| |
Sheetal stepped back and the sari pleats came undone. “I...I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to.” Rakesh’s broad frame blocked the view of the setting sun and swallowed its light. He made his way in, dragging the scent of mint, a suitcase in one hand and a hand-carry in the other. He kicked the door closed with his heel and a thud shook the wall. Then he paused, surveyed the interior, put the hand-carry on the sofa, and marched down the corridor.
His head fell three feet short of the ceiling. He looked into Sheetal’s room. “Sweet.” Then he took a step and swung open the door on the left, wheeled in the suitcase, and emerged seconds later. “Comfortable?” he asked.
Her heart pounded. Thank goodness, she took the initiative to dress up. Was he going to share her room? Sleep on the same bed? Use the other for storage? Storage of what?
“Too comfortable?”
“I...I thought you’d be in Delhi,” she raised the pitch of her voice to sound casual. “On business.”
“This is business.”
“But the Japanese. Tashukomo Electronics. Didn’t you say—”
“That can wait. This can’t.” He grinned and yawned, stretching his arms wide and appearing to touch the sides of the cottage, his ring sparkling in the yellow light. He let his arms rest by his sides and the ceiling appeared to succumb to his pull. “Too small.” He shook his head.
He sat on the three-seater, spread his arms along the backrest and took up the whole space.
“You came for Yash’s sake, I’m guessing?” With no official news from the school that Yash had been replaced, Rakesh would be expecting to see Yash take center stage. “I was just getting ready for the performance. Yash will be so—”
“I came for you.”
“Oh.” Her heart fisted in her throat. “You must be tired after the long trip.”
He lunged, grabbed the hand-carry, unzipped the bag, pulled out three bottles of Blue Label, and stacked them like trophies in an open cabinet above the toaster.
Was he planning to drink them all tonight?
“Aren’t you going to ask if I want chai?” He returned to the sofa.
She prayed her sari concealed the heaves of her chest. “I’m still getting dressed.”
“So?”
“We need a car. Why don’t you call the front desk?”
“I will.” He walked across to the patio door. “You’ve been busy entertaining, I see. Table for two without me?”
She froze at the implication. “I was alone, and ordered room service, but the bellboy assumed I was ordering for two. The other place setting is untouched.”
“Room serviced? You must have quite an appetite.” He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and grinned.
Sheetal held onto the dining table for support. “I have to finish getting ready. We’ll be late.”
“You never even invited me.”
“In Raigun, you said no. Remember?”
“Didn’t try hard enough. Doesn’t matter, anyway. After this, it’s over. You’re going home.”
Just then her mobile chimed.
“Go pick it up,” he ordered.
She went to her room and fished the Nokia mobile out of her travel bag. The caller ID showed Mr. Patel from the Taj Resort. Good. The phone call would prove business as usual. She pressed the phone to her ear “Hello, Patelji?”
He pried her fingers open, pulled the phone from her hand, and flung it across the room. The phone hit the wall and shattered. “Now that future interruptions are out of the way, let me update you. I filled out all the transfer certificates at Dr. Chaturvedi’s office on my way down. Yash will study in Raigun going forward. We leave tomorrow afternoon. The train is at four—”
“Yash,” she interrupted. “Did you meet him?”
“No.” He frowned. “Why?”
“Does he know you’re here?”
“No. But you, sure as fucking hell, don’t look happy. Anyway, he’ll find out soon enough.”
***
The welcome reception outside the auditorium’s main entrance swarmed with people as a photographer asked groups of attendees to pose. Men and women dressed in shimmering attire stopped to chat and mingle with Sheetal and Rakesh on their way in, no doubt keen to be seen and photographed with a Dhanraj.
Sheetal gazed down the steps leading to the grassy area where she’d met Yash yesterday evening, her wrist locked in Rakesh’s grip. In half an hour, she was supposed to meet Arvind and Yash on this very spot. She drifted outside Rakesh’s radius and he pulled her back.
She kept calm and smiled at the crowd—a repeat of her performance at the charity dinner before they’d left Raigun. All she had to do was play along and he wouldn’t know the difference.
Half an hour later, Sheetal sat in the brightly lit auditorium next to Rakesh in the middle of an aisle reserved for VIPs. The terraced seats gave spectators a clear view of the dais. Her attention flew to Exit signs lit in neon red, placed at regular intervals along the auditorium’s walls. She leaned past Rakesh and caught sight of an Exit to her right, at the end of the aisle. She needed an excuse to leave.
The stage curtains parted, the bright yellow lights dimmed, and the performance began. Yash and Arvind were probably waiting for her outside. She had to get to them. But how? Did they know Rakesh was here and that she was stuck with him? She didn’t have her string bag and documents. Even if she managed to escape, she still couldn’t leave. Her heart raced. “I need to go,” she whispered into the dusk.
He turned. “Really, where?”
“Ladies’ room.”
“Hold it.” A drum roll sounded and he tightened his grip on her wrist.
A lump knotted in her throat. She tried to swallow, but her heart, her head, everything thumped wildly.
This year’s concert was a tribute to the legendary actor, producer, and director of Indian cinema, Raj Kapoor. Renowned as India’s Charlie Chaplin, Raj Kapoor frequently performed roles where he portrayed a tramp, or a tragic lover opposite a female lead actress. Because Stonewall was a boys’ school, some of the boys had to wear saris or salwar suits and play the roles of the leading women in musical sequences of various Bollywood hits.
About thirty of Raj Kapoor’s famous songs, acts, and dance sequences were performed as vignettes, each including a new song and new actors. Scene after scene rolled on and off stage like the episodes in Sheetal’s life. The long, languid calls of the violin reminded her of the endless search for a husband’s love. The tinkle of piano keys represented her love for Yash, Mama, Papa, and the struggle to keep her life together. Drum rolls called to mind Rakesh. The CD. The threats to Yash’s life.
An hour into the performance, Rakesh leaned toward her. “Where’s Yash?”
She had spent all evening rehearsing an explanation that would appear natural. “He’s not hosting the event.”
“You knew Yash wasn’t hosting?” Rakesh whispered.
“He told me yesterday when I met him.”
In the reflected light of on-stage spotlights, Sheetal could just make out Rakesh’s twisted expression. “Who the fuck”—spectators seated in the row ahead turned to look at them—“kicked him out?”
“No one,” Sheetal kept her voice low. “He just couldn’t perform.”
“Couldn’t? Couldn’t go up on stage and announce like that boy up there?” He gestured to a boy on stage who announced the upcoming intermission. “You turned Yash into a fucking coward, like yourself.”
More heads turned in their direction.
“He’s not feeling well.”
“And you knew about this?”
“I—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t expect you to be here. You said you were going to New Delhi.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I told you, I found out yesterday.”
“Bullshit.”
Applause filled the auditorium and the curtains clapped to a close for intermission.
“You’re not really here for the concert, are you?” Rakesh firmed the pressure on her wrist. “There’s something else, I can tell.”
Her hand numbed. She could hardly feel the bangles on her wrists. “You’re hurting me.”
Lights bathed the auditorium and people who stayed seated swiveled their legs to let others pass. Rather than trespass through Rakesh and Sheetal’s space, those on their row left via the aisle on the left.
“I’m only here because of Yash,” Sheetal said. “You know that.”
“Really? Then why did you come for the performance if he has no part? You could have stayed back at the cottage.”
“And do what? Do you remember Megha?” Sheetal firmed her voice. “Remember how she used to talk, dress, and keep to herself?”
“What does Megha have to do with Yash?”
“She was so unstable...so broken inside.”
“Sweet! Women talk. Just what I need.”
“It’s precisely what’s happening to your son. He stammers. He’s lost all confidence. He’s broken inside. I wonder why.” She snatched her hand away. “What did you do to him?”
Rakesh’s features tightened and his face turned a shade of dark yellow. “Oh, you think it’s all my fault when you’ve been overprotective?”
At that moment, Dr. Chaturvedi made his way through the narrow aisle between seats to Rakesh’s right. “Aah. Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Dhanraj.”
Rakesh rose and shook his hand. “Good evening. Quite a spectacular performance. A lot of practice and hard work has gone into this.” He leaned toward Dr. Chaturvedi.
Sheetal stood and inched closer, straining to overhear what was said.
“Why was I not informed about my son?”
“Informed about what?” Dr. Chaturvedi asked.
“It is my understanding that he’s not hosting the concert like he should be. He auditioned and got through. Why wasn’t I told he.... That there’s a problem?”
“Problem? Um...what problem?”
“Isn’t there a school policy about informing parents when something is wrong?”
“I...ah...yes. Maybe we can discuss this later?”
“Now. Why didn’t you say something when I called you a few weeks ago?”
Rakesh called Dr. Chaturvedi? For what?
“I um...don’t seem to understand what’s going on.” Dr. Chaturvedi paused to take a breath. “My apologies, but perhaps I—”
“My wife just informed me.”
Dr. Chaturvedi winced as people turned to stare.
“Something about no confidence.” He waved a hand. “Can’t talk right. Why didn’t someone tell me?”
People nearby spoke in hushed whispers.
“Ah...I...um...didn’t know myself.” Dr. Chaturvedi looked left then right, gesturing to the onlookers that everything was all right. “Had his House Master informed me, I most certainly would have—”
“This House Master,” Rakesh interrupted. “I want to see him now.”
Dr. Chaturvedi lowered his voice, “Perhaps a little later, as scheduled?”
What schedule? Rakesh wasn’t even supposed to be here.
“Now,” Rakesh demanded. “I want all this sorted out now.”
“It’s the middle of the concert.” Dr. Chaturvedi withdrew a hand from his cane and gripped the backrest of the nearest seat. “Perhaps, um...if we waited for—”
“I don’t wait for anything, especially after I’ve paid for it.” Rakesh grabbed Sheetal’s wrist.
Did Rakesh bribe Dr. Chaturvedi? If she’d donated one of the orchid paintings, perhaps she could have bought the man’s loyalty first.
Just then, Dr. Chaturvedi’s eyes widened behind the lenses of his thick, black eyeglasses and he whispered something in Rakesh’s ear. He pointed to the dais, then summoned a thirteen-year-old usher and whispered in the boy’s ear.
The boy left.
“What was that all about?” Sheetal tried to twist her wrist out of Rakesh’s grip, but he tightened his hold.
“You’ll see.”
A figure on the far right of the auditorium cut through a throng of people and made his way toward them. Arvind.
Dr. Chaturvedi’s cough broke the silence as Arvind neared. “Let me introduce you.”
Arvind smiled and turned to Dr. Chaturvedi.
“Meet um...Mr. Chopra. Arvind Chopra.” Dr. Chaturvedi turned to Rakesh. “Mr. Rakesh Dhanraj. I’ll leave you gentlemen. I um...think you two have some catching up to do.” Dr. Chaturvedi left without another word.
He knew everything. There was no escape now.
Arvind reached to shake Rakesh’s hand. “Hello, I’m Arvind.”
Rakesh’s jaw tightened. “Arvind!” He released Sheetal and shook Arvind’s hand, towering several inches over him. His knuckles paled and his fist and face turned a darker shade of yellow while Arvind’s swelled to a richer shade of brown. It was like watching scotch and coffee fill a single cup, each vying to outdo the other’s color. “So, we finally meet. Heard much about you. You’re taking care of my son, I hear.” He let Arvind’s hand go.
“An honor to meet you at last,” Arvind replied.
“The honor is all mine.”
“Yash talks a lot about you.”
“As my wife—you. Not that she tells me anything, of course. But I know. And.... Oh”—he turned around to face Sheetal—“I forgot to introduce my beautiful wife, Sheetal. But then, you two already know each other, I hear. And you already know my son. In fact, you know everyone and everything there is to know about me except me.”
“Namaste.” Sheetal pressed her palms together.
“Oh, come now.” Rakesh pulled her forward and squeezed her between him and the backs of seats in the row ahead, until she stood next to Arvind. He nudged her closer to Arvind. Uncomfortably close. “You’re behaving like strangers. All this pretending, save it for the kids on stage. You guys are old friends. Good friends. Very good friends. Ditto?”
Blood rushed to Sheetal’s head. “Rakesh. He’s Yash’s House Master, nothing more.”
“Of course.” He grinned. “Or how else would you have found him again after all these years?”
“We just happened to meet. I told you—”
“Things don’t just happen. They’re either meant to, or not. And I’m here to make sure: not.” He grabbed her shoulders. From the pressure of his hands and the way he dug his fingers into her collar bones, he was using her to steady himself. “I hear my son is unwell.”
“He’s sitting right ahead, up there, in the front with all the other students,” Arvind said. “If you would like—”
“Was it not your duty to report this to Dr. Chaturvedi?”
“Report what?”
“This problem Yash is having. My wife just told me.”
“I didn’t think it was that serious.”
“Mr. Chopra, I’m his father. I’ll decide what is serious and what isn’t. And when it comes to my family, I make the decisions. Understand?”
Arvind looked him in the eye. “Perhaps you need to understand that Yash is in this state because of you. Just because you run the country’s largest business empire doesn’t mean you can run a child’s life.”
The pressure of Rakesh’s grip tightened and the floor felt as if it would give way. No one spoke back to Rakesh. There was no telling what he would do.
“Do you have a doctor’s degree, Mr. Chopra?” Rakesh’s voice remained calm. Deathly calm.
“No.”
“Then I suggest you stop giving recommendations on how to treat my son.”
“It’s not just your son.” Arvind slid his hands into his trouser pockets as people filled seats and a small crowd gathered round. “Anyway, I should be heading back. We still have the second half of the show. It was good to meet you. Finally.” He nodded to Rakesh and then Sheetal, avoiding eye contact before turning to leave.
“Ditto.” Rakesh raised his right hand over his head. “The show must go on.” He swayed his hand left and right. “May the best man win.”
The lights dimmed. Arvind disappeared from view, and the auditorium was blanketed in darkness once again.
“I...I think we should leave,” she whispered.
“Yes.” Rakesh nodded. “Somewhere far away, perhaps?”
Sheetal watched the remainder of the show and mentally reviewed the alternative plan. A car would be waiting for her outside the hotel lobby at eleven o’clock. Obviously, Arvind now understood why she failed to meet him and Yash shortly after the performance began. Her only chance was to make it to the waiting car. But how? She occupied a resort villa a kilometer away from the reception complex, on the far edge of nowhere. She had forgotten to inform Arvind of the resort’s layout. If he sent the car to reception, she’d never make it there by foot. The car had to meet her outside the villa. She had to tell Arvind. But how? Rakesh was not going to let her out of his sight for a second.
The curtains drew to a close and the audience applauded and cheered.
“Come.” Rakesh grabbed Sheetal’s hand, rose, and cut his way through the aisle, knocking down people in his path like dominoes. When they reached the auditorium’s entrance, he ordered a security guard to find his son among the cluster of students sitting near the stage.
Minutes later, Yash arrived, dressed in his school uniform. He slid his hands in the side pockets of his trousers. “H-h-hello, D-dad.”
Rakesh bent at the waist, towering two feet above Yash’s head. “What’s this I’m hearing, Yash? You were replaced as the host for the performance? I would have been so proud of you. You let us down, Yash. All of us.”
“I’m s-s-sorry.” The pockets of his trousers swelled as his hands fisted.
Rakesh shook his head. “You don’t look sorry. Look what your mother turned you into.”
Sheetal’s heart ached. Couldn’t Rakesh see how broken the poor boy was inside? She reached out to hold and protect her son, but Rakesh yanked her back to his side.
“Now, here’s the plan. We’re taking tomorrow’s train back to Raigun. All three of us. You’ve always wanted to live at home like other boys. Right? You’ll be in a new school and you’ll have new friends.”
Yash nodded. “B-b-ut my exams?” He paled, turning to Sheetal in desperation. “I have t-to g-give m-my f-final p-papers.”
Rakesh rose to his full stature. “We’ll see.”
“I d-don’t want t-to g-g-go.” Yash’s trousers darkened in a wet patch at his crotch and the air reeked of urine.
Rakesh wrinkled his nose and tightened his grip on Sheetal. “Look what you’ve turned him into.” He looked at Yash. “You’re going where I take you. Understand?”
Yash stood rooted to the spot.
“Have your bags packed and be ready to leave first thing tomorrow morning.”
People spilled out of the auditorium.
“I will come pick you up. For me, Yash. Do it for me.” Then Rakesh turned and started away, dragging Sheetal in his wake. She craned her neck to see Yash as the distance between them increased. “Cottage number forty-two. Not hotel. A resort,” she lip-synched to Yash as she stumbled after Rakesh. “Tell Arvind. Send the car to cottage number forty-two.”
Yash nodded.
“Do you understand?” She asked, voiceless.
Yash continued to nod, his expression blank.