But he didn’t call back; and several minutes after the clock struck nine, and there was still no sign of Nikhil and no call, either, Isha and her mother-in-law exchanged worried looks.
Ayee’s frown became deeper. “Why is he not home yet?” she repeated, echoing Isha’s thoughts. “He always informs us if he is going to be late, no?”
Dinner was getting cold, so Isha encouraged the elders to eat.
Besides, they were rigid in their eating schedules.
A little later Isha read Priya her promised story and got her settled in bed, then decided to wait up for Nikhil in the drawing room along with her in-laws. She kept trying both the office land-line as well as Nikhil’s mobile phone every few minutes, but both came up with voice-mail each time.
At 9:49 PM, Baba, dressed in white pajamas and a loose mus-lin shirt, was pacing the drawing room floor more furiously than before, his jaw clenched tight. For a sixty-two-year-old he was in excellent shape, trim-bodied, smooth-complexioned, and in full control of his faculties. Despite his shock of silver hair, he looked ten years younger than he was. Technically he had handed over the business to Nikhil and retired, but he was very much involved in its overall operation.
He finally stopped pacing and turned to Isha. “This is going on too long. Call Patil, the Superintendent of Police. Maybe there was an accident or something.”
So Isha called Mr. Patil’s home number and explained the situation. The superintendent was a family acquaintance, and he immediately offered to send out a couple of men to discreetly find out if there was any sort of trouble at Nikhil’s office.
Ayee looked even more distressed than Baba. Her hair was done in a braid in preparation for bed, and she had on a soft cotton kaftan. At fifty-eight, unlike her young-looking husband, she certainly looked her age, perhaps because she frowned so much and had wrinkles in her brow.
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But she had the gorgeous hazel eyes, high cheek bones, and chiseled features that her son, her daughter, and all her grandchildren had inherited. She must have been a lovely woman in her youth. Baba and she still made a handsome couple.
Isha and her in-laws waited a long time, willing the phone to ring. The tension in the room was oppressive, especially when Baba kept switching the television on and off every few minutes and murmuring under his breath. But it wasn’t Isha’s place to tell him to cut it out, stop pacing, and sit down for heaven’s sake. He was driving her crazy with his slippers going clop-clop on the marble-tiled floor.
It was nearly an hour later that Mr. Patil himself came to their door, looking uncomfortable as he stood under his drip-ping umbrella and shuffled his large feet. He was a tall, stiff man with a somber face, and a heavy mustache that was just turning gray. Maybe it was his profession that made him so glum.
The moment Isha opened the door to him, her heart sank. Instinctively she knew he was the bearer of bad news. Why else would he come all the way out here in person? She had no idea what the details were, but somewhere in her gut she knew something horrible had happened to Nikhil. The negative vibes she’d been feeling since the clock had struck nine had been rising with every passing minute.
And now, looking at Mr. Patil’s face, she knew her instincts had been right. Nonetheless she joined her trembling palms in the expected greeting. “Namaste, Patil- saheb. Please come in.”
He stepped inside with some hesitation and discarded his wet chappals and umbrella near the door. “Namaste, Mrs. Tilak.”
He greeted the elder Tilaks in the same manner.
Both Ayee and Baba immediately bombarded him with questions. “Did you find out anything? Was there an accident? Is there any news of our son?”
Patil remained silent. Baba shot him a blistering look. “Have your men been sent to check on Nikhil or not?”
Patil chewed on his lower lip for an instant. “Yes, sir.”
Isha looked up at Patil, the tightening in her chest reaching the point of strangulation. “And?”
22 Shobhan Bantwal
He stroked his luxuriant mustache and blinked a couple of times. It took a moment for him to look her in the eye. “The news is bad.”
Baba’s face contorted into a ferocious scowl. “What kind of news?”
“I’m coming to that, Tilak-saheb,” said Patil, patting the air with both hands. “My constables went to your shop. The lights were off. They assumed the store was closed. But when they tried the door, it opened, so they went in and turned on the lights. It looked like—”
“Like what?” interrupted Baba.
“—there might have been a robbery.”
Feeling weak and nauseated from not having eaten for several hours, Isha moved to the nearest chair and sank into it.
“Robbery?” It’s not serious . . . calm down. She took a deep, calming breath. A few stolen tires . . . can’t be the end of the world.
Patil gestured to her in-laws to sit down on the sofa. “When they rang me, I went out there to look for myself. It looked like all the staff had left and Nikhil was closing up the shop and someone came inside and tried to rob the store. He must have tried to fight them off.”
“What about Nikhil?” Isha demanded. All she wanted to know was how her husband was.
“They . . . they stabbed him.”
The breath left Isha’s lungs in that instant. “Is he badly hurt?”
she managed to whisper.
“He was stabbed to death.” Patil shut his eyes tight for a moment, the anguish clear on his face. “There are multiple wounds . . . a lot of blood.” He fell silent before adding, “He probably tried to wrestle with them and things became violent.”
“But Nikhil’s a strong man . . . and very capable. He won’t lose a fight.” She quashed the tide of ice-cold panic flooding her.
She couldn’t lose hope. “He can’t.” He used to be an athlete.
“But, madam, this is . . .” Patil made a helpless gesture with his hands.
“Did you check thoroughly to see if it was Nikhil or someone else? It could be one of the men who work for Nikhil.”
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Patil shook his head. “It was Nikhil. I am one hundred percent sure. I know . . . knew Nikhil quite well.”
“But did anyone check his pulse?” Baba demanded.
“Yes, sir,” replied Patil, his voice brimming with regret.
“How can you be so sure?” Ayee demanded.
Patil took a deep, audible breath. “I’m sorry, Tilak-bayi. I wish I could say I wasn’t sure, but I cannot.”
The small bubble of hope Isha had been desperately clutching at popped.
All at once her mind went blank. The red upholstery on the furniture, the reds in the hand-woven area rug and in the curtains seemed to turn gray. Everything around her changed to the same shade of ash.
The tightness in her chest started right in the center and then radiated outward, slowly exerting a choke hold on her lungs, but the expected sobs and drenching tears never came. She could only stare dry-eyed at the grave man sitting across the room from her.
He was the one who had told her she was now a widow. The dreaded W word.
All she could remember later was the silence that descended over the room that night. She had no idea what her in-laws were doing at the time, but she had remained motionless and speechless. Even if she had tried to say or do something, there probably wouldn’t have been a sound emerging from her throat or a muscle that would have cooperated.
All her systems had shut down, as if they were operated by a single kill switch.
Chapter 3
July 2006
Dr. Vivek Karnik wiped the sweat off his brow with a handkerchief and stood by the window of his study, watching the man drive away. He hoped he’d never have to see that man again. He was loathsome and yet Karnik had to put up with the bastard and with his cool arrogance.
He saw the vehicle’s taillights disappear around
the corner and wished for the hundredth time that he had never become embroiled in this complicated web of lies, deceit, and illegal activities.
What in heaven’s name had possessed him to start doing something unlawful in the first place? Why had he even needed to do it? A bright, educated man nearing retirement, and with enough savings to do it in comfort, had no business ruining his life’s work—and his reputation.
But greed was an integral part of human nature and he had succumbed to it.
He turned away from the window, sat in his desk chair with a weary sigh, and stared at the computer. The weariness went bone-deep. It had been a long day at work. He had delivered two babies, one of them by Caesarean, performed one hysterec-tomy, two tubal ligations, and seen several pregnant and menopausal women. He’d done all those things routinely be-THE
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fore, practically every day of his professional life, but he’d never disliked his work.
He had made a substantial income by performing abortions.
The ultrasound was a modern-day miracle for a lot of young couples on the way to becoming parents. But like many other technological marvels, it had its dark side. It wasn’t really his fault, though. He hadn’t deliberately set out to do something that went against his conscience. The idea had been planted in his head by someone else, and the seed had slowly sprouted and grown over a period of time.
A few years ago, one of his patients had casually mentioned that many Indian doctors had been using the machine to detect female fetuses, and if a patient wanted their fetus aborted, the doctors did it—for a fee, of course. Apparently abortions were a very lucrative side business for any ob-gyn in a society obsessed with male children.
That simple remark had started Karnik thinking, but not seriously. A few months later, the husband of one of his patients had asked him in confidence if he would be willing to perform an abortion because he and his wife were tired of producing girls. They already had three, and they were desperate for a boy.
Karnik had shaken his head at the man. “It’s illegal in this country, you know.”
The young man had laughed. “So is bribery, dowry, tax eva-sion, and black marketeering, Doctor- saheb. Does that stop anyone?” He’d given Karnik a meaningful look. “My wife and I are thinking about maybe going to . . . um . . . a Mumbai doctor and getting it done. If you can do it here . . . then we’ll pay you the same amount we’d pay the other doctor.”
“Mumbai, huh?”
“We have a list of doctors in Mumbai who do this . . . so perhaps . . .”
The young man had left it hanging, letting Karnik ponder it.
Karnik had refused—but later wondered if it was a mistake.
After that he’d had a few more secret inquiries from patients.
What was the harm in it? he’d asked himself. When one ana-26 Shobhan Bantwal
lyzed the matter in strictly scientific terms, a fetus was only a tiny bunch of cells. And if getting rid of a female fetus gave so many couples and their families so much satisfaction, why couldn’t he be the one to give it to them? Besides, with the avail-able techniques, the procedure was simple, efficient, and very safe if performed within the first few weeks of pregnancy.
Karnik had rationalized it by telling himself that he was only the facilitator and not the instigator.
If he didn’t maintain official records, who would know? The patients and their families needed anonymity and so did he. Discretion wouldn’t be a problem. So, after some initial trepida-tion, he had performed one abortion, then two . . . then three . . .
and soon it became routine. The fear and anxiety were long gone. He began performing them regularly.
However, in all honesty, he didn’t need to perform abortions.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t make enough money from his regular practice. In fact, he had so many patients, most of them wealthy, he could barely schedule them in.
But patients who wanted abortions were a different breed.
They were desperate, willing to pay any amount. He could name his price and they paid it. For them, money wasn’t the issue, not producing a son was. So the abortion business had become a large part of his practice—much more lucrative than the other, legitimate portion.
And he’d never had a problem. Until now. His mistake hadn’t been in getting into the selective abortion game—it had been mentioning the possibility to that headstrong, egotistical Nikhil Tilak. So, Tilak and his wife didn’t want an abortion. Fine, but the man hadn’t stopped at saying no. He had stunned Karnik by threatening to start an official investigation.
That was when Karnik, out of sheer desperation, had hired someone reliable to send a few discreet threats to Tilak. He’d hoped to put a little fear into him and stop him in his tracks . . .
because he was a young man with a wife and children to support. And a reputation to uphold.
But had the stupid Tilak backed off? No! He’d become THE
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bolder still and reported the threats to the superintendent’s office. When the police had demanded solid proof from Tilak to back up his abortion allegations, he had paid some hoodlum to break into Karnik’s house one night, when he and his wife were at a dinner party, to steal private records from his computer.
Like an idiot, Karnik had never put in a password or any kind of protection on his computer. After all, this was Palgaum, where few people knew how to use computers. He had never imagined anyone breaking into his house and stealing data from his machine.
Thieves in Palgaum were typically starving and illiterate.
They came looking for cash, jewelry and electronics like TVs and cameras that could be hawked in a minute. They would steal a computer for its resale value but never pilfer data from it.
However, this time they had.
And Nikhil Tilak was the one who had managed to do it—
there was no doubt in Karnik’s mind that Tilak was behind the theft. So, Karnik felt he had no choice but to defend himself by ordering his own man to stop Tilak immediately from going any further.
Thank God he had succeeded! Karnik’s hired goonda had managed to make it look like a robbery before Tilak had a chance to take any kind of evidence to the police.
The hired man had guaranteed Karnik that no proof had reached the superintendent’s office—and nothing would.
But the doctor was still uneasy. His man hadn’t found anything in Tilak’s office. So where was the stolen data? Had Tilak given it to someone else for safekeeping? Had he made copies and distributed them to various people? If yes, who were they?
There were too many unanswered questions.
But Karnik had justified his decision to himself as righteous payback. He was only paying someone to steal what was origi-nally stolen from him.
However, the stupid goonda he’d hired had killed Tilak in the process. Murder had not been part of the plan. Catching Tilak off guard when he was alone in his store, then forcing him to 28 Shobhan Bantwal
turn over the data by using a little intimidation—that’s what Karnik had instructed his man to do. Killing was never mentioned.
The hired moron had taken it upon himself to stab Tilak to death. He claimed it was self-defense because the strong and athletic Tilak hadn’t capitulated as expected. Instead he had allegedly attacked him viciously with both fists. Consequently the confrontation had turned serious and bloody.
When a rich, influential, and charismatic man like Tilak became the victim of a brutal killing, the media turned into a greedy flock of vultures. All of a sudden, every newspaper, and every radio and television station in the country had done a dramatic piece on the killing, leaving Karnik even more anxious.
Fortunately his own name had never been mentioned in the media. Everything had been hushed up, with very little damage done.
Now, a month later, the furor was finally dying down. The hired killer, who had just driven away from his house
, had come to inform him that the investigation was also beginning to wane. The superintendent was getting frustrated with the dead-end case and was talking about closing it, calling it a robbery gone awry. The police still had no clue as to who had committed the murder.
Karnik’s prayers had been answered.
Meanwhile, he had paid several hundred thousand rupees of his hard-earned cash to the killer. He could only hope the man didn’t plan to blackmail him at a later date. He was a sly one, that fellow—and greedy. He was capable of extortion, too. If he could kill so casually, blackmail would come just as easily. If that happened, Karnik was doomed.
At this point, he had no faith in anyone. If he himself could go from being a decent, family-oriented man of medicine to someone who blatantly broke the laws of the country as well as those of God, then why couldn’t someone else?
Both his children, the son and daughter, were good people, both honest doctors and well settled. His wife was a pious woman. He and his family were respected in this town. At the THE
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tail end of his career he had managed to jeopardize the esteem he’d earned over a lifetime.
Stupid, stupid! But it was too late to turn back.
Shutting off the computer, he rose to his feet and stretched.
He had deleted all the records from his computer, then made sure they were purged from the electronic trash bin. Hopefully there was no trace of his abortions left anywhere.
Fortunately he had always performed the clinical procedure alone, each and every time, with no nursing staff or any of his servants present. It had been done privately in his office, after hours and on Sundays. Even his wife had no idea about it. No one except the patient and her husband knew what was happening, and they had more to lose than he by making the information public.
Shutting off the lights, he shuffled off to eat his supper. As he started to sit in his usual chair at the head of the dining table, his wife, Neela, looked at him with a slight frown. “Who was that man you were meeting so late?”
“He is . . . the repairman who came to fix my computer.” He hated lying to his wife, especially when she was so trusting of him.
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