A Scandalous Secret

by Jaishree Misra

  She trailed off, the silence that filled the room punctuated only by the persistent twittering of a bird outside and Neha’s soft sniffles as she tried to control her tears, dabbing them dry on a serviette.

  ‘Do you have other children?’ Sonya asked after a long pause.

  Neha shook her head and looked down. ‘No. Maybe the gods decided I didn’t deserve any after what I had done. Medically it’s inexplicable but Sharat and I have never had children, no …’ Her voice hung in the air as both women sat in silence again. Then, after another long pause, Neha looked up and into Sonya’s eyes. ‘I’m so very sorry,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘Will you … will you ever be able to forgive me?’

  In one swift movement, Sonya leaned out over the table and took Neha’s hand in hers. ‘Of course I do,’ she said, her voice thick as she tried to swallow back her own tears. ‘Actually, I don’t think you realize how clearly I do understand what you went through then. Because, if you think about it, it’s not that different from what I’ve just done. I thought I was falling for Keshav – enough to perhaps even sleep with him the next time we met. Luckily for me, he revealed himself before that but, if by some chance I had got pregnant by him, the last thing I’d want to do is go through with it or even tell my poor parents. As it is, they were worrying themselves sick about the trouble I would get into here!’

  ‘They know you were looking for me, though?’ Neha asked.

  ‘Yes, that they do.’

  ‘And they don’t mind?’

  ‘They did at first. Mum especially was really anxious about the possible repercussions. The timing – with me leaving home for the first time to go to uni – wasn’t great for her, I suppose.’

  Neha nodded. Then she said, ‘They must love you so much. And they must be so proud of you.’

  ‘They’re great,’ Sonya said, wiping her nose with a tissue. ‘And, when all is said and done, I think they’ll be quite pleased that I met you and have an understanding of what happened when I was a baby.’

  They were interrupted by Ram Singh coming in to clear away the tea cups, and Sonya withdrew her hand from Neha’s, lest the cook wonder what was going on. But he seemed not to notice, his expression disappointed at the quantity of uneaten food. He began piling cups and saucers onto a tray but soon stopped clattering to cock his ear at the distant sound of a car coming down the drive. There was the slamming of doors followed by footsteps coming down the corridor and, suddenly, to Neha’s astonishment and consternation, she saw Sharat walk in through the dining-room doors.

  ‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you had company,’ Sharat said, stopping at the sight of Sonya. He looked questioningly at Neha and she knew that, in one glance, he had taken in the sight of both their tear-stained faces.

  Neha got up and took two swift steps to reach her husband’s side. She had to make a quick decision. In the midst of her panic, she suddenly felt a curious flood of relief at how easy it was, after all these years, to finally give way to honesty.

  ‘Sharat, my darling,’ she said softly, taking his arm. ‘I want you to meet someone … it’s a long story and a very old story that I should have told you before. I’m so very sorry now that I didn’t. But this is Sonya, Sharat … there’s no easy way to say this to you, my darling, but Sonya … Sonya is my daughter. From a time long before I met you.’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Whenever Sharat looked back at that moment, it felt as if he was living the confusion and torment of Neha’s shocking revelation for the first time. The picture never left him: of Neha’s tear-stained face beseeching him for understanding, of the young English girl getting up hastily from her chair and standing helplessly by, the mockery of a half-eaten celebratory high tea spread out on the table behind them, as though the sandwiches and halwa were trying to instil the most deplorable situation with an air of normality.

  If Sharat were to be honest, his sudden reappearance at the house had been quite deliberate. He had left in the morning, having told Neha that he would be away in Mumbai for two or three days. But the plan all along was to return unexpectedly, concerned as he had become at Neha’s strange behaviour and, perhaps more significantly, the sound of the American man’s voice on her phone that day. Sharat had struggled with his conscience over such uncharacteristic guile on his part, but eventually decided that it would be better to try to find out for himself what was wrong, rather than to confront Neha and possibly end up having a row. That was the kind of unseemly behaviour into which they had never descended in their many years of marriage and Sharat had no intention of going down that path now.

  He had walked into the house very nervous at what he would find, his imagination getting the better of him. But the last thing Sharat had expected was the revelation he had got. It was crazy – an illegitimate daughter from Neha’s past! He still felt an odd light-headedness when he thought of the moment at which Neha had uttered the word ‘daughter’, as though he had consumed one too many whiskies and had moved mentally to an alternate world.

  In the event, it was her – the English girl, Sonya (Sharat almost could not bear to think of her as Neha’s daughter) – who had taken charge, insisting that she leave Neha and him to talk in private. Another young woman emerged from the study, the woman who had accompanied Sonya when she had first visited the house – he recognized them both instantly, of course – and the pair of them had exited the door without further ado.

  Neha and Sharat had been left, facing each other in the dining room like unexpected adversaries, while Ram Singh silently cleared the food away behind them. Finally, Neha had spoken.

  ‘Please will you let me explain?’ she asked, her eyes now tearless but dark and filled with anxiety.

  Sharat could only manage a wordless nod before walking out of the room and taking the stairs to their bedroom. That was the most private part of the house. As it is, Sharat wasn’t very sure of how much Ram Singh had understood of the earlier conversation. Loyal a retainer as he was, it was the kind of gossip that would be irresistible to keep from passing on.

  Upstairs, Neha had come out with it all. The whole sorry saga. She wept grievously off and on as she talked and – perhaps for the first time since Sharat had met Neha – he did not reach out and offer to comfort her. He heard her out though, remaining silent and as impassive as possible, trying not to wince at some of her disclosures and the accompanying rambling explanations. Finally, when she finished telling her story and slumped into silence, leaning worn out and exhausted on the antique carved headboard of their bed, he had spoken.

  ‘Do you know the identity of the blackmailer?’ Sharat asked quietly. Not only did he want to deal with the most urgent issues first, but it was also somehow easier to focus on something practical, an aspect of this tangle that he could perhaps do something about.

  Neha nodded. ‘I know only his first name but Sonya has all the details.’

  ‘And Sonya – your daughter –’ Sharat trailed off, aware of how bitterly he had spoken that last word. Neha was looking at him questioningly and so he cleared his throat and continued, ‘What happens now? Do you intend staying in touch with her?’

  Neha was silent as though considering this question for the first time. ‘I don’t know … I don’t think the choice would be mine to make …’ she said finally. Sharat could not tell if she was seeking his permission or implying that the choice would be Sonya’s. He also could not tell if there was regret in her tone or not.

  He inverted the question. ‘Have you any idea what she plans to do now that she has found you?’ He knew he had not succeeded in keeping the resentment out of his voice.

  Neha looked blank. ‘No,’ she replied, ‘Sonya never said what her plans are. But she leaves Delhi in a day or two, I think.’

  ‘Are you sure she is not secretly teaming up with the blackmailer? It could all be a scheme to extract money from us …’ Sharat said, searching Neha’s face. He did not present the possibility that Sonya might be an imposter and not Neha’s
daughter at all. That would be ridiculous, given the physical resemblance between them.

  Neha now looked him straight in the eye. ‘I too considered the possibility of a ploy, Sharat. I even asked the two girls about that directly. But I’m as sure as I can be that they have nothing to do with this Keshav. Their distress at having trusted him was genuine, I could tell.’

  Sharat got up and looked out of the window. ‘The blackmailer needs to be dealt with first,’ he said.

  ‘What do you plan to do?’ Neha asked nervously.

  Sharat was silent for a long time before he spoke in a firm and loud voice. ‘Well, the man is certainly not going to get a paisa from us. That’s for sure.’

  ‘But what if he starts talking as he threatens … you know, tells someone in the media …’

  Sharat closed his eyes momentarily. The possibility did not bear thinking about. It would be big, this sort of news, and could completely ruin his hard-won prospects in politics. The Congress high command had made their dislike of adverse personal publicity quite clear. So far Neha and he had enjoyed a spotless reputation, and were generally liked by journalists for managing their money without being splashy. But how could one possibly expect newspapers and other publications not to fall upon a scoop like this with unmasked glee? It would be irresistible to a newspaper editor. Sharat could imagine even those whom he personally knew – friends like Iqbal Syed of the Delhi Daily – calling up with early warnings and commiserations, but insisting all the while that it would go against his journalistic principles to cover up the story on the basis of their friendship. Without a doubt, it was one of those stories that would run for weeks, given that it had all the right ingredients: photogenic subjects, moneyed lifestyles, glamorous homes – a scandalous secret – how could the media fail to love it?

  ‘I will think of something,’ Sharat said, before turning to leave the room. He was conscious of Neha staring at him, pleading with her eyes, but he did not look at her, stopping only to pick up the leather briefcase into which he had earlier packed his travel documents. He intended to get away for a while. How long for, Sharat did not know yet. He did not even have a very clear idea of where he was to go. However, a small suitcase packed with his clothes and toiletries was lying in his office cupboard and so he was free to fly straight away, and to any place that suited him. Right now, all that Sharat knew was that he could not bear the thought of being in the same room as his wife.

  Neha sat very still on the bed as Sharat left the room, listening to the click of his heels running down the stairs away from her. A few minutes later, she heard the sound of the car starting up and rolling out of the drive and felt a deeper sense of loss than she had ever experienced before. Yes, this was even worse than the wrench of giving her baby away, because then she had been too young to understand the immensity of what she was losing. The metal gates clanged shut with a terrible air of finality. Perhaps this is what a bereavement was like, Neha thought, aware that she had probably lost Sharat’s love and trust forever. She wanted to rush to the bathroom as waves of nausea overwhelmed her. Trying to quell the feeling, Neha curled up on the bed in a foetal position and stared sightlessly out of the window. Was evening falling, or had the entire world simply turned dark forever?

  She knew she ought to feel some joy at having finally had the chance to explain herself to Sonya. And relieved at Sonya’s graciousness to accept and understand that fateful decision she had made so long ago. But Neha’s mind stubbornly refused to allow itself any redemption. She felt unworthy and undeserving, and all she could focus on at this point in time was the unbearable loss of Sharat’s love.

  Next to her, the phone rang; but to Neha the sound was a faraway clamour that had no bearing on her pain. The ring was insistent and, realizing that it was her mobile phone which no one else would pick up, Neha slowly sat up to answer it. The number was unfamiliar and, with sudden panic at the thought that the blackmailer might be calling again, Neha pressed her thumb on the green button and tentatively held the instrument to her ear.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Neha?’

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘Oh, hi, Neha! It’s Arif here …’

  ‘Arif?’ For a few seconds, Neha could not process the information.

  ‘Arif … the whacky old American from Ananda. C’mon, how many Arifs do you know, huh?’

  ‘Arif …’ Neha repeated, the cheeriness of the voice coming at her making her start to cry.

  ‘Heyyy, have I caught you at a bad moment, Neha?’ Arif’s voice was filled with concern. ‘I can hang up … call later?’

  ‘No, no, wait … sorry, Arif. Yes, it is a bad moment. But I couldn’t have asked for a better person to call me. Please don’t hang up,’ Neha said, trying to compose herself. Arif waited and, in a few halting sentences, Neha updated him on the events of the past couple of days.

  ‘Omigod!’ Arif said. ‘I did wonder what was going on with you. I’d tried calling you yesterday too and wondered why there was no reply.’

  ‘You called yesterday?’

  ‘Yes, but you cut me off. And, later, when you called back you didn’t speak so I guessed it was your way of indicating that you were facing trouble over the reappearance of your daughter. I figured you would call me at a more convenient time but it’s nearly time for my return to LA, so I thought I should try you once more.’

  ‘Oh dear, that must have been your call I received while I was travelling back from a lunch with Sharat yesterday. Yes, I did cut off a call but only because I thought it might be that blackmailer guy. I did not call you back, though, Arif. I’m sure of that …’ Neha trailed off, puzzled.

  ‘You sure did, sunshine,’ Arif replied. ‘I’ve saved this number on my contacts list and your name was flashing at me sometime around four-thirty pm yesterday. It’ll still be on the call register if you want to know the precise time. I answered it and was sure I could hear you breathing at the other end but then, just as quickly, you’d hung up. I thought it best not to call back in case it was a coded message of some sort!’

  ‘Oh, Arif,’ Neha said ruefully, starting to work it all out. Was it any wonder Sharat was so angry with her? He was obviously jumping to all sorts of conclusions – the expression on his face had been clearly disbelieving when she’d concocted a tale about crank calls to explain cutting off that call in the car. And, at some point, Sharat must have used the callback function on her phone to check on who had called her. It was so uncharacteristic, but could she blame him? She sighed. ‘It looks like I’m getting very good at heaping problem upon problem, Arif,’ she said with a small laugh. ‘I think it must have been Sharat who called you. It certainly wasn’t me. He’d seen me cutting off your call while we were in the car together and must have wanted to check who it was. It’s not like him to do that kind of thing but I really couldn’t hold it against him, given my strange behaviour. Listen, I’m so sorry I cut you off like that, but it was only because I thought you were the blackmailer calling again. And I couldn’t speak in front of Sharat because I hadn’t told him about any of this at that point … God, what an awful mess!’

  ‘Sure is a mess, honey,’ Arif replied. ‘You’ve gotta do something to sort it out, Neha.’

  ‘There isn’t anything I can do. Not without making things worse than I already have,’ Neha responded.

  ‘Of course there must be something,’ Arif insisted in his inimitable persuasive fashion. ‘Would it help if I called him?’

  ‘You? Speak to Sharat? Oh I don’t know, Arif,’ Neha said doubtfully. ‘He doesn’t know you at all. What would you say?’

  ‘Well, have you mentioned having met me?’

  ‘I did say I’d made a friend at Ananda … he may remember your name …’

  ‘Good! That’s all I need. I could call him, introduce myself and … well, tell him the truth essentially. Say that you unloaded your worries on to me when we met at Ananda. I’ll make it a point to mention that I’m a very, very old man so that he won’t be suspi
cious! As someone who is one step removed from the situation, I think I’d make a very good and totally objective intermediary. But could you bring yourself to trust me? I may have been a lawyer once but I’ve done plenty of mediation work in my time. It may just work …’

  Neha considered Arif’s kind offer for a minute and took the plunge. There was little to lose at this point. ‘Yes, I’d appreciate your help very much, Arif,’ she said, ‘I’ll give you Sharat’s number.’

  ‘Okay, but before that, tell me about your daughter too.’

  ‘Oh, that’s the saving grace in all this, Arif. My daughter. How strange it is to use that word, finally. “Daughter”.’ Neha gathered herself together to answer Arif’s question. ‘Well, Sonya was wonderful and showed such maturity when I told her my story. She was angry at first, when we first met, but perhaps her own experience with that Keshav boy helped her see how easily I could have been led into having her – and giving her up – when I was so young and so unprepared.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll stay in touch?’ Arif asked.

  Neha hesitated. ‘I think probably not,’ she said, explaining. ‘She’s about to embark on a busy phase in her life. I can’t see that she needs to stay in touch with me and I’m certainly not going to force it.’