The Forbidden Daughter (3 page)

After that outburst they drove home mostly in silence. Isha looked out the window, wondering how they’d break the news to Srikant and Vidula Tilak—her father-in-law and mother-in-law.

As it was, their daughter, five-year-old Priya, got second-class treatment compared to Isha’s sister-in-law Sheila Sathe’s sons.

Sheila was beautiful and she was married to a wealthy man. The proverbial icing on her cake was the fact that she had produced two beautiful boys.

And in the Tilaks’ eyes, the boys could do no wrong. They received lots of attention while Priya got almost none. Ayee and Baba, as the grandchildren called Isha’s in-laws, although not overtly abusive to Priya, never showed her any affection. She was kept at a distance and often subjected to stern discipline.

Priya was now old enough to notice their behavior and had started to complain that the boys got so much while she got so little.

Isha and Nikhil tried to make it up to their little girl as much as they could, but since they lived in the same house as the elder Tilaks, and Priya saw her grand parents everyday, it was hard to THE

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explain to a child that her gender had everything to do with the way they treated her.

To offset the neglect, Isha often found herself spoiling her child. And that led to a lot of friction with her in-laws, too.

They thought she bought Priya too many toys and clothes, and that she never corrected Priya’s behavior whenever she acted up.

Occasionally Isha would try to explain to them that Priya acted up only when she noticed Sheila’s boys getting extra attention.

Ayee and Baba always brushed it off as Isha’s misguided perception.

Nikhil took his hand off the steering wheel for an instant to take Isha’s hand. “Don’t make yourself sick. It’s not a big deal.”

It seemed like his rage had diminished.

Tears pooled in her eyes. “It
will
be a big deal when Ayee and Baba find out.”

“We’ll explain to them nicely. They’re not unreasonable.

These things happen. Maybe we’ll try for a boy next time.”

“There won’t be a next time. Who in their right mind has more than two children in this day and age? You really think India’s exploding population can sustain one more child?”

“Honestly, when you think about it, what difference does it make whether one has a boy or a girl?” said Nikhil, obviously trying to rationalize a difficult situation. “They all get educated the same way and they follow similar careers. To me it makes no difference.”

“
I’m
not the one that needs convincing, Nikhil.” She tossed him a look of mild disdain. “Go explain that to
your
parents!

Haven’t you noticed how they treat Sheila’s kids and Priya differently? While Sheila’s boys’ birthdays are such a big, fussy affair with a dozen gifts, they forgot all about Priya’s birthday last week. You and I had to go out and buy a cake and presents and lie to her that some of them were from Ayee and Baba.”

Nikhil took a long, tired breath. He had no response to his wife’s remarks. Isha knew he was fully cognizant of his parents’

petty biases. But he was a good Hindu son, one who’d never ac-knowledge his parents’ shortcomings. Those were never to be discussed openly.

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Shobhan Bantwal

Besides, Nikhil and she had no choice but to live with his folks. It was the old-fashioned Indian way. The son, especially an
only
son, lived with the parents, obeyed them, humored them, tolerated their foibles, and took care of them.

Isha dried her tears, leaned back and closed her eyes. She needed to prepare herself before informing her in-laws that there would be another female baby in the house. God, they’d be tearing their hair out. Or, maybe they’d toss Isha and Priya out and find another wife for their precious son. She wouldn’t be surprised if a thought like that crossed their minds every now and then.

Well, thank goodness at least Nikhil’s sister, Sheila, was a good woman. Despite her looks and money and all the coddling, Sheila treated Isha with respect and affection. Isha couldn’t have asked for a nicer sister-in-law. In fact, Sheila often pointed out to her parents that they should treat Priya the same way they treated her sons. But her advice didn’t make an iota of difference to their way of thinking or behavior.

Isha opened her eyes when the car slowed down and made the sharp turn into their driveway. Nikhil brought the car to a stop under the carport outside their house and turned to her.

“Feel a little better now?”

She shook her head. “Worse. We have to go in there and tell them the news.”

He cupped her cheek in his hand, his expression tender and sympathetic. “I’ll do the telling, Ish. You just sit down and relax. You need to rest after the sleepless night you’ve had.”

She tried to summon a smile but didn’t quite succeed. He could be so kind sometimes, and he was so good-looking he still made her heart skip a beat. She’d been instantly attracted to him the day he’d come to her parents’ home for the bride-viewing.

One look at those sparkling gray-green eyes, the strong jaw and nose, the tall, proud carriage, and she’d made up her mind that this was the man she wanted to marry. Fortunately he’d felt the same way about her.

She’d fallen in love the first day and fallen deeper over the years as she’d come to recognize his many sterling qualities: loy-THE

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alty, sense of humor, his capacity for hard work, and mostly his love and devotion to her and Priya—and now his commitment to their unborn child.

She loved Nikhil more than anyone else in the world. But even that wasn’t going to be enough to provide a buffer between his parents and her.

But such was her fate. She had been destined to marry Nikhil Tilak, a good man with not-so-good parents. As his wife, Isha had no choice but to put up with his family. In their culture, marriage was a package deal.

Opening the car door, she stepped out. “All right, then. You tell them and I’ll sit there like the good little wife and pretend to be happy.”

Despite her bitter sarcasm, Nikhil smiled. “Good decision.”

Chapter 2

June 2006

Isha listened to the relentless rain beating down on the roof as she coaxed Priya to finish her dinner. The monsoons were in full swing. Late evenings seemed drearier than the rest of the day for some reason, perhaps because it rained even harder, or because she dreaded dinnertime. It almost always followed the same pattern: the meal started with stilted conversation, then deteriorated into emotional arguments, and finally sank into sullen silence.

It was nearly two months since Nikhil and she had informed Ayee and Baba about the baby’s gender. As expected, their reaction had been shocked silence followed by disappointed sighs.

Then one evening, they had nonchalantly introduced the subject of abortion. From that point on, it became almost the sole topic of discussion, and also a bone of contention. The relationship between the younger and elder Tilaks had begun to fracture immediately. With each passing day it became more strained, more resentful, even turbulent at times. The bitterness and ani-mosity seemed to accelerate at about the same rate the baby grew in her womb and kicked with more intensity.

“I wonder why Nikhil is not home yet,” said Isha’s motherin-law, interrupting Isha’s gloomy thoughts. Ayee had made the remark for the second time in ten minutes, frowning at the wall clock in the dining room.

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Baba was in the drawing room, watching television. They were all waiting for Nikhil to return home from work.

“He’s probably taking care of a last minute customer, Ayee,”

Isha explained to ease Ayee’s obvious agitation—although she’d been wondering about the same thing herself. Nikhil knew his parents’ tendency to worry excessively about him, so he indulged them by keeping them informed of his whereabouts as much as he could.

So where was he at the moment? Why hadn’t he called?

“Priya, it’s getting late.” Isha threw her daughter a no-more-arguments frown. “Now finish what’s on your plate!” A fussy eater, Priya usually toyed with her food and wasted a lot of what was served, so she needed to be prodded into eating.

Priya shook her head, making her pigtails bounce. “I’m not hungry.” Her large hazel eyes had that familiar stubbornness about them.

That particular expression was so much like Nikhil’s when he got mulish about something that it made Isha smile inwardly.

Like father, like daughter! But they were such beautiful, expressive eyes. She was glad her child had inherited them from her father, because her own light brown eyes weren’t all that spectacular.

“If you don’t eat, you don’t get a bedtime story,” Isha warned her. The enticement of a bedtime story was rather trite, but it almost always worked with Priya.

The little girl reluctantly shoveled the last of the rice and lentils into her mouth, then slid off the chair and skipped out of the dining room. Isha motioned to the maid hovering nearby to remove the empty plate and rose to her feet.

The clock read 8:56 PM. Ayee was sighing audibly. There was still no sign of Nikhil. Isha threw another anxious glance outside the window. No headlights coming up the driveway. The phone remained silent. The first real frisson of apprehension tiptoed through her mind.

Where
was her husband?

Nikhil usually left his office around 8:00 PM and came home well before 8:30 every evening. Now Baba was getting impa-20
Shobhan Bantwal

tient and pacing the floor, so Isha called the shop to find out what was keeping Nikhil, but there was no reply. The voice mail came on and she left a message asking Nikhil to call home right away.

But he didn’t call back; and several minutes after the clock struck nine, and there was still no sign of Nikhil and no call, either, Isha and her mother-in-law exchanged worried looks.

Ayee’s frown became deeper. “Why is he not home yet?” she repeated, echoing Isha’s thoughts. “He always informs us if he is going to be late, no?”

Dinner was getting cold, so Isha encouraged the elders to eat.

Besides, they were rigid in their eating schedules.

A little later Isha read Priya her promised story and got her settled in bed, then decided to wait up for Nikhil in the drawing room along with her in-laws. She kept trying both the office land-line as well as Nikhil’s mobile phone every few minutes, but both came up with voice-mail each time.

At 9:49 PM, Baba, dressed in white pajamas and a loose mus-lin shirt, was pacing the drawing room floor more furiously than before, his jaw clenched tight. For a sixty-two-year-old he was in excellent shape, trim-bodied, smooth-complexioned, and in full control of his faculties. Despite his shock of silver hair, he looked ten years younger than he was. Technically he had handed over the business to Nikhil and retired, but he was very much involved in its overall operation.

He finally stopped pacing and turned to Isha. “This is going on too long. Call Patil, the Superintendent of Police. Maybe there was an accident or something.”

So Isha called Mr. Patil’s home number and explained the situation. The superintendent was a family acquaintance, and he immediately offered to send out a couple of men to discreetly find out if there was any sort of trouble at Nikhil’s office.

Ayee looked even more distressed than Baba. Her hair was done in a braid in preparation for bed, and she had on a soft cotton kaftan. At fifty-eight, unlike her young-looking husband, she certainly looked her age, perhaps because she frowned so much and had wrinkles in her brow.

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But she had the gorgeous hazel eyes, high cheek bones, and chiseled features that her son, her daughter, and all her grandchildren had inherited. She must have been a lovely woman in her youth. Baba and she still made a handsome couple.

Isha and her in-laws waited a long time, willing the phone to ring. The tension in the room was oppressive, especially when Baba kept switching the television on and off every few minutes and murmuring under his breath. But it wasn’t Isha’s place to tell him to cut it out, stop pacing, and sit down for heaven’s sake. He was driving her crazy with his slippers going clop-clop on the marble-tiled floor.

It was nearly an hour later that Mr. Patil himself came to their door, looking uncomfortable as he stood under his drip-ping umbrella and shuffled his large feet. He was a tall, stiff man with a somber face, and a heavy mustache that was just turning gray. Maybe it was his profession that made him so glum.

The moment Isha opened the door to him, her heart sank. Instinctively she knew he was the bearer of bad news. Why else would he come all the way out here in person? She had no idea what the details were, but somewhere in her gut she knew something horrible had happened to Nikhil. The negative vibes she’d been feeling since the clock had struck nine had been rising with every passing minute.

And now, looking at Mr. Patil’s face, she knew her instincts had been right. Nonetheless she joined her trembling palms in the expected greeting. “
Namaste,
Patil-
saheb.
Please come in.”

He stepped inside with some hesitation and discarded his wet
chappals
and umbrella near the door. “
Namaste,
Mrs. Tilak.”

He greeted the elder Tilaks in the same manner.

Both Ayee and Baba immediately bombarded him with questions.
“Did you find out anything? Was there an accident? Is
there any news of our son?”

Patil remained silent. Baba shot him a blistering look. “Have your men been sent to check on Nikhil or not?”

Patil chewed on his lower lip for an instant. “Yes, sir.”

Isha looked up at Patil, the tightening in her chest reaching the point of strangulation. “And?”

22
Shobhan Bantwal

He stroked his luxuriant mustache and blinked a couple of times. It took a moment for him to look her in the eye. “The news is bad.”

Baba’s face contorted into a ferocious scowl. “What kind of news?”