The Unexpected Son (7 page)

“He does this to every girl he gets involved with, Vini. He's a heartless bastard. His affairs never seem to last more than a few months. Besides, you were…uh…Never mind.”

Vinita had swiped at her tears with her palm and stared at Prema. “What?”

“Nothing.” Prema's lips had settled into that thin, familiar line.

“Tell me.”

“I'm sorry, but this is going to…upset you.”

“I'm upset anyway. What's a little more?”

“All right, I heard that you were part of some kind of wager.”

Blowing her nose and trying to keep the pieces of her fragmented ego from scattering, Vinita had turned to her friend in confusion. “Wager? As in betting?”

“Apparently he had boasted to his friends that he could get any girl—even a serious girl like you who was focused on nothing but studies.”

“You mean…he chose to target me because of some bizarre challenge?”

“I understand his friends dared him to seduce a scholarly girl who was wrapped up in books and would be hard to distract. They were betting money on it.”

It had taken a few seconds for the truth to register. She'd been a pawn in a mindless game.

She'd turned on her heel and walked away from Prema. What little was left of her self-esteem had vanished, quiet as a puff of smoke.

S
om settled back in the chair to light a cigarette. He needed one after the long but satisfying day on the cricket field. It had been a tough game, but his team had triumphed in the end. Every muscle in his body ached from the workout. But his spirits were floating high, like a kite on a clear winter day.

“You look like a mogul king on his throne, puffing away at his hookah.” His friend Rajendra, better known as Raju, sounded amused as he referred to the elaborate water pipe that emperors used to smoke in days gone by—at times with opium-laced tobacco. The hookah was often associated with decadent pleasures and royal depravity.

“Why not?” said Som, blowing a ring of smoke through his puckered lips and watching it travel upward, the perfect
O
lazily distorting into an oval before disintegrating into a shapeless wisp. He felt like a king. Sometimes.

Raju nodded wisely.

“There's nothing like a good cigarette after a challenging match…and a cup of coffee,” Som said to Raju, who sat across the table from him in Bombay Café, sipping his own steaming brew from a mug large enough to obscure his narrow face.

Placing the mug on the table, Raju grinned at him, his perfect white teeth flashing in the light streaming in through the café's window. His teeth were his only redeeming feature. A gangly man with a bad case of acne and a worse case of low self-confidence, Raju was a close friend and fellow cricketer. Som could ask him to do anything and Raju did it with few complaints—as long as it wasn't illegal. The chap was sometimes annoyingly principled. In some areas.

“Tell me something,” said Raju. “How do you juggle two girls with such diverse personalities?”

Som lifted a shoulder and flicked the ashes from his cigarette into his empty coffee mug. “Girls are predictable.”

“Really?” countered Raju with a puzzled frown. “I thought they were unpredictable.”

“Not at all,” Som assured him. “If you know what makes them happy, it's easy to get them to do what you want.”

Admiration shone in Raju's dark eyes. “I still can't believe you got Vinita Shelke to fall for you, man.”

Som raised an eyebrow. “You had doubts?” Poor Raju had lost ten rupees when he'd predicted she'd be impossible to win over.

“Some,” admitted Raju, picking up his mug with both hands.

“Patience,
yaar.
Patience is what it takes,” Som advised him. His four other close friends had lost ten rupees each. “I have her thinking she's beautiful and sexy.”

Raju's forehead creased again for a moment. “Is she?”

Som pretended confusion. “Is she what?”

“Sexy.”

He gave another casual shrug. He wasn't about to give his friend any details, if that's what Raju was fishing for. He preferred to keep the finer elements of his love life private. He had to.

His aunt from Bijapur was a shrewish woman. If she got suspicious of what Som was up to, she'd descend on Palgaum and threaten to stop her daughter from marrying him. Not that it meant all that much to Som. His cousin, Neeraja, had the countenance of a constipated horse—wiry long legs, hardly there breasts, and a face only her mother could consider attractive.

But Neeraja would come with an incredibly fat dowry, something Som's father had been salivating over for years. His father would disown him if Som did something to prevent the girl from coming into the family as the cherished daughter-in-law.

The fact that Neeraja was Som's parents' favorite niece made the situation more complicated. The only good thing was that Neeraja was a quiet, good-natured type of girl. She'd taken after her father. It could have been worse. She could have inherited her mother's bulldog personality.

“You mean you won't tell me exactly what you're doing with your two current girlfriends,” pouted Raju. He looked like a little boy who'd been denied a long-anticipated treat.

Tossing his cigarette stub into the ashtray, Som shook his head. “There are some things a chap can't talk about.”

Sometimes Som wondered if Raju lived out all his fantasies vicariously through him. Poor Raju—he had neither the looks nor the gumption to even approach a girl, let alone enjoy some serious action. The man was desperate for it, and had to settle for looking at dirty magazines smuggled in from some obscure shop in Bombay. There were no adult shops in Palgaum.

Raju sulked for a moment. “Not fair—especially after I lost ten rupees.”

“All you need to know is that you lost the bet.” But Som had to admit Vinita had proved to be a tougher challenge than he'd presumed. Since she hadn't paid attention to him after he'd whistled at her and made a few loud, complimentary remarks about her dancing talents, he'd had to come up with other ideas.

He'd been forced to engineer accidentally bumping into her after her recital, then ply her with endless cups of coffee on a nearly daily basis before she'd agreed to go somewhere more private with him. And then it was a few more weeks before she'd let him kiss her. He'd never had to work so hard to get a girl before.

After that things had become easier. Once he'd seduced her, it was like working on a clay sculpture. He could mold her in whatever shape he wanted, make her moan and beg for his body, like he wanted her to. And she was pretty good in that department, Som reflected—surprisingly good for a girl who considered a mathematics textbook more riveting than a thriller movie.

And he'd won his bet.

Vinita was the first bookworm type he had seduced, mainly because he hadn't considered girls like her worth his attention. When there were so many pretty girls who were willing and easy, why bother with someone stiff and unapproachable like Vinita? But he loved a challenge.

Nonetheless he had to admit she was a pleasant surprise. She'd even intrigued him a bit, something that almost never happened. Maybe it was because she talked about entirely different topics than other girls. She didn't seem all that obsessed with fashion and shopping. She was a refreshing change from the typical self-centered and not-too-bright girls he'd been friendly with.

“Hmm,” Raju admitted grudgingly, pulling Som back into the moment. “But don't you feel guilty about breaking the heart of a sincere girl like her?”

Som caught the waiter's eye and ordered a second cup of coffee before replying, “Come on,
yaar,
who takes that sort of thing seriously? There's very little entertainment in this town, so I'm doing girls like Vinita a favor.”

“How?”

“By introducing some excitement into their dull lives.” Looking at it honestly, though, he was feeling twinges of guilt in recent weeks, especially when Vinita looked at him with such adoration in her eyes. But he wasn't about to admit that to Raju.

“How long are you going to keep this up?” Raju almost sounded concerned. “Aren't you supposed to get engaged to your cousin soon?”

“Yes, but my life isn't going to change all that much.”

Raju's shaggy brows rose. “Don't you have to join your father's business after you get married?”

“That's not until next year. Even then, I'm not worried. Once I give my wife a few children, she'll be content.” Just like his mother was content.

Besides, his father, Veerappa Kori, despite having a personable wife, had a few mistresses tucked away in various parts of town. No one had ever talked about it to Som, but he knew the women's names and where they lived. As a teenager, curious to find out where his father disappeared to on certain evenings immediately after dinner, Som had hopped on his bicycle and followed his father's car on various occasions. He'd seen and heard plenty of what went on.

Back then, he'd been dismayed to discover his highly feared and respected
appa
was cheating on his wife, the woman he proudly escorted to social functions, the woman he shared a bed with every night.

Well, the teens were a time to learn many of life's lessons, and for Som, learning about extramarital sex was one of them. At least his father couldn't punish him for something he was guilty of doing himself.

“So you'll make love to your wife at night and your latest girlfriends during the day?” demanded Raju, interrupting Som's thoughts again. Raju looked scandalized.

Som put a finger over his lips. “Shh! Not so loud.” There were fellow students seated at nearby tables. “You have a twisted mind, Raju.”

“No, you're the one with the twisted mind. Cheating on one's wife is beyond twisted.” Raju gave him a blistering look of censure. “I plan to be faithful to my wife, no matter what she looks like.”

The coffee arrived. Instead of taking umbrage at Raju's reproachful words, Som lifted his mug in a mock salute. “To my good friend, who will always be faithful to his wife.”
Even if she looks like a camel,
he added silently. As he took his first scalding sip, he wondered if Raju was the luckier of the two of them. There was something to be said for living a bland, uncomplicated life. Fewer problems.

And Som had his share of problems—too many, in fact. Vinita was in love with him and she was becoming too clingy and demanding. His own pinpricks of conscience were making him uneasy. It wasn't like him to experience remorse. There was only one thing he could do. He had to stop seeing her.

So how was he going to let her down gently?

Raju continued to study him with the probing expression that Som disliked so much. It made him squirm. Despite the fact that Raju was a wealthy drifter like himself, Raju still lived by a different set of rules. He wasn't joking when he said he'd be faithful to his future wife. Raju would also turn into a seriously committed businessman once he joined his father and two older brothers in their profitable timber business.

At heart Raju was a good man. He had always been a loyal friend to Som—since they had been classmates and fellow Lingayats in a Catholic boys' school, where there were only a handful of students of their faith at the time.

Taking another thoughtful sip of the potent, bitter coffee, Som avoided Raju's incisive gaze and turned his eyes to the scene outside the window instead.

The sun was losing its luminescence, getting ready to set. The traffic was heavy—people going home from work. The nearby
masjid,
the mosque, called the faithful to their evening prayer.

He had to work out a few things, he reflected, mostly concerning Vinita. Unfortunately, she was so damn serious and committed about everything, even something like having an affair. Why couldn't she have some fun for a change?

Once again Raju interrupted Som's wandering mind when he put his empty mug down along with some money to pay for the coffee. “I have to go,” Raju said, thrusting his wallet into his pocket.

Som absently lifted a hand to wave. “See you tomorrow.” He watched his friend walk out the door. Then he went back to brooding.

He'd have to think of a way to tell Vinita that the thing they had together was over.

T
he drizzle hadn't let up in five days. It was well past the monsoon season, but a rare typhoon had traveled up the coast, bringing with it relentless rain, even as far inland as Palgaum.

Vinita leaned a shoulder against the window frame of the small flat and watched it fall noiselessly, the moisture weighing down the blades of grass and the branches of the small tree in the courtyard. The window was open, so the chilly moisture traveled directly into the room with every gust of wind, making her shiver. She felt sick. Lately she felt that way most of the time.

Dead leaves and other debris floated along with the muddy water that flowed into the street and ended up in the nearby sewer drain. If this rain continued, a flood was likely.

She disliked cloudy days, and rainy ones even more. But the current weather suited her mood—gray, wet, miserable. She'd been doing a lot of weeping lately.

“What do you mean it's
our
responsibility?” Som's words jerked her out of her grim thoughts and forced her to turn away from the window. The outrage in his golden eyes could burn laser holes in anyone who dared to be close enough. The eyebrows looked menacing.

Nevertheless Vinita stood her ground and looked him in the eye, her legs shaking so badly she didn't know how long they would hold her up. “You're a big part of what's been happening all these months, Som.”

His jaw tightened. “As if I need reminding.”

“To you it may have been some cheap bet, but to me it was serious.”

All she got in reply was silence.

This was not going well. He looked livid. But after she'd missed her third monthly cycle she'd decided that Som had to be told. She couldn't handle the crisis alone. She was facing total disaster. And time was running out.

He was in this as much as she—actually more than she, because
he
had pursued
her.
Hadn't he deliberately orchestrated their collision the night of the dance recital? Prema had told her the truth about that, too. He had asked her out, then sweet-talked her straight into his arms, and eventually into his bed. So why should she have to suffer the consequences alone? The baby was his.

He looked incredulous. “You're sure this is not a joke?”

She tossed him a blistering look. “Do I look like I'm joking? Being pregnant at nineteen is hardly a joke.”

His face turned a curious shade of red, telling her the remark had struck home. Finally. He thrust his hands in his pockets and started to pace the length of the tiny sitting room of his friend's flat.

This was the place where they'd met on the sly at least once a week for the last few months. Adjoining this room was the bedroom, where the bed took up nearly the entire space.

She had considered that bed a small piece of heaven as she'd lain beside Som and listened to his gruff smoker's voice talk about his cricket team. She'd loved hearing him speak, and even come to appreciate the trademark scent of him—cigarette smoke combined with his bold aftershave. She could have picked him out in a crowd with her eyes shut, just by his smell.

He turned to her with a frown. “Couldn't you have protected yourself?”

“So it's
my
fault now? I was the inexperienced one in this relationship.” She pointed a finger at him. “
You
are the experienced fellow who's had countless affairs.”

“That's not true!” he growled.

She rolled her eyes. “Don't give me that, Som. You know you're the Casanova of Shivraj College. And don't even try to deny it.”

“If you knew all that about me, why did you go out with me?” His nostrils flared. “I didn't exactly abduct you. So why did you go to the café with me? Why did you sleep with me, damn it?”

Clasping her hands tightly, she turned again and gazed at the falling rain, trying to keep her own temper under control. Angry outbursts were bad for the baby.

She didn't have any answer to his questions—not verbally, anyway. In her heart she knew exactly what the reasons were: she was too dazzled by his charm to see the corrupt soul that lived inside him—too foolish to decline his advances—too naïve to foresee the trouble she could land in.

She'd chosen to see only his kind side, his wryly humorous side, his altruistic side that gave alms to beggars, loans to his less fortunate friends, and generous tips to starving waiters. And she had to admit he did have all those attributes. Somewhere inside that broad chest lay a heart—but like a stagnant pond, a thick layer of slime covered up the hidden depths.

“You want to know the truth, Som?” On a defeated sigh she returned her gaze to him. “All right, then. Since I've humiliated myself to this extent, I'll go all the way and finish the job. I did it because I love you. I thought you loved me, too. I knew precisely what you were, and yet I believed you'd changed since you met me. I thought a plain girl like me had caught your attention because you were finally beginning to make the difficult transition from being an immature boy to a responsible man.”

She buried her face in her hands and breathed deeply to keep the threatening tears at bay. There, she'd finally admitted to him her innermost feelings—something she'd never told anyone. Her mortification was complete.

And yet he said nothing in response.

He continued to pace silently—like a caged animal. He reminded her of the circus that had come to town when she was eight years old. Watching the wild cats pace back and forth in their cages had both fascinated and terrified her. To a free spirit like Som, maybe this did feel like being trapped in a small box with steel bars.

Finally, after what seemed like ages in that edgy, endless silence, he came to a stop in front of her. With some satisfaction she noted a look of mild regret cross his face.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “It wasn't meant to go this far. But I'm willing to pay for it.”

Still fighting to keep the tears away, she looked up at him. “Pay?” What the dickens was he talking about? Hope flickered briefly. Pay for their wedding…perhaps?

“The abortion,” he murmured.

She stared at him, her speech frozen for the moment.

“I know a fellow in town who can do it discreetly. I'll pay for the procedure.”

“Abortion?” She blinked.

His eyes narrowed on her. “What else?”

She shook her head. “I thought you'd…that we'd…” She had come to him with a mere speck of optimism, thinking maybe, just
maybe
there was an ounce of decency in him, enough to make him consider marriage—if not for her, then for the child they'd made together. But he was clearly too self-centered for that.

“Bloody hell!” His face registered utter disbelief. “You actually thought we were going to get married or something?”

Or something.
She glanced at him with clear contempt. “Most people who get caught up in such situations…get married.”

“In the movies, you mean?”

“In real life. A child needs…parents.”

He closed his eyes for a second and looked up at the ceiling, as if summoning divine help. “Look, I'm trying to do my best here.”

“If this is your best, what's your worst?”

His voice gentled. “I have responsibilities, Vinita. I wish I could do more, but I just can't…marry you.”

“So you don't give a damn about our child?”

“I told you I can't do anything about it.” He raked his fingers through his hair and let out a deep breath. “Why can't you take my simple suggestion? People do it all the time these days. Why do you have to be so serious about everything?”

“Because I happen to be a serious person, Som. I could ask you a similar question. How can you take something as vital as creating a life so lightly?” Taking the easy way out was probably commonplace to him. She wondered how many girls he had impregnated, and how many babies he'd helped abort by paying for it.

He made a helpless gesture with his hands wide open. “I have responsibilities,” he repeated.

“Yeah, like your rich cousin from Bijapur,” she tossed back, the sarcasm burning her tongue.

He went still. “What do you know about that?”

She wasn't about to give him an answer. It was clear he wasn't going to lift a finger to legitimize her child. Their child. She owed him nothing. To him the baby was a mere inconvenience to be crushed and discarded like one of his cigarette butts.

So what was she going to do?

Suddenly both panic and despair resurfaced. She had one last chance to make him see reason. She couldn't afford to be self-righteous or derisive. She hated begging, but there was little else she could do.

“Please, Som,” she pleaded, softening her stance.

“I can't, Vinita.”

“I won't hold you to the marriage. You can get a divorce immediately after the baby comes.”

“It's not that simple.”

“After the baby's born, you're free to go,” she reasoned. “I'll disappear from your life forever. You'll never have to see me or your child again. I'll ask for nothing from you.”

He shook his head. “You're so damn intelligent, but you have no clue how the real world works, do you?”

She remained silent. There was truth in what he said. She could do complex mathematical calculations in her mind and memorize complicated formulae, but she was a simpleton when it came to the practical world.

With that realization came the worst sense of defeat—and desperate loneliness. She was going to have to face this alone. She had used up her last chance to reason with Som. And she'd failed.

She gazed outside the window for long minutes while Som maintained his silence behind her. The damn rain just wouldn't stop. She couldn't stop shivering. The cold seemed to have invaded her bones. She longed for a single ray of sunshine. She needed the warmth, the comfort of the sun—for someone, anyone, to tell her this, too, would pass, that things would turn out all right in the end.

Finally she turned around, picked up her umbrella, and slung her handbag over her shoulder. “I guess I'd better get out of here.”

“Here's some money to help you out,” Som said, pulling out some large-denomination bills from his pocket and holding them out to her. When she didn't take them, he took her hand and pressed the cash into it. “I honestly wish it hadn't ended like this, Vinita. I'm sorry.”

Sorry indeed.
“God help you when all your sins begin to catch up with you.” She placed the bills on the teapoy. “Save your money for your next lover, Mr. Kori.”

Then she opened the door and walked out into the rain.

 

Som shifted to the window and watched Vinita unfurl her umbrella and take measured steps down the narrow walk leading toward the footpath. She was always so careful, so meticulous—with everything. Her back looked rigid and her long braid swung from side to side. Her high-heeled
chappals
made a determined
click-click
on the wet concrete.

She didn't look as though she was carrying a child. She looked as slender as she always did. But he believed her about the pregnancy. She was too bloody honest to lie about anything.

She continued to walk away steadily, and didn't look back. Not once.

He should have known she'd never take his money. Why was he surprised? She wasn't like those other girls. She had those stupid principles, and she lived by them. How many times had she tried to convince him to change his ways, to give up smoking and excessive amounts of coffee, to apply himself to his studies instead of concentrating entirely on cricket? Even after he'd shrugged off her advice, she'd repeated it—many times.

Damn! Why hadn't he recognized that stubborn trait in her earlier? He could have saved himself a lot of trouble. And her. Come to think of it, she would have been a better match for his idealistic friend Raju than himself.

What was she going to do now? he wondered, the first rumblings of fear beginning to scratch at him. He could only hope she'd come to her senses and get that abortion. She was a sensible girl, analytical to the point of being annoying.

But what if she didn't get that abortion? What if she decided to go to his father with her accusations? That would be the end of Som. Although marrying Vinita was out of the question—his father would rather have his son dead than see him marry a Marathi girl—it would still mean facing Appa's wrath.

Besides, Som didn't love Vinita. He had to admit he had come to respect her. But love? He didn't believe in it. Silly emotions like that were reserved for women.

She'd reached the footpath now. He noticed her hailing a rickshaw and climbing in. The vehicle sputtered down the street and disappeared in seconds.

Turning around, he walked to the sofa and sat down. What was he to do?

He'd never had to face this kind of dilemma before. All the girls he'd been involved with were practical, and protected themselves one way or the other. In spite of that, two of his lovers had become pregnant.

But it had been easy enough to fix the problem. As girls from orthodox families, they had more to lose than he, so they were grateful for his help and discretion. And it had ended there. Always.

So why had it turned out so different this time? Even down to his own sentiments? He'd never felt guilty before. He pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. Inhaling the fragrant smoke was generally calming—but it provided little comfort now.

He waited till the cigarette was gone. That silly girl was going to stir up trouble. He could feel it creeping up on him, boxing him in. He rose to his feet.

Plucking the money off the table, he thrust it back into his pocket and headed for the door.