The Forbidden Daughter (23 page)

“Why would it hurt me? I’m a pediatrician.”

“You seem to be a man of principles, just like Nikhil. I’m afraid you’ll inadvertently get involved in this because of what I’m telling you. It could mean trouble for you. I don’t want that to happen.” God, she most certainly didn’t want another man dead because of Karnik, especially a man who’d become an ally, a trusted friend of the family.

He mulled over that for a bit. “Tell me this: How did your husband get caught up with something like abortion in the first place? I don’t see the connection between a tire dealer and a medical ethics issue.”

“There is a direct connection in our case.” She proceeded to tell him everything from the start, including her in-laws’ obsession with wanting grandsons and not granddaughters.

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“They blatantly asked you to have an abortion?” Harish’s expression showed total dismay.

“Yes. And Karnik was more than willing to perform it. In fact, the way he suggested it, I had a feeling it was very commonplace for him.”

“Did your in-laws ask you to do the same thing when you were expecting Priya?”

“Back then we didn’t know it was going to be a girl. We didn’t have a sonogram done. Thank goodness, because if we did, I’m sure they’d have forbidden me to have Priya, too.”

“My God! Is there no sense of morality whatsoever in your in-laws?”

“That’s the ironic part,” she said with a wry laugh. “They consider themselves the personification of high-caste morality.

Even their justification for an abortion is what they claim the scriptures prescribe—that only a son can bring his parents
mok-sha
.” Salvation.

Upon a parent’s death, a son was supposed to pour
Ganga-jal
—holy water from the Ganga River—into his parents’ mouths and thereby guarantee their souls’ direct entry into
swarg.
Heaven.

It would ensure liberation from the tedious karmic cycle of birth and death.

Harish shook his head. “I can’t believe people still use that silly notion to justify their actions. I suspect the real reason is their ego—having a boy to carry on their precious name and all that.”

“I think that’s what got Nikhil so riled, that the parents he loved and respected so much could be two-faced, so full of righteous bluster on the one hand and so ruthless and amoral on the other.”

“Why would he hide it from all of you?” Harish looked genuinely puzzled.

“His father had warned him not to make waves in a small town like ours, where the Karniks are respected members of the community. And Nikhil didn’t like to upset his father. I’m sure he didn’t confide in me because I would have told him the same thing—to stay out of Karnik’s dirty dealings, mainly because it could lead to ugly repercussions.”

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Shobhan Bantwal

She glanced at the framed photograph of a radiant Nikhil and herself, which she placed on the end table. They’d been on their honeymoon in Mount Abu. “But even my worst fears could never have foreseen murder.” She pressed a hand over her mouth to keep the emotions at bay. “I believe someone killed Nikhil for triggering an investigation into Karnik’s business affairs.”

It took Harish a minute to absorb that. “I can see how Karnik would consider Nikhil a threat to his livelihood and his reputation.”

“I know your sister-in-law is an ob-gyn and I don’t want you to think I’m including her with the likes of Karnik.”

“Don’t worry. Prachi has strong opinions on women’s rights.

She’d never dream of performing abortions just to get rid of girls, especially when she has a little girl of her own.”

Isha took a short breath of relief. “Thank goodness for a few good doctors.”

“Hopefully more than a few,” he said dryly. “I know every one of them through the local medical association and they seem so dedicated, so humane, including Karnik. I can’t imagine the mild-mannered old man could be capable of murder.”

“Neither could I, until I found out it wasn’t a robbery gone bad but a foul murder that was probably planned and executed by someone whom Nikhil and I knew so well. I still can’t believe such a gentlemanly individual could possibly be involved with such primitive violence. I guess he hired some killer to do his dirty work for him.”

“Of course. Karnik wouldn’t soil his own hands with something gruesome like that. Did Nikhil seem different just before he passed away? Did you notice anything strange?”

She attempted to recall those difficult, stressful days prior to Nikhil’s death. “There was a lot of tension around the house with my pregnancy progressing and Baba and Ayee gradually increasing the pressure on us. There were arguments, and naturally it led to problems between Nikhil and his parents, and as a result between him and me.”

“Did he even hint at anything?”

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She shrugged. “The whole stupid affair was a strain on our nerves and Nikhil was in a surly mood. The stress left him brooding a lot, which wasn’t his usual nature. He had a short fuse, but he also got over it quickly, and he always laughed a lot.

He was a charming, likeable man.”

“And your in-laws don’t see their son’s death as a direct result of this illegal abortion business?” Harish still looked dubious.

“I’m not sure if they
don’t
see it or
choose
not to see it, because if they do, then the blame shifts to them. I can’t say for sure, but maybe if they hadn’t pressured us, Nikhil wouldn’t have been so rebellious and so adamant about exposing Karnik.”

“You mean if his parents had never suggested abortion, Nikhil would have left the matter alone despite knowing that Karnik was performing illegal abortions?”

“I really don’t know, Harish. Maybe I’m just deluding myself, dreaming up every excuse to blame my in-laws for what happened.” She folded the dress she was working on and laid it aside. “Perhaps Nikhil would have done it anyway. I’ll never know.”

“But your in-laws were wrong in pressuring you to do something that went against your conscience. And it’s insane for them to blame
you
for producing girls.”

“No more insane than blaming a baby for being the cause of her father’s death and her grandmother’s heart problems.”

His frown deepened. “They blame
Diya
for Nikhil’s death?”

She nodded. “According to my mother-in-law, Diya is a bad omen. That she’s bringing doom upon the family. First her father dies, and now this health issue. As the baby’s mother, I’m evil, too.”

He gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Is that why you left them, Isha, because they made life impossible for you?”

She nodded reluctantly. “If it were only me, it wouldn’t matter so much, but I wasn’t going to let them crucify my daughters.”

“I now understand why you stayed in the convent and why you want to raise your children on your own. At first I won-168
Shobhan Bantwal

dered why you had given up the comforts the Tilaks could afford to give you and their granddaughters.” He studied the happy young couple in the photo for a moment. “I’m really sorry about everything.”

“No sorrier than I am,” she said. “I keep praying that Ayee will be healthy again and that she’ll stop laying the blame at Diya’s door. If Ayee dies of a heart attack she’ll go with a curse on her lips.” Isha shuddered at the notion of a dying woman’s curse falling upon her child.

He looked at his watch and rose to his feet. “I better get going. Thanks for the delicious dinner.”

“It was nothing.” She stood up and followed him to the door.

“I’m sorry I burdened you with my problems.”

“I’m glad you told me, Isha. It’s all beginning to make a lot of sense.” He took her hand in both of his. “You were forced to take a bold step and you did.”

“I . . . did what I . . . had to.” The unexpected physical contact was disturbing. Her pulse shot up. Oh no! It couldn’t be.

This was crazy. He was only being sympathetic.

“I enjoyed the evening very much,” he said, the sincerity in his eyes telling her he was being totally honest. His hands seemed a bit unsteady, too.

“Y-you’re welcome.” Was his pulse as erratic as hers?

“Perhaps you’ll let me reciprocate? You can bring the girls and have dinner with my family sometime?”

He held on to her hand. Her heart was hammering against her ribs. But it felt good, so she didn’t attempt to reclaim it. Instead she smiled at the thought of meeting his family. They sounded like nice, uncomplicated people, just like him.

“I’d like that . . . if it’s okay with them,” she said. She wasn’t sure they’d approve of their precious son socializing with a widow and her two small children. They were likely to misconstrue what was only a friendship—if it could even be called that.

Abruptly he dropped her hand and wished her good night.

Then, picking up his umbrella, he was gone.

The house suddenly seemed very quiet. Empty. It surprised her that she should feel that way. Her children were sleeping in THE

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the other room. There was no cause to feel lonely and blue. And yet it was there, that void in her heart that never seemed to heal.

This was silly thinking.
I’m losing my mind
. It had to be the constant drizzle outside that was dampening her mood, she told herself. The monsoon season would forever be associated with Nikhil’s death and the choking grief that had come afterward.

Thank goodness, by the end of the month the rains would be gone.

What she needed right now was something constructive to keep her mind occupied. So she went into the second bedroom, switched on the light, and pulled off the cover from the vintage sewing machine. She started working on another one of the many dresses she had begun during the week.

It took a while for the tingling in her right hand to go away.

Chapter 20

After reading the same paragraph for the third time and not absorbing a word of it, Harish knew his attempts were hopeless. He flung the medical journal on the nightstand and shut off the bedside lamp. Lying on his back, he stared into the darkness.

Generally he fell asleep the moment his head settled onto his pillow, but tonight sleep was a long way off. His mind seemed to be in overdrive at the moment.

It was far too occupied with other things—Isha Tilak for one.

He couldn’t help recalling the evening’s events. It was one of the most momentous evenings of his life, if not the most. He had driven Isha and her girls to Sunday dinner at his brother’s house earlier. It had been a couple of weeks since he’d asked Isha if she would like to meet his family, and it had taken him nearly that whole time to introduce the subject to them.

Explaining to them her rare circumstances hadn’t been easy, especially since they knew who Isha’s late parents and her in-laws were—well-known families with deep roots in Palgaum.

At first they were shocked to learn that she had walked out on her in-laws—something unheard of, even in this day and age, especially when a woman had children. They looked at him with surprise and wariness, probably contemplating his relationship to Isha. But then their curiosity to meet the mystery woman overcame everything else.

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“Of course,” Satish said. “Please invite her and her children.”

“I’d love to meet her,” was Prachi’s eager response. No surprise there, since Prachi was a warm and gregarious soul.

His father remained silent, while his mother’s first question after a moment’s hesitation was, “Is she vegetarian or nonvegetarian?”

“What difference does
that
make?” Harish asked.

“
Arré,
she is a
pukka
Brahmin.” Purebred Brahmin. “They are usually strict vegetarians, and I have to know what kind of dishes to cook, no?”

“She eats chicken, I know,” Harish replied with a shrug. He’d never understood why women made such a big deal over something as basic and simple as food.

So after that little introductory discussion, they had all agreed to entertain Isha and the girls a few days later. That had happened only hours ago.

During the evening, his father had on his schoolmaster face.

He threw occasional glances at Isha. Harish could tell Dada was doing his usual study-and-assess thing before saying too much—always the cautious observer and researcher. He was a hard man to please, but once he took a liking to or disliked someone or something, it was hard to change his opinion. Harish could only hope Dada had put Isha on his “likeable” list.

Mamma was smiling a lot, trying hard not to stare at Isha.

She was the one Harish was most concerned about. When he’d mentioned Isha a couple of times, she had given him that watchful and penetrating look that told him she was trying to gauge whether the woman called Isha Tilak was a bad influence on her precious son. After all, every eligible girl she’d brought to his attention had been rejected by him because he’d claimed he had no time for marriage. So why was he suddenly making all this time for some upper-class widow with children in tow?

He could sympathize with his mother’s concerns. She had only his best interests at heart.

Prachi, as expected, carried on a friendly conversation with Isha, asking curious but not prying questions. Her dark eyes 172
Shobhan Bantwal

were alight with interest. “Oh, your Priya is only a few months older than my Reshma? How nice! We should see if we can get the girls together on Sundays if possible.”

His brother played the genial host by trying to join in the conversation and passing around a plate of potato wafers and glasses of soft drinks. “So, I hear you recently moved into that new high-rise building. Looks like Saraf is making a killing on that venture.” Satish was a typical accountant. Everything was judged in terms of profit and loss.

The two older girls got along like the proverbial house on fire. Reshma, being an extrovert, had discovered an instant friend in the equally outgoing Priya. Baby Diya had crawled all over the area rug in the center of the drawing room, surrounded by some of Reshma’s old toys, and had been on her best behavior.