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Sheetal checked in at the Plaza Royale, a holiday resort comprised of fifty-two villas and cottages scattered over acres of hillside. A narrow concrete road connected the resort’s security checkpoint to its reception complex, and from there, joined the outlying rental properties into loose grape clusters.
A bellboy drove Sheetal in a golf cart from the reception complex to a cottage five minutes away across manicured slopes. As he drove, the bellboy explained that guests had to reserve a golf cart or car at least fifteen minutes ahead of time as those vehicles were the only modes of transportation. The only restaurant, located at the reception complex, opened from twelve to three for lunch and six to nine for dinner. The villas accommodated two to three families, and smaller cottages accommodated a family of four. Which explained why the receptionist at check in looked past her shoulder as if expecting someone else to join her, then confirmed twice that she’d be staying alone for the next two weeks.
Sheetal didn’t blame the receptionist for his strange behavior, but why did Rakesh make reservations in a remote location tucked away in a corner of Upper Mansali? Families or couples who wanted privacy were more suited to the resort-style setup than a person travelling alone.
The bellboy parked outside “Villa forty-two,” grabbed her luggage, and opened the front door with a key. “Yahaan rakhoon, Memsahib?” he asked if he should place her luggage beside the four-seater dining table on the left.
“No, in the bedroom please.”
The bellboy wheeled her luggage down a narrow corridor and turned right into a room.
A dining table and kitchenette occupied the left side of the room and a maroon sectional sofa matched with a single seater and a wooden coffee table took up the right. Sunlight streamed through a glass patio door that overlooked a wooden deck and bathed the two-seater in a pool of light. An entertainment unit filled the wall beside the front door. The whole cottage was quite cozy. In any case, she would only need the cottage for a few hours a day.
The bellboy emerged from the bedroom, passed the kitchenette, and almost knocked over a floor lamp near the sofa’s corner. He caught the lamp in time, settled it back on its base, and in fifteen steps, reached her. The living room equaled half the size of her bedroom in the Dhanraj mansion. Sheetal dropped her handbag on the single seater, took the bunched keys from the bellboy, and placed them on the dining table.
“I’ve placed your luggage in the larger bedroom,” he said.
Larger? “How many bedrooms are here?”
“Two. Is there a mistake?”
“No. It’s fine.” She tipped him and shut the door behind him.
She entered the kitchen and ran a palm along the smooth counter equipped with a toaster, an electric kettle, and a mini fridge tucked below. The slab of granite turned a sharp right to a two-burner gas stove. Four knives were held at a diagonal in a wooden knife block. Compared to the mansion’s sixty feet tall ceiling, the villa’s ceiling gave the impression of being within reach.
She passed through a gap between the three- and two-seaters, reached the patio door, twisted the key that protruded from the lock, and slid the glass door open. The fragrance of wet earth and grass perfumed the air. She stepped onto the deck. Four chairs had been overturned onto a patio table. Planks creaked under her weight as she walked to the table, righted the chairs, then crossed to the deck rail. The villa’s deck faced a forest. She had to lean over the rail to spot a roof half hidden by the hump of a downhill slope. Beyond that sliver of roof, lush green hills, distant houses, and vague glimpses of road rolled away to a panoramic view of distant mountains. She took a deep breath and licked her lips, momentarily as wild and free as the mountains she inhabited.
She went back in, fished her cell phone from her handbag and punched Papa’s number. The ringing tones reverberated like endless questions. What happened to Naina? Who would manage the delivery of Megha’s baby? She disconnected and put away the phone. Those concerns were not her problems anymore.
***
That evening, Sheetal waited on the library’s portico for Yash. Grass carpeted the school grounds, birds chirped in trees lush with green leaves, and the sky arched, cloudless and blue. Sheetal tapped her fingers against her thigh. Now that she was here, Yash would be fine. Everything was going to be fine.
A lone figure in summer uniform emerged from the auditorium and Sheetal squinted for a clearer view. Yash? She waved, but the figure didn’t look up. The last time she was here, she’d mistaken some other boy for Yash. She started walking toward him.
The boy dragged his feet, his head lowered, his hands tucked inside trouser pockets. That couldn’t be Yash, who would have waved at her by now and raced toward her.
Fifteen feet away, she couldn’t deny the truth any longer. The boy was Yash.
Sheetal hurried forward, fell to her knees before him and cupped his face in her hands.
He kept his eyes lowered.
She urged his head straighter, but he refused to look up. “What’s wrong, Yash? Look at me.” She ran her fingers through his hair, over his cheeks, and winced at the sharp slants and angles that defined his face. She touched his neck and ran her hands across his white, half-sleeve shirt. His shoulders were wiry bones. “I’m here, Yash. I came for you.”
He raised the shutters of his eye, his expression blank.
“Talk to me, Yash. Say something.”
Nothing.
Her heart grated the pit of her stomach. She pulled Yash to her chest and hugged him tight, but he didn’t fill the width of her arms.
“Say something,” Sheetal whispered in his ear. “Look at you. So thin, so weak. What happened?” She ran her thumb over his forehead, brushing aside a lock of hair. “Did someone say something, do something to you?” She fanned her fingers across his back and slid the other hand down his arm. “What is it, Yash? Tell me. Speak, Beta. Who did this to you?”
He jerked ever so slightly. His head shifted almost imperceptibly.
No? Was that a no? “You can tell me anything, Yash. I’m your mother. No one can harm you now.”
“C-can’t,” he whispered.
“Why?”
“He t-t-told me n-n-not t-to.”
Stammering? Her heart welled in her throat. Yash had never stammered in his life. “Who?”
No answer.
“What did he say?” She held both his hands and tightened her grip. “Do you love me?”
He nodded.
“Do you trust me?”
Another nod, more pronounced.
“Then tell me.”
He inched away. “D-d-do you l-l-ove m-me, M-mum?”
Her heart fisted in a knot. “Of course, Yash. I love you more than anything in the world.”
“Then t-tell the t-t-ruth. W-w-what D-dad did t-to you that n-night. W-was it a m-mistake, l-like you s-said?”
The breath caught in her throat. Yash wanted the truth, the very truth she’d spent years running away from. “He was hurting inside and he wanted me to feel his pain.” She stopped. Wasn’t she justifying Rakesh’s actions again? Who was she saving Rakesh from and why? He had hurt, beaten, and accused her of infidelity when he had been cheating on her with another man. “He was wrong. He had no right to, but he wanted to hurt me.”
“On p-purpose?”
Sheetal nodded.
He wrapped his fingers around her wrists where the bandages had been. Then he pressed lightly on her veins with both thumbs and index fingers. “D-does it s-s-still hurt?”
“Not anymore. And he’s never going to hurt me again, I promise.”
A figure in the distance, dressed in a half-sleeve white shirt and khaki pants, started toward them.
Sheetal rose, then bent down to Yash’s height and grabbed his shoulders. Her bangles collided with one another. “What did he tell you not to tell me? Who told you not to tell me?”
“I c-can’t s-say.”
Sheetal tightened her grip.
Tears rolled down his cheeks. “I-if I t-tell, he’ll d-do the s-same thing to me.”
Sheetal looked up. It was Arvind. He was getting closer. And quickening his gait, as though he anticipated Yash would reveal something. “Who?” She felt Yash’s shoulder blades. “Who will do what to you?”
Had Arvind threatened Yash, made him reveal details about goings on between her and Rakesh? Or were the boys in the dormitories perverts? Was Arvind a pervert? A chill ran through her veins. “Who, Beta? You have to tell me who. Help me to help you.”
“You’re hurting m-me, M-Mum.”
She loosened her hold. “Who?”
“H-he’ll hit m-me with the b-belt, l-like he hit you.”
“No one will ever hit you.” She looked him in the eye. “I promise. But you have to tell me who’s doing this.”
Yash tried to wriggle free.
Sheetal firmed her hold. “Listen to me. I’ve been working very hard so we can leave this place and never come back. I am doing this for you, only you. But you have to tell me the truth or you and I will come back to all this. Understand?”
Arvind was meters away, almost within hearing range. He had loved her. He still loved her. Is that why Arvind discussed Yash’s condition with her, off school records via private phone calls? Bile rose up her throat. “Quick, Yash. Tell me quickly. Who’s threatening you?”
She could still change plans. Contact Papa. File for a divorce. Take custody of Yash. How? She didn’t know. But somehow. If Papa had signed everything over to Vikram, then he’d be left with nothing. She’d be left with nothing. And she would inevitably lose Yash to Rakesh.
The sky had darkened to purple.
She’d call Uncle Ashwin tonight. He’d know what to do.
“Quick. We don’t have time.”
Arvind would reach them in seconds.
A gush of air escaped the corner of Yash’s mouth and his lips wrinkled unevenly.
“Yes,” she encouraged him. “Go on.”
“D... D....” His lips inched apart. The joint of his trousers darkened and the stench of urine filled the air.
“Yes, Yash. I’m here. Tell me.” Arvind was four feet away. “Tell me,” she begged. “Please.”
Yash opened his mouth and a single word spilled like mercury down the empty karva of her soul.
“D-Dad.”
***
Sheetal walked with Arvind to a bench overlooking the sports field, sat down, and stared at the conifers turning gray in the evening light. She had sent Yash to change into fresh clothes so she could talk with Arvind in private.
Arvind sat beside her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Arvind pulled a rectangular square of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “Tomorrow evening, platform number six.”
Sheetal took the ticket and held it between thumb and index finger. The ticket read, Red Fort Express, Bogie number five-zero-zero-four-two. “I can’t believe I’m giving up thirty-two years of my life. It’s just...there’s so much—a lot of—”
“Shit, yaar! It’s a chance for you to start over and finally live.”
The veins at her temples pulsed. “You make it sound as if I’ve been dead.”
“What kind of a life have you been living? First your husband beats you, then he threatens Yash. Isn’t it obvious that there was never a need to go through any of this?”
“You’re saying eloping with you would have led to happily ever after?”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“You expect me to predict the future now?”
“You don’t have to be a psychiatrist to figure out Rakesh Dhanraj.” Arvind leaned forward and placed both elbows on his knees. “The man speaks for himself.”
“Just say what you really mean.”
“I don’t think you trust me.”
“You think I can trust anyone after all I’ve been through?” Guilt clawed at her heart. “How will we manage with different last names? People will become suspicious, and I can’t tell anyone I’m a Dhanraj. But as Sheetal Chopra, as husband and wife, with Yash as our son, no one will suspect.”
“True.” He joined the fingers of both hands into one fist. “But I have something better figured out. No use pretending.”
“Why would we pretend?”
He turned. “What do you mean?”
“I thought you said you didn’t marry all these years because you still loved me.”
“I do.”
“So aren’t you going to....” She gulped, but the question lodged in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words. She’d been a big enough burden.
“I have friends and family friends who will take care of you and Yash.”
“And you?”
“I won’t be able to return to Stonewall, that’s obvious. I’ll figure out my life later.”
“So, you’re going to leave us?”
“I’ll take you as far as I can and leave you in good hands. I promise.”
“Where? With whom?”
Silence.
Her heart. Her throat. Everything ached. Tears threatened the corners of her eyes. “You’re not telling me anything. Why? Why can’t you marry me?” The words were out, and it was too late to swallow them back.
“You want me to marry you?”
“Don’t you love me?”
“I will always love you. But I can’t marry you.”
“Why?”
“Because I...I just can’t. I have to let you go.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s no telling what Rakesh will do.”
“Rakesh is gone. What more does he have to do with us—with me? I’ve left him for you.”
“No, Sheetal. If you left him for me, then it’s wrong. You’re leaving him for you.”
“But I love you.” The ache in her heart welled up her throat and everything blurred. “Since we met, I can’t stop thinking about you. And us, together. You’re all I have, Arvind.”
“I love you, too, and I spent the last ten years of my life wondering why you never came with me. I don’t want to spend the next ten years wondering why you did.”
“I don’t understand. What more can he do to me? To us? He won’t know where we are. Rakesh won’t—”
“It’s not that easy, Sheetal.”
“Ten years ago, you jumped over my balcony and told me to walk away from it all. You told me to marry you. You said it was easy and all I had to do was leave and forget about what everyone would say.” She took a deep breath. “Well, I just did. And...now you want nothing to do with me? Why? Because I have a son? Because I married—”
“Because you need to do this for you and for Yash. If I marry you, Rakesh becomes right. You and I will become wrong.”
Like Ajay Malhotra’s wife? Wronged to begin with, then proven wrong again because she fell in love with another man? “Why did you help me then, Arvind? Why the phone calls? Why the worry? You should have left me where I was. Why the promises? Why the lies?”
“I promised to help,” his voice held firm. “That’s all. Anything more is stepping over the line.”
“What line?” Blood raced through her veins. “I crossed all boundaries for you.”
“For Yash,” he corrected her. “You’re doing this for Yash and for you. Not for me. You just said so yourself. If it were for me, you would have done it ten years ago.” He closed his eyes and docked his forehead on his knuckles.
“Are you with Rakesh in this?”
“What?”
“Have you teamed up with Rakesh against me?”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“What am I supposed to believe when you don’t—?”
“You are my responsibility, and I won’t take advantage of you. Do you honestly think Yash will ever accept me as his father? Do you think we can ever live like a family? A real family? What will everyone say?”
The blood rushed to her head. First, Kavita assumed she had the right to decide what was right and now Arvind. What responsibility called someone to put their life at risk for another without a coolie’s fee or an expectation of anything in return? The darkening grass, the purple-gray sky, the air...everything felt suspended in time.
“I have a room booked at Jatinder Bhai’s guest house if you don’t want to stay at the hotel. You can move—”
“No. I’ll stay where I am in case Rakesh calls and checks with reception. We stay with the plan. You’re right. There’s no telling what he’ll do.”
“Tomorrow evening when the concert begins, I’ll meet you outside the auditorium with Yash. I’ll stay indoors until the show begins so everyone sees me around. I’ll have time to make sure things are set in place. Then we leave. I’ve told Yash everything.”
“What did he say?”
“He was relieved but scared. Confused. Should this fail—”
“What do you mean fail? You’re expecting something to go wrong?”
“I’m not expecting anything to go wrong. But we’ve got to be careful in case the plan falls apart. I will send a car to the hotel lobby. Where are you staying?”
“Plaza Royale.”
“The driver will meet you in the lobby at eleven o’clock, like last time. The Red Fort Express leaves at three in the morning. It’s our only hope because travel by car isn’t safe, and the next train isn’t till four that afternoon. So, we can’t afford to miss the morning one, you understand?”
Sheetal nodded.
***
She hardly slept that night, and spent the next morning rehearsing Arvind’s plan. When she couldn’t take the stress anymore, she stepped out onto the deck for a breath of fresh air and focused on the rolling landscape. Shortly afterward, she ordered room service.
Forty-five minutes later, a bellboy set the patio table and covered the embroidered tablecloth with pots of spicy dals, vegetable curries, and naan.
Sheetal told him to set the table for two so the loneliness wouldn’t pinch. For ten long years, succulent meals had graced the Dhanraj’s dining table, but everything had tasted bland. Now, suddenly, she could smell the aromas of hot cayenne peppers, garlic, fried onions, and cumin seeds that crackled and exploded when dropped in hot oil. She chewed hastily, swallowing each morsel.
At three that afternoon, she packed her essentials into a small, khaki string bag: one ordinary salwar suit to change into after the concert, a pair of Nike shoes—because she couldn’t walk around the train station in stilettos—passports, papers, her train ticket, a torch—just in case—cash, travelers’ checks, and jewelry. She shoved the bag into a gap between the cupboard and wall so she didn’t accidentally misplace it.
Then she debated whether to dress in a fancy sari because she wouldn’t attend the concert anyway. According to the plan, after everyone took seats inside the auditorium and the concert began, she was to meet Arvind and Yash outside the auditorium’s main entrance.
She quickly realized that casual clothing would draw unwanted attention.
She folded the front pleats of her sari while calculating the hours from the time they reached Lower Mansali to the train’s departure at three a.m. They would have plenty of time. No rush. Her breathing calmed. Maybe everything would go smoothly, after all.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Kaun hai?” she called from the bedroom.
Silence.
She tucked all seven pleats into the waist of her petticoat.
Another knock sounded.
“Who is it?”
“Room service.”
“I ordered room service hours ago and lunch was delivered.” She lifted the cap off the lipstick. Someone had probably mistaken her villa for another, or come to clean up. She was about to apply the frosted pink color when a third knock rapped. She leaned out of the bedroom’s doorway to make herself clearly heard. “I told you, I didn’t order room service, and I don’t need anything cleaned. Now, please go away.”
The knocking continued.
She thumped her lipstick on the dressing table, marched to the front door, swiveled two bolts to the left, and twisted the lock key. “I told you, I—” She swung open the door and stepped back. Her right heel caught on the hem of her sari and tugged at the folds. She staggered and grabbed a chair on the right for support.
He marched in. Two strides.
Sheetal struggled to speak, but words wouldn’t come.
“Promise. I won’t bite.”