these modern times. But then again, she’d never pictured herself a widow at such a young age, either.

She informed the bank’s manager that she had no more need for the safe deposit box, and that he could cancel the account.

After signing the necessary forms, Isha asked the taxi driver to take her to Anvekar Jewelers in the heart of town.

At the jewelers’, she took out three elaborate sets of gemstone jewelry, expensive but with the least sentimental value attached, and asked old Mr. Anvekar to give her a fair price for them. The old man was someone she and her mother had dealt with for many years. He gave her a puzzled look before bringing out his scale and jewelers loupe to examine the pieces.

“Are you sure you want to sell these sets, Isha? They are top quality and will be good for your daughter when she grows up,”

he said, casting a glance at Priya.

Isha took a deep, regretful breath and nodded. “I’m sure.”

When he handed her the cash, the old man looked sympathetic, perhaps recognizing her desperate need.

Isha put the wad of cash in her handbag and walked out with THE

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Priya. She knew Mr. Anvekar’s speculative eyes followed her all the way to the taxi. That was another thing that would seem strange to him: a wealthy woman like her traveling in a dusty taxi when her family owned multiple cars and had a chauffeur.

The old jeweler would be sure to call his wife right away and share his news. Soon half the town would know Isha had sold some of her choice jewelry. And they would draw their own conclusions.

She ordered the taxi driver to take them to St. Mary’s Convent and pulled Priya close.

A new chapter in both Priya’s life and hers was about to begin.

Chapter 5

October 2006

The extreme discomfort in Isha’s belly made her wince. With mounting anxiety she’d been waiting for this signal for a while. She was overdue by a full week. But now that she was nearly there, it caused her heart to flutter.

Excitement combined with dread had been nipping at her since she’d awakened at dawn that morning. And throughout the day, while she had read aloud to the children at the orphanage, sung nursery rhymes with them, and tended to their needs, the pain had put in an appearance every now and then, reminding her of the imminent arrival.

There had been small signs in the past couple of days—minor indications that could have fooled a neophyte, but not her. The nagging ache in her lower back and the intense pressure on her internal organs were gradually escalating. Isha had been through this once before, and knew what to expect.

Millions of women experienced similar trauma all over the universe, and yet there was stark fear in her heart at her im-pending ordeal, mostly because she was in it alone.

She didn’t know what her future held. When the next contraction came, she had no more time to ruminate. The sheer agony of it forced her to focus on one thing and one thing only: the baby inside her womb conveying a clear signal that it was ready to face the world.

THE

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Taking short breaths, she massaged her swollen belly till the contraction subsided. This one was stronger and more painful than the last, the one that had racked her body less than three minutes ago.

Concentrating on the framed picture of Ganesh, she prayed for His help. Of course, most of her prayers in the recent past had gone unanswered, but that didn’t mean He hadn’t heard her, nor did it mean she was going to give up her staunch Hindu faith.

Next to Ganesh was a crucifix, reminding her that this was a convent. It was the only convent in Palgaum. Now it was her home. Thank goodness, when Isha had asked for help, the nuns, although hesitant at first, had been kind enough to let her stay there with Priya and earn her keep by working as a teacher’s aide in their orphanage.

At the moment, Priya was sitting on an oblong
chatai
—a reed mat—placed on the gray flagstone floor, with a notebook open in front of her. Oblivious to her mother’s distress, she sat with her legs crossed, engrossed in her task. She carefully wrote words in her notebook as she hummed a tune. She was doing her homework—learning to write in running-hand, or
cursive,
as the Americans called it.

Isha gazed fondly at the little head bent over her work. The curly brown hair was pulled back in the usual tight pigtails, secured with white ribbons. Her pink jeans were faded at the knees. The white T-shirt was getting a little too short. Soon Priya would need new clothes and shoes. At the moment, Isha had no idea how she was going to pay for those.

Priya had been her only solace in the past few months. Without her, Isha would have been almost suicidally depressed. But children had a way of keeping adults on an even keel. Priya had done her part in maintaining Isha’s equilibrium when she had sunk to her nadir. The child had miraculously overcome her own grief in a hurry and then managed to pull Isha out of the murky depths by the sheer sweetness of her disposition.

The child lived up to her name—
beloved
in Sanskrit.

Priya looked up at her with a triumphant expression. “Mummy, 48
Shobhan Bantwal

look! My
B
words are just like Sister Alice’s.” She held her notebook under Isha’s nose and pointed to the words. “See?”

Feigning surprise, Isha widened her eyes. “You’re right! Your handwriting is getting better and better, pumpkin.” Isha was delighted with Priya’s progress. Her little girl was learning exceptionally fast since she’d entered first standard, much faster than her classmates. That was what her report cards indicated.

An angelic smile transformed Priya’s oval face into a vision of dimples, starry eyes, and even white teeth, except for the one missing lower tooth that had fallen out only days ago. “That’s what Sister Alice told me, too.”

Isha’s maternal heart warmed with pride. “That’s wonderful!”

In the next second, Isha had a strong contraction, making her wince. “Oh God—”

Priya’s smile vanished. “Mummy, are you sick?”

“I’m . . . in pain . . . dear,” Isha managed to gasp.

The homework entirely forgotten, Priya stared at Isha with wide eyes. “Is the baby coming?” She’d been told a little bit about the pain associated with labor and childbirth, so she wouldn’t panic when it happened.

“Yes.” Isha shifted in the chair to try to ease the agony. It was time to summon Mother Regina and Mother Dora. Mother Regina was the elderly Italian nun who was also the principal of the school and chief administrator of the convent. Mother Dora was the Indian nurse-midwife who took care of the everyday medical needs of the convent’s residents.

Isha had been putting off calling the two nuns for the last hour or more.
Let the contractions get a little stronger before I
ask for help,
she’d convinced herself. Seeking assistance was still alien to her, despite the fact that she’d been forced to do it time and again lately, much of it from strangers, no less.

“Is it hurting a lot?” Priya stood up and bit her lower lip, telling Isha that her little girl’s nerves were tightening. She was a compassionate child.

“Yes,” replied Isha, now having ridden the wave of pain.

“But I’m not sick, so don’t be scared. It always hurts a little THE

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when a baby’s coming. As soon as it comes out, the pain goes away.”

“Why does a baby hurt?” Priya put a hesitant hand on Isha’s belly.

Isha smiled and smoothed her daughter’s stray curls away from her face. “It’s the way God meant it to be. Sometimes good things come with a little pain attached. Remember what your PE teacher, Miss Maria, always repeats in your physical education class? ‘No pain, no gain.’”

“But in PE we don’t have babies.”

Despite her discomfort, Isha couldn’t help laughing at the innocent remark. “Thank goodness for that.” Only a child could think in such quaintly logical terms.

“Do you want me to call Mother Regina?” Priya asked.

“Yes.” With some difficulty Isha rose from the heavy arm-chair the nuns had generously moved into her room so she could relax in it when her feet swelled up and her back hurt.

“I’m going to the bathroom now. Go tell Mother Regina that the baby’s coming.”

“Okay.” Seemingly relieved at being able to do something constructive for her mother, Priya ran out of the room. Isha watched her race down the long corridor, her skinny legs moving at lightning speed, her pigtails waving like a moth’s wings.

With slow, careful steps Isha went halfway down that same hallway to the row of toilets. Her bladder had been working overtime in the past several months, as expected, but the past week had been worse than ever. That was when she’d known her uterus had descended in preparation for birth. The nervous jitters had been increasing since then.

How in heaven’s name was she going to raise two children on her own? She was already a burden on the nuns. They were feeding two mouths at the moment. Soon there’d be three.

Moments later, as she came out of the bathroom, she felt another one of those killer contractions coming on, and she stopped in the corridor. Leaning against the wall, she started taking quick, shallow breaths. She heard Priya and Mother Regina coming up behind her.

50
Shobhan Bantwal

Mother Regina caught her by the shoulders. “Come, my dear.

Let me help you back to your room.”

A buxom woman who easily weighed about a hundred kilos, well over two hundred pounds, Mother Regina let Isha lean on her and trudge back to the room. Priya walked beside them with a pinched look. With her pregnant belly protruding from her slim frame, Isha’s gait was more like a waddle—a walking pen-guin.

She went to her cot and lay down. “Thank you, Mother,” she managed to murmur.

Mother Regina slipped a large sheet of rubber padding underneath Isha’s loose kaftan and adjusted it in preparation for the coming event. Then she studied Isha for a second, her bright blue eyes narrowed in thought. “How far apart are the contractions?”

“About a minute and a half.”

“Then you’re ready. I will get Mother Dora,” she said. “Is there anything you need while I fetch her?”

Isha glanced at her daughter. “Could you please make sure Priya is kept occupied while the baby comes?”

“Certainly.” Mother Regina took Priya’s hand. “Come on, Priya, let us go tell Mother Dora that your baby sister is about to come.”

Priya shook her head. “I want to stay with Mummy. I want to see my baby.” She had taken to calling the unborn child “my baby” ever since Isha had explained to her that the two of them were in this together, and that the baby was going to need both of them.

“You can see your baby when she comes, dear. Until then your Mummy needs Mother Dora to take care of her.”

“Can I stay, please . . . ?” Priya tugged on Mother Regina’s hand.

Mother Regina wasn’t known for her patience. Isha knew that from experience. She had a few scars on her knuckles from her own student days at St. Mary’s, inflicted by the sharp edge of Mother Regina’s infamous ruler. So she wasn’t surprised THE

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when Mother Regina’s face hardened. “No! Pick up your homework and let us go do it with the other children.”

It broke Isha’s heart to see Priya’s lower lip tremble and the tears gather in her eyes. But what could she do under the circumstances other than let Mother Regina take the child away and keep her in a secure place?

Despite the nun’s forbidding and sometimes cruel ways of disciplining children, Isha knew her child would be safe with the older woman. As the next wave of pain started to crest, Isha watched Priya quietly pick up her book and pencil and follow Mother Regina out the door.

Priya turned around one last time to look at her, the tears now rolling down her cheeks. Isha managed to send her an encouraging smile. “Go, sweetie. I’ll be okay.”

A few minutes later, Mother Dora appeared with a bucket of hot water, a steel tray with some formidable-looking surgical instruments (to be used if needed until an obstetrician could arrive), and some towels and sheets.

She looked frail in her heavy white cotton habit. The starched white cap with its black border seemed to overwhelm her tiny cocoa-brown face. “Don’t look so worried, my dear. We’ll take care of this,” she assured Isha.

“I’m trying . . . but babies can sometimes be born with problems, right?” There was no incubator or resuscitation equipment if the baby needed them. How could she not worry? The next contraction was so painful that Isha groaned. She couldn’t wait for her ordeal to be over.

Mother Dora wiped the sweat gathering on Isha’s brow with a towel. “We may be able to ease your worries about the baby.

The orphans are scheduled for their inoculations tomorrow, and the pediatrician will be here to do that.”

“He comes
here
to vaccinate them?” Isha’s eyes went wide.

“Oh, yes.” Mother Dora looked amused. “I know it’s hard to imagine a man in a convent, but it’s necessary, and the doctor is very kind and reliable.” She glanced at Isha. “Maybe Mother Regina can request him to take a look at your new baby.”