Tell A Thousand Lies (47 page)

“What choice do I have? Besides, this isn’t about Lata, it is about Ved. I have to do whatever it takes to make him feel secure with us. If I deny him this simple request, tomorrow he won’t feel comfortable asking me something else.”

Ammamma tightened her lips in disapproval.

A week later Srikar sent a framed picture of him with Lata and Ved, which Ved put on the table next to my bed. I tried not to let bitterness overwhelm me each time my eyes fell on the happy family. I had to keep reminding myself that I was doing this for the sake of my child.

The one thing he continued to do, which continued to hurt, was call me ‘Doctor
amma
.’ Ammamma wanted me to make him call me Amma. But I did not want to force my son into doing something he so clearly wasn’t comfortable with.

 
“Doctor
amma
,” Ved asked after homework every afternoon, “can I go out to play?” All his evenings were spent at various friends’ houses, playing one game or another.

“You’ve been going to your friends’ houses each day. Why don’t you invite them over?”

He made a face, but didn’t say anything.

“Ved?”

“How can I?” he burst out. “This is an ashram, not a home.”

I swallowed my hurt. “Will you ask them to come if I shut down the ashram once a week?” The ashram had activities seven days a week now.

“You will send all the devotees away?”

“I’ll try.”

“Okay, then.”

When I broached the topic of shutting down the ashram one day each week, Ammamma was taken aback. “But why?”

“We did it the first time I came back as Goddess.”

“That was then. You haven’t shut the ashram down on a regular basis for a while.”

“I’ll start now.”

“Why the sudden urgency?”

“Ved can’t invite his friends over to an ashram. He needs a home.”

“Tongues will wag,” Ammamma warned.

“About what?”

“About why this little boy is so important to you.”

“Ammamma, all I do is live my life for other people. For once I’d like to do something
I
want.”

“There is Satyam to consider.”

That gossipy old priest. I sighed. “Ammamma, there is always someone to consider. I don’t care anymore. If my son can’t feel comfortable bringing friends home, what is the point?” There was so little he asked of me. How could I deny him a perfectly valid request?

Ammamma shrugged, but I could see the worry in her eyes.

><

I ordered the ashram shut down on Sundays.

“But why?” Satyam, the priest, asked.

“Because the volunteers need to spend time with their families.” A feeble explanation, if there was one. We had so many volunteers that if each of them took three days off a week, we’d still have enough to crowd the ashram. Besides, in our rural community, there were no ‘off’ days. People came in whenever they could. “And I want you to take the day off, too. My grandmother will take care of the
prasadam
and prayers.”

I could see the speculation in his eyes, but I couldn’t get myself to care.

Chapter 57

Clinic

I
n my personal altar at home, the biggest picture was that of Swami Chidananda
.
I owed him my life and my sanity. He had commandeered an army of volunteers to move out the ashram activities to the temple complex.
It had taken a whole year to get the complex ready, but it was now complete. Kondal Rao was not happy with the elderly saint’s involvement, but there wasn’t much he could do; Swami Chidananda had a legion of loyal devotees Kondal Rao couldn’t afford to alienate. As a result of his intervention, our ashram was back to being home again.

Swami Chidananda often urged me to practice yoga to attain peace; Ved was my yoga. Allowing him to keep a photograph of his parents in our room had been a significant step in our relationship.

Loving Ved allowed me to open my heart; he could get inside of me and rip my insides to pieces, and I would let him. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed, then some, to give him the space he needed. I couldn’t bear to see him walk away from me. If he was five minutes late coming back from school, I worked myself into a frenzy. Knowing that I was trying to compensate for the missed years, I tried hard not to stifle him. But Ammamma saw my struggle. And she fretted.

I also missed Aunty. And Srikar. Despite the promise to my sister to stay away from her husband in thought and deed, his absence from my life was like an untreated childhood injury on the elbow – a jab on the scab and it bled afresh.

For years I had gone without thinking of him hourly, but his son’s presence in my life was the prod that reopened the wound. That particular way Ved had of saying certain words, the way he held his head, the way his hair flopped on his brow.

The nights Ved chose to sleep in Ammamma’s room – he had become intensely curious about his family history – I allowed myself to cry for Srikar.

Ved had been with me five months, but he still missed Lata. The nights when he cried for her, I felt sharp jealousy. I wished I could hold him to ease his pain, rock him as I might have, had I raised him, but he held me at a distance. He’d started school. Since his name change, he seemed to get along better with the other kids. The only thing I couldn’t do was break through his reserve.

I knew Srikar talked to Ved on the phone frequently; in the months Ved had been with me, Srikar had come to the village every other week, staying over at Headmaster
garu
’s. Headmaster
garu
took Ved to his father. Lata never came, not even to visit Ved.

“I’ve had enough of your moping,” Ammamma declared one day. “I’ve talked to Swami Chidananda
about your clinic.”

“Clinic?”

“The office where doctors treat patients.”

“
Bah
, Ammamma. I’m not sure I’m ready to start practicing again.”

“You have nothing to occupy your mind since the ashram activities were moved out. It is not healthy. Get a bank loan. Start the clinic.”

“There’s also my prostitution money that you wouldn’t touch.”

Ammamma flushed.
 

Perhaps, it was time for the next phase of my life. I felt prickling of excitement. “We could use that to fund a vocational training centre for girls. Have both buildings on the same parcel of land.”

Ammamma nodded, looking relieved.

“Ammamma, I’ll start looking for land right away. You should plan on going to the bank sometime next week. Check how much money we have.”

“I’d never trust those oily fellows with your money.”

I was taken aback. “You keep that much money under the mattress?”

“I’m not a fool!”

“Then, where?”

“It’s in that black pot in the kitchen attic.”

“You have thousands of rupees sitting in a mud pot? In an open attic?” I was staggered. “Don’t you worry?”

Ammamma straightened, dignity injured. “I put rat-traps all around it.”

I gave Ammamma a hug, hiding my smile in her shoulder. When I told Lata the money I’d sent to Ammamma was gathering dust, I hadn’t meant it literally.

><

I set up a foundation to give scholarship to deserving girls, naming it after Janaki aunty. I couldn’t think of a better way of paying her back for my medical education, and for the love and support she’d given me over the years. I bought land to build the clinic and vocational training centre. Classes would be offered free of charge. I planned to offer free treatment to young girls who enrolled. Hopefully, that would be added incentive to attend the classes.

The centre progressed rapidly. Hiring teachers was easy enough. The clinic was a little less straightforward. I had to seek Swami
Chidananda’s
help to hire a nurse. He set an auspicious date for me to start practice, and blessed the clinic as well as the training centre on the opening day.

Chapter 58

Chandrasekhar and Bhavani

T
he Swami dropped into the clinic about two weeks after its opening. “Not a very busy day,” he remarked, looking around.

He was being kind. The place was deserted, except for the nurse and me.

“It’s been like this since we opened,” I said. “The training centre next door is doing very well. But the clinic... Considering I am the only doctor in a 50 kilometre radius, I expected some patients.”

“Your Goddess aura lingers.”

I sighed. “I’ve heard that even in emergencies, people are going all the way to the Government Hospital.” The overcrowded hospital, with its perpetual staff shortage, was a two hour bus ride away.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He was as good as his word. Over the next few days, patients started to trickle in. Most had fearful looks on their faces, but the Swami sat in a corner, reassuring people, calming their fears.

People started to come for consultations from as far as Hyderabad. I didn’t know if it was my medical skills that brought them, or my Godly reputation. I couldn’t complain, though. I was busy, with no time to obsess about Srikar.

One night, as I prepared to wrap up, there was a timid knock on the door. I turned around.

Geeta stood by the door, head bent, not looking at me. “May I come in?” she said, voice barely audible.

“Yes, of course,” I said, trying to hide my surprise.

She sank in a chair. Her skin seemed pale.

“Are you anaemic?”

“You, a doctor?” She shook her head in disbelief, her voice sounding hoarse from disuse. “I’m not here for treatment. I came to see you.”

I waited for her to go on.

“I traced Srikar, sought his forgiveness. Then I came looking for you.”

“If forgiveness is what you’re after, don’t bother. I stopped blaming you a long time ago.”

“Really?” Finally, a spark in her face.

I thought of the last time I’d seen this woman, collapsed in a heap on the floor. I looked at her now, her sallow skin, the nervous tick in her cheek. I took her hand in mine. It was cold. “Really, Geeta. Your only fault was that you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I should have told you this the last time I saw you. Unfortunately, I was too consumed by grief.”

“You mean it, then.” The taut lines of her face sagged.

I nodded, feeling sadness that the bubbly woman I’d known was reduced to this. “Yes, I do.” I sat in the chair next to her. “You and I, Srikar and my son, and a whole lot of people you don’t know about, were pawns in Kondal Rao’s desperate quest for power. He used people, ruined lives. You need to believe me. I don’t blame you one bit. Had I been in your position, I might have done the same thing. It’s not your fault. I know this in my heart.”

“Thank you.”

“Go home. Go back to your husband and children. Forget this ugly episode. Don’t look back.”

She sat unmoving for a while. Then, with visible effort, she got to her feet. “May God be with you.”

I watched as she stepped out of the room, feeling sorrow for a precious part of my past lost. But I didn’t call her back. I didn’t offer friendship. We’d both moved too far apart for that.

Let go of the anger
, the Swami often counselled me.
Forgive and forget
.

I laid my head against the back of my chair, feeling peace steal over me.

><

Srikar phoned from Hyderabad, asking to take Ved to his great-grandmother. I was happy to agree; Ved needed to know not all relatives on his father’s side were sewage sludge like Kondal Rao. Srikar started to take Ved on monthly visits. Ved returned from these trips happier; he was bonding with his great-grandmother.