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Rakesh and Sheetal spent the night at the hospital as machines that monitored Yash’s heart rate and breathing buzzed and whirred. If a machine clicked, Rakesh examined the device to make sure it worked. If the ECG machine beeped too loudly, he pushed a red panic button beside the hospital bed and called for a nurse. He searched the corridor every five minutes and demanded that any passing doctor attend to his son, and that any nurse keep a continued surveillance on Yash’s monitors.
At five a.m., Rakesh returned from his fifteenth trip to the nurse’s station, closed the door, and crossed to Yash’s bed. “I just spoke with the doctor. Yash is going to be fine. They’ll discharge him after he wakes up.”
A wave of relief washed over Sheetal. The doctors had administered twenty-eight grams of activated liquid charcoal and spent two hours clearing Yash’s system of the Elavil overdose.
A nurse entered the room to draw a sample of Yash’s blood.
As Rakesh stepped away from the edge of Yash’s bed, the vertical rail pushed aside the lower right flap of his blazer, revealing a hip flask.
The nurse left.
“After everything that’s happened, you’re drinking alcohol again? You promised to stop.”
“I needed to calm my nerves.”
“Dr. Kishore said—”
“I know what Dr. Kishore said.”
A lock of hair fell across her vision and she swept it aside. “How can you go back on your promises? So easy for you. God knows what would have happened—”
“Nothing,” Rakesh cut her short. “Nothing will happen to Yash. You have my word. I will never allow anything to happen to my son.”
“Our son.” She almost choked on the words. “Do you realize we almost lost him because of Nainaji? Because— What was I thinking? How did I let you talk me into believing we could keep Yash with us? I told you, the house is not safe. He has to go back. What happened was not in your control and will never be in your control. There’s nothing you or I can do to control anyone in this family.”
“What happened was an accident.”
“If Nainaji didn’t live with us, this accident wouldn’t have happened.”
“Look, I did everything.” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “I blew up all that money to give her a future and get her away from us. I put myself down by three hundred and fifty million and still nothing worked. It’s not my fault she’s still here.”
“What if the next accident is fatal?”
“There won’t be a next time.”
“You just go right back to your alcohol and pretend everything is under control.”
He sank into a chair, stretched his thumb and fingers across his forehead and massaged his temples.
Sheetal turned away. If not for the hip flask, she might have tried to comfort him.
Just then, Yash’s finger twitched.
Sheetal inched to Yash’s side. “I think Yash is waking.”
Rakesh surged to his feet, his forehead a washboard of wrinkles. “Yash,” he called gently, “wake up.”
Sheetal circled the foot of the bed to stand beside Rakesh. Yash should see them together so he’d believe everything was fine. The cold metal flask wedged between their bodies caused her to wince.
Yash opened his eyes for a split second, then his lids closed.
“Yash?” Sheetal reached out and held his fingers. “Wake up, Yash. It’s me. Mom. Look, Dad’s here, too. You’re fine now. Everything’s going to be fine.”
***
The hospital discharged Yash later that afternoon. When they reached home, Sheetal tucked him into bed and sat with him. When Naina’s shout reached her from the floor below, she rushed out of Yash’s room and peered over the balcony railing.
“You, I tell you!” Mummyji bellowed from the Fulton Whites. “How irresponsible and careless of you leaving medicines around. What were you thinking?”
Huddled in the left corner of the Bradford Browns with her knees hugged close to her chest, Naina shouted back, “It’s Janvi’s fault. She should have cleaned up after, na.”
“Clean up, my foot!” Mummyji marched toward Naina. “Your fault that my reputation falls in this family and everything goes wrong.”
“My fault?”
“Yes, and you should apologize to Sheetal.”
“Never!”
Revolted by the spectacle, Sheetal turned her back to the railing. How would Yash ever recover with all this yelling? She needed an alternative. Have him stay with Kavita? No, Kavita had enough to manage with a job, two children, and her own problems. Besides, sending Yash off to a friend’s would create gossip.
Yash would be safe with Mama.
As soon as he was better, she’d whisk him back to Stonewall whether Rakesh agreed or not. But how was she going to tell Yash that he had to return?
Sheetal called Stonewall’s main office and informed a member of staff that Yash had been hospitalized and would return in a week. Then she called the Raigun Railway Office, cancelled Yash’s return ticket to Mansali, and booked two flight tickets to New Delhi on November twenty-third for Yash and Rakesh, and two train tickets from New Delhi to Mansali. She hadn’t asked Rakesh if he’d take Yash back to school, but he’d have to agree, given the incident.
Sheetal called Mama. A servant answered the phone and asked her to wait. Seconds later, Papa’s and Vikram’s distant voices exploded through the receiver. They argued over some missing papers.
“Hello?” Sheetal whispered.
No response.
“I’ll throw you out of the company,” Papa said. “How dare you....”
“Hello?”
“I didn’t force you to sign anything,” Vikram’s tone hardened.
“Hello, Sheetal?” Mama came on the line, rasping for air.
“Are you all right, Mama?”
“I’m—a—little—tired. That’s all.”
“Papa sounds angry. What did Vikram do?”
“Nothing. It’s just office talk and the usual business matters.”
“I heard Papa threaten to throw Vikram out. Last time I was there, Vikram got Papa to sign papers—”
“Sheetal, what happens here is not your problem.”
The Prasads, like most Indian families, believed that once a girl married, her responsibility and duties lay with the family she married into, not with the one she left behind.
“But Mama, I heard—”
“I have to go,” Mama whispered.
The line went dead.
***
That evening, Sheetal left the house for some fresh air and to think. She settled near the koi pond in the Japanese garden.
Sometime later, gravel crunched behind her and a black shadow fell across the pond’s surface. Rakesh reached the stone bench, sat beside her, and ruffled open the pages of The Raigun Herald.
Rakesh had shown no remorse for going back on his promise not to drink, and behaved as if life had returned to normal. Had he come here for his evening chai?
In no mood for casual conversation, Sheetal began with the priorities requiring his immediate attention. “The Saxenas called earlier today to ask about Yash. I told them he’s doing better. I was wondering what to tell them about Meghaji having the baby here.”
Rakesh clapped the paper, turned a page, fanned the sheets apart, and held it before his face.
“Rakesh? Are you listening? When should we—”
“Isn’t that your responsibility?”
“Isn’t she your sister?”
He lowered the paper. “As you are my wife. Ditto? We have several invitations for New Year’s Eve, and I said yes to the Singhals. Make sure you have something nice to wear.”
“Of course,” she softened her tone. “I just want to know what you think.”
“Women matters are yours to sort out. Pushpa is no help. Do what you think is right. Besides, how does what I think matter?”
“I’ve never handled another woman’s delivery before.”
“There are many things you’ve never done before. But that shouldn’t be a problem, considering you’re doing lots on your own nowadays, without permission.”
Did he know about her change of plans to send Yash back to Stonewall? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do.”
“Yash is going back to Stonewall. I’ve made my decision. I was right all along. You can take him since I brought him home. But this isn’t about Yash. I’m referring to—”
Porcelain rattling on a trolley disturbed the moment.
Rakesh folded the paper in half and then quarters. “No tea from now on. We should change, because change is good.”
“What change?”
The servant filled two cups with hot, brown liquid. The aroma of coffee hung in the air. She leaned closer for a better view. From the almost black color, it looked like a dark roasted blend.
“I’m changing my habits to suit you.” He took a cup, sniffed it, then turned to the servant. “Lots of milk and sugar for me. This drink is far too cheap for my taste. Don’t know what people see in it.”
The servant followed instructions and then left.
Rakesh raised the cup to his lips and sipped. “Burnt. Brown. Pathetic.” He upended the cup over a bonsai plant. The coffee seeped into the soil, leaving a moist imprint on the surface.
***
Sheetal opened the door to Yash’s room and found him fast asleep. She had secretly packed his suitcase that afternoon and planned to tell him first thing tomorrow morning. No, not first thing. She would wait until after breakfast.
She caressed his cheek and ran her fingers through his hair. Wasn’t it only yesterday that she’d brought him home from Mansali, then recently promised he could stay? How quickly her world had turned from hope to loss. She looked at her watch. Ten p.m. Twelve hours until Yash caught tomorrow’s flight.
She touched the corner of Yash’s lips and traced a finger over his eyes, nose, cheeks, and chin. Her heart tightened, wanting to hold onto him, but she pulled away.
She entered the darkness of her dimly lit bedroom. The stench of scotch made her hesitate inside the doorway.
Rakesh sat in bed. On the nightstand stood a quarter-full bottle of scotch and an empty glass illuminated by his bedside lamp.
She crossed the room, her barefoot steps silent on the carpet, and stopped at the footboard. “You’re back to drinking?”
“No kid,” he slurred.
She marched toward the bedside table, grabbed the open scotch bottle and cap, and noticed an empty bottle near her feet. “You had this, too?”
He leaned over the mattress’s edge and groped for the tumbler. His fingers struck the glass, which toppled and fell.
She screwed the cap on the bottle. “How are you going to take Yash on the morning flight in this state? You need to leave by seven.”
He lunged for the bottle in Sheetal’s hand and landed on all fours on the duvet, but she stepped back and thrust the bottle behind her back.
“Give it.”
She firmed her grip, shocked by his pathetic, animal-like state. She hadn’t meant to keep Yash’s return a secret from him, but didn’t expect Rakesh would be so devastated.
“Give!”
She took another step back. “I won’t.”
“Oh?” He sneered. “You won’t?”
“No.”
“I will.”
“Will what?”
“Take it from you.”
“Why are you doing this? You promised to stop.”
“Like you? Told you so many times to stop fasting on Karva Chauth. You starve for me. Worship the moon for me—eh? And look what happens when I’m not around.” He crawled across the bed.
“Rakesh. You’ve had too much.”
“Too much of you. So, now you’re giving someone else a turn—eh?”
“What are you talking about?”
The light from the bulb flickered. “Give,” he commanded.
She backed away. “You promised to stop.”
He spread his fingers and lowered one foot to the carpet. “Now hand it over like a good girl. Promise. I won’t bite.” He grinned, and his teeth sparkled in the light.
She backed into something, swung a hand behind, and hit a cold, glass surface.
Rakesh rose, struggling to balance, and headed in her direction.
“You did this, Sheetal.” He swaggered toward her.
She turned away from the thickening stench of his acrid breath.
“Shame. Shame on you.” He waved an index finger, singing the words in a haunting melody. “Married and with another man? You shouldn’t have.” He lunged for the bottle, lost balance, and fell against the mirror-door. The door swung open and Rakesh clung to the door’s edge, struggling for balance. The faint glow from the artificial fireplace centered in the left brick wall cast orange highlights on a sofa and Rakesh’s desk. “Shouldn’t with another man.”
Her heart filled with dread. “What other man?”
“You didn’t tell me. You’ve been hiding.” The mirrored door swayed back and forth as Rakesh struggled to remain upright. The reflection of the bedroom’s interior swung dizzyingly from the tossed duvet to the faded wallpaper and stained carpet. “I know everything.”
Calm. Stay calm. “What are you talking about?”
“You and your friend.”
“What friend?”
He grabbed Sheetal’s forearm, swung her into the den, and pushed the door closed. The thick slab of wood and glass almost touched the wall’s edge. A knife cut of light from the bedroom illuminated his reaching hand. “Give.”
Sheetal swung the bottle behind her back. “You’ve had enough.”
He pounced, wrestled the bottle from her grip, unscrewed the cap, and gulped the liquid.
“Stop, Rakesh, you’ll hurt yourself.”
He paused, cupped his lips round the bottle’s rim, and resumed drinking.
“Talk to me, Rakesh. Let’s talk this through.”
He lowered his hand and let go of the empty bottle. “You want to talk?”
“Yes, Rakesh. Let’s talk.”
“About what?”
“Any—”
“Who is he?”
She numbed.
“You had lunch with him, right?”
“Who?”
“Some Chopra? Old friend? Old memories? Good memories?”
“He’s Yash’s House Master and Science teacher.”
“Oh come, Sheetal. You know this man from before, don’t you?”
He couldn’t know it was Arvind. “We got caught in a storm and ducked into this restaurant for cover. He happened to be there.”
“Oh, so you’ll join any man sitting alone in a restaurant for lunch?”
“I just had a coffee, Rakesh. He knows Yash.”
“He knows you, Sheetal. Tell me, does he still like you?”
Her breaths, shallow and fast, kept time with her heartbeat.
“Do you like him?”
She couldn’t breathe. “He’s Yash’s teacher, Rakesh. How can you think—”
“My mistake.” He staggered forward, slipped on the bottle, and lunged, but Sheetal scrambled aside.
Rakesh hit the floor face down.
“Look at how drunk you are.” She grabbed his arm, forced him to his feet, and swung his arm around her shoulders while steadying him with an arm around his waist. She hunched under the burden of his weight. The stench of vomit and urine made her gag. She directed him back to the bedroom, away from the darkness, before she retched.
Rakesh wrenched free, turned around, and staggered back into the den.
“So, was he better than me? Did you enjoy each other’s company? Must have.” He sank onto the couch. “So different, so changed since you returned. You think I wouldn’t know? How was he? Good?” He rose, staggered past to the desk on the right, yanked open a drawer, and grabbed another bottle.
Fear clawed at her heart. Did he know the friend was Arvind? She needed to change the topic and stop him from drinking himself to death. “Dr. Kishore said—”
“Fuck the doctor.” He smashed the bottle against the edge of the desk. Shards of glass and puddles of scotch littered the wood and carpet. “What the fuck were you doing, bitch?”
Her chest tightened. “Listen to me, Rakesh. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Out to get me? Ruin me?” He drew the belt from his trousers and coiled the leather end around his knuckles. The belt buckle dangled free. He whipped the table with a crack.
“Listen, Rakesh,” she pleaded.
“Fucking slut.” His spittle sprayed her.
She raised a hand and the belt came down.
“Stop Rakesh!” She raised both arms. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“That son-of-a-bitch!” The belt snaked into the air and cracked down again. And again and again.
Sheetal caught the strip of leather, held on with all her might, and yanked, but he held on. Then he was tilting, falling, and she tried to sidestep, but she fell under his weight and landed on a bed of needles. She shoved him off, rolled away, and more needles pierced her.
Blood dotted her body. Fragments of glass crusted her arms and feet. She pulled out shards, hot tears running down her cheeks.
Broken.
Shattered.
Glass.