by Irene Black
The second half of the book is an attempt to establish the truth about Mark and the mysterious Maighréad Salers. Whether it succeeds in doing so is for the reader to determine but, if nothing else, it demonstrates that truth, like a gob-stopper, is multi-layered and may be swallowed by mistake before its core is reached.
Ashok, now bolt upright, let the paper drop onto the ground. No, he thought. Two years in Sri Lanka and then back to England?
How could God have allowed this? He must have practically brushed past her as they swapped continents.
“Ashok,” his mother called. “Come, you will be late.”
Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Ashok picked up the paper and screwed it up into a tiny, hard ball before flinging it into the rubbish bin. Two years late. She’s probably married, and I’m practically married.
Ah well, no use brooding on what might have been. At least I know she’s safe. Better come to terms with it and get on with life.
Life, in fact, had not been so bad since Ashok’s return home. He had quickly established an enviable reputation at Shanti Sagar Hospital. His capacity for hard work was undiminished. And despite working long hours at the hospital, he had found time, with the help of the charity Third World Action, to establish a monthly mobile eye-camp, where the city’s poor could be treated free of charge. As well as sight tests, the provision of free spectacles, and treatment for infections and other minor ailments, routine operations such as cataract removal were carried out at the camp. The fame of Dr. Rao’s eye-camp quickly spread, and soon his name was known throughout Bangalore. Ashok threw himself wholeheartedly into this venture. Through his persuasive charm, he managed to enlist the help of an army of doctors and nurses, so that the camp’s working hours could be gradually extended, and it became weekly.
“You know, we are very proud of your work at eye-camp,” Lakshmi Devi said to Ashok one evening when he was visiting her in her rooms.
Ashok looked at the floor, slightly embarrassed. “That’s not why I do it, Ajji. But it makes me happy that you approve of my work. Believe me, there are many who are looking down their noses at me. It seems it is not fashionable these days to occupy so much of one’s time in helping the helpless, instead of setting one’s mind on making more money than one could ever use.”
The old lady bobbed her head approvingly. “After all, you are earning enough at hospital to ensure a comfortable life for us all—and for you and Janaki when you are married.”
Ashok avoided her glance. The conversation was heading in the wrong direction.
“Remember when I was a child, Ajji? The ancient tales you used to tell? They made me realize that things that are supposed to happen will happen, however impossible they seem. So it is thanks to you that this dream came true.”
For an instant, he thought he saw tears in the old lady’s eyes.
“But tell me, Ashok,” she said. “Where did that dream come from? Why did you decide to open camp?”
“Mm. Why? You know, Ajji, some foolish things I have done in my life. Things that I would do differently if God gave me a second chance. But in life we rarely get second chances, no? So, perhaps this is my penance.” He laughed. “I am lucky that something that set out to be a penance has turned out to be so rewarding.”
“And what were these foolish things? Will you humor a curious old woman, by telling?”
“Well.” He paused for a moment. It was so difficult not having a soul mate, no one to whom he could open his heart. He and Ajji had always been close. But would she understand? He decided to tread carefully. “There was a girl once. Long ago, in Oxford. Perhaps I misunderstood her. And because of that, it could be that others were suffering terrible consequences. If only I had not been so blind, so much evil might have been avoided.”
“As an eye specialist, my boy, I am surprised that you do not understand that blindness cannot always be avoided.”
“Some people are blind, Ajji, because they do not want to see, they refuse to open their eyes. Maybe I was like that.”
Lakshmi Devi looked at him gravely. Carefully, she continued. “And the Englishwoman who came here, to Bangalore? Are you serving your penance because of her, too?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” He left it at that, and Lakshmi Devi had the sense not to push it further. Later, swinging in the hammock under the stars, Ashok thought about it, as he had so many times before.
As far as Maighréad goes, Hannah and I are quits, I think. If we were blind, we were equally so, ergo equally responsible for subsequent events. But is it my fault that Hannah left me? I know I was weak in those days. I couldn’t see my way clearly. I was a person of two worlds—and they were tearing me in opposite directions. Perhaps Hannah could detect my confusion and was afraid that I’d let her down in the end. Who could blame her?
In line with Ashok’s success in his career, his relationship with Janaki was gently prodded into something that was acceptable. She was due to complete her PhD at the Biotechnology University in January. Both sets of parents started talking about a possible wedding the following March. Ashok and Janaki let them talk. Neither of them displayed any positive or negative feelings towards the idea. Once a week, Janaki came to Ashok’s parents’ house to eat with them, although Ashok noticed that she spent more time in the kitchen with his mother preparing the food than she did eating it with him. Perhaps I’m still too used to English ways, he told himself.
Occasionally, he would call in on her at the university. She worked incredibly hard and could be found at the bench at all hours of the day and night. Dedicated, Ashok thought and smiled at the thought that she was more dedicated to science than to him. It didn’t worry him. At least she’d never turn into a groveling little Hausfrau, he decided, despite his mother’s best efforts. Luckily, they would be able to afford a cook.
When he called in on her at the lab, he caused a flurry of excitement among the other female students. By now everyone had heard of the saintly (and gorgeous) Dr. Ashok. Janaki had acquired a certain status because of her association with him.
She shrugged this off. “Don’t admire me because of him. I want to be admired for my own achievements—and I will one day, you’ll see.”
No one doubted her words. Janaki was becoming a formidably brilliant scientist. On the occasions when he called, Ashok would drag her away from the bench and down to the campus coffee bar, where she would grant him ten minutes audience over a hot, milky coffee before excusing herself and rushing back to her work.
If he had time, Ashok would amble over to the bedraggled old garden. The bench where he and Hannah had sat was gone, reabsorbed into the moist, pungent earth. He would wander among the bougainvillea, remembering the bittersweet moments they had spent together in this place. It was an effort then to refocus on the present and head back to the hospital or the eye-camp.
It irked him that Janaki refused to visit the eye-camp.
“Ah no,” she said with a laugh. “You can get your hands dirty, Ashok, not me. I couldn’t be doing with all that sickness and misery.”
Three weeks after Ashok had read the review of Hannah’s book, Janaki telephoned him at the hospital and asked to see him urgently.
They met at the coffee bar, under the kapok tree.
“What is it that is so important that it cannot wait?”
Janaki contemplated her steel beaker silently for a moment then looked him straight in the eye.
“I have been offered a very good three-year post-doc, Ashok.”
“Oh? Where?”
Another slightly awkward pause.
“It is at UCLA. In America.”
“I know where UCLA is, Jan. So, I take it you intend to accept?”
“That is why I needed to talk urgently with you. It will mean removing to US. Is this acceptable to you?”
“You must do as you see fit.”
“I am thinking of you, Ashok. You will have fantastic opportunities in LA, I am told.”
“Jan…” Ashok looked at her serio
usly. “I don’t want fantastic opportunities in LA. I have all I want here. You will have to choose. Is it to be marriage, or is it to be research in US? We have waited long enough. Another three years would be absurd, no?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes. Especially for you. I am still young. It would be unfair to be expecting you to wait yet longer for me. I’m so sorry, Ashok, but I must accept that post-doc.”
“I understand. Really, I do.” Why am I not more upset? he asked himself.
“I think you do,” Janaki replied and continued carefully. “I think this is best for both of us, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps you are right. But I am wondering—how on earth do we tell our parents?”
They broke into laughter, and Ashok suddenly felt a slight twinge of regret.
Ashok’s premonitions were correct. The breaking of their commitment caused a storm. His parents were vitriolic towards Janaki, blaming her unfeminine aspirations for the whole thing. It took a great deal of persuasion on Ashok’s part to calm them and to convince them that the decision had been mutual. Lakshmi Devi alone understood, without being told, that Ashok had been a little too ready to agree to break off the relationship. It took several diplomatic missions to Janaki’s parents, too, to lift them from the mortification and shame that they felt at what they perceived as their daughter’s outrageous behavior.
In November, Ashok received a letter from his sister Priya in Winnipeg.
My dear brother,
I hope you are keeping well. I am thinking very frequently these days of the lovely sunshine and warm weather back home, when here it is already becoming so cold now that breath freezes, and we are all obliged to wrap up in layers of fur.
The reason for my writing to you this day is not easy. Amma has informed me of breaking with Janaki and I want to tell how much it grieves me. It was my understanding and fervent hope that you two were most happy with one another, that this was match made in heaven, as astrologers had told. However it was not to be. Amma was telling that both Janaki and you had come to that decision, and that you were not agreeable to removing to US, in spite of good career opportunities.
Since I have received Amma’s letter, I am asking myself all the time, WHY? What was going wrong?
Now I am coming to most difficult part. You see, I am wondering what would have happened if that English lady, Hannah, had not left you so suddenly in Bangalore. Would you have married her and been happy?
I hope you will forgive me for what I am writing now. Please believe that I was acting for best intentions. That is what I was thinking at least, when I paid visit to your English friend on that afternoon when you were taking parcels to mother-in-law of your friend, Dr. Patel. I was absolutely certain from what Bapa was telling, that your forthcoming marriage was all but settled. He and Amma were so happy about it, Ashok. Then you are coming along and telling about going to Kerala. Our parents were terribly worried, thinking that you will be going with that English lady, and how to explain to Janaki’s parents and all. And you were so strange in behaviour, Ashok. As though family was not important. These were the reasons why I went to Chamundi Hotel and asked for room number of an English lady called Hannah, friend of Dr. Ashok Rao. This they were finding quickly. I was very nervous and nearly went home again, but then I thought of Bapa and Amma and of what would be best for you, and I went up to her room. She was most surprised when I was telling who I was, but—this is what was bad—I liked her very much. I am sorry but I think I made her very sad when I was telling that marriage was already arranged for you with local girl. She is a proud lady though, Ashok, and was strong to hide her feelings. I did not stay long as she was in no mood for conversation with me, except that she could not help herself but to say “I knew he was hiding something. This is why he did not want that I should meet his family.”
My dearest brother, now I am thinking that what I did was very, very wrong. I did not realize you were not committed to Janaki at that time, that it was Bapa’s wishful thinking. However, I was sure it had all worked out for best when you two did decide to go ahead with marriage. Now I know we were all deluding ourselves.
This secret was a great burden to me and although I fear it is too late for you and Hannah, I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive the actions of your foolish and misapprehending little sister. Harsha and I are so happy that it is very painful for me to think that I myself may have prevented my darling brother from same chance of happiness in marriage.
Please write, forgiving me, for the sake of your little nephew Rahul. I have been telling him so much about his famous uncle Ashok.
Your sister,
Priya.
P.S. Some weeks past I have read in Weekly Guardian about a writer, Hannah Petersen, who was in India at that time when all this happened. Could it be possible this was same Hannah you knew?
When Ashok had read the letter, he folded it neatly, put it in the drawer of his desk, and went out of the house. He headed out along Eighteenth Cross Road and turned onto Margosa Road, not bothering in his daze to sidestep the rotten hand-cart debris littering the pavement. When he reached Mariamma Circle, he walked, stumbling occasionally on the uneven surface, past the science institutions and research parks until he came to the entrance gate to the BT University, and here he turned in. He made his way, still stupefied, to the old campus garden. For the next hour, he ambled along its overgrown paths, oblivious to burning sunrays, buzzing insects, and even to the lightning plunge into the undergrowth of a terrified green snake that had been basking on the stones until his presence disturbed it.
When he finally returned home, he sat down at his desk, the same fine desk that had been in his flat in Richmond and one of the few items of furniture that he had bothered to ship out to India after he had sold the flat. He pulled out a pen and an airmail letter and started to write.
Dear Priya, he began. And then he stopped. He’d had it all worked out in his mind, as he walked through the campus garden; but now, now that he actually had to write it down, words would not come. He forced himself to try again.
Dear Priya,
When I read your letter I found it most hurtful and shocking, and I was, at first, very angry with you for meddling in my affairs and interfering in things about which you know nothing.
But then I realised that the fault is not only yours, but equally mine. I was to blame, because I had not been honest with you or with Hannah. She was correct in suspecting that I did not want her to be meeting you all. I wanted first to remove the obstacle of the suggested marriage to Janaki and to tell our parents of my intention to marry Hannah. But because I could not find the words I kept delaying until finally she had gone.
You say it is too late for Hannah and me, and this doubtless is true. But she also deserves to know the truth about what happened.
You were quite right about the book review that you read in the Guardian—it was indeed the same Hannah. So now perhaps you will understand why I was preoccupied. It was not because of lack of love for you all, but because of the terrible ordeal that she was going through. I now know also why for two years I was unable to trace her, since she was in Sri Lanka, and that she is now back in England.
With this in mind I will be travelling to England as soon as possible so that she can learn the truth from me with the help of your letter.
As for forgiving you, well, you have hurt me greatly, but I have hurt myself more, I think. Let us put this behind us for the sake of the family.
Please convey my best wishes to Harsha, and give little Rahul a great big hug from his uncle.
Yours,
Ashok
Chapter 19
Ashok booked into the Cumberland in the late afternoon. The pretentiousness of the place irked him, but he’d had little choice. London in late December was choc-a-bloc. Only the luxury hotels were—at hugely inflated prices over the festive season—able to offer any accommodation at all. Or so the travel agent in Bangalore had told him.
It was bitterly
cold, and the darkening sky was crystalline. He made arrangements with the hotel reception to take delivery of a hire car the following morning then went for a walk. London was humming with life, even in winter. The shops were still full of Christmas hype; in addition, the city was gearing itself up for New Year’s Eve, a few days hence. No doubt Oxford Street would be impassable at night, when the lights were switched on. He made a mental note to stay in. He was far too nervous about his mission to be able to appreciate the razzmatazz.
Back in his hotel room, he lay down on his bed and opened the book that he had managed, after much searching, to track down at a fringe bookshop around the corner. It was more of a booklet, really, hyped up in a glossy red hardback cover. Its title: In the Name of Love. The author: Mark Salers.
He wondered why he’d never seen it for sale in Bangalore. It had never occurred to him to order it from UK. He hadn’t wanted to know—then. After all, what could it tell him? Merely a pack of lies. Nothing to throw light on Hannah’s disappearance. Now? Now, it was different. Now he had a sudden urge to get into the lunatic’s mind, to confront Hannah with understanding and not with ignorance.
The style was sensationalist. Designed to appeal to the lowest common denominator of humanity, Ashok mused. Full of exaggerations and untruths. Salers maintained that, as he had told Hannah, Maighréad had been born in Belfast to an unmarried Dublin girl of fifteen. She was raised in a Belfast orphanage. When she was eighteen, she met and married Mark Salers, twelve years her senior, having convinced him that her parents had been killed by a Loyalist bomb when she was fifteen. Only Salers didn’t let it rest. He wanted to get to the truth. So he investigated. He maintained that when she found out what he was doing, she started abusing her own body and telling others that he had done it to her.