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“Is that right?” Sheila ushered Priya out the door. “In that case, maybe one of these days I should check out this wonderful doctor myself.” She looked back over her shoulder at Isha. “I’ll stop by tomorrow. And I’ll be sure to call Manoj Munshi for you.”
Seeing her sister-in-law standing on the threshold of the pathetic little room she called home, Sheila sighed. Niku, why did you have to die and leave your wife and children to rot in this?
Chapter 13
Harish nearly smiled with relief when the rather shy Sister Rose informed him, “Mother Regina is busy this evening, Doctor, so I’ll be escorting you to Mrs. Tilak’s room.”
He’d rather deal with Sister Rose any day than with the old Amazon. “Thank you, Sister. Please give Mother Regina my regards,” he told the small, quiet woman as he picked up his medical bag and a plastic bag from the passenger seat of his car.
With a silent nod she led him into the boardinghouse. The nuns spoke as little as possible, especially with men. They both went down the long, now-familiar passage that reminded him of a prison scene from a movie he’d seen years ago.
In some ways this was a semiprison. The boarders were pretty isolated here. And that was probably the precise reason their parents had enrolled them in this school—the guarantee that their girls would be watched over night and day and receive a good education at the same time.
The food and living conditions were not much better than those in a prison, either, from what he’d learned so far. The nuns were about as formidable as prison wardens, too.
The strong odor of meat cooking hung in the air, telling him the dining hall was getting ready to serve the evening meal.
Today, many of the doors on either side of the hallway stood open. He couldn’t help venturing a quick glance into the rooms.
Like Isha Tilak’s room, they were tiny, and crammed with narrow cots and desks, with two girls to each room.
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The young boarders appeared to be busy with their homework. Hearing footsteps, they looked up. The shocked expressions on some of the faces spoke volumes. A man! He doubted if they’d ever seen a male anywhere within a hundred feet of this building.
Getting to the end of the corridor, Sister Rose knocked on Isha Tilak’s door. Hearing an invitation to enter, she went in and Harish followed her.
Priya, who was sitting on the floor with a coloring book in her lap, looked up and smiled at him, her expression so sunny and welcoming, the drabness in that long passageway was all but forgotten. “Namaste, Dr. Salvi,” she said, putting the book down to join her small hands.
“How are you, Priya?” he asked, returning her cheerful greeting. He put his bags on the floor and turned his attention to Isha, who was sitting on the bed beside the sleeping baby.
“Hello, Mrs. Tilak.”
“Hello, Doctor. And hello to you, Sister Rose,” she replied, getting to her feet. “Thank you for coming all the way out here just for this, Dr. Salvi.”
“It’s not a problem.” He moved his medical bag to the chair by the window and offered the plastic one to Isha.
After a moment’s hesitation she took the bag. “What is it?”
He winked at her. “Just a few samples.”
“Oh . . . okay.” Her brow was still furrowed when she put the bag in a corner.
He breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She’d taken his hint. He started pulling out his paraphernalia.
Sister Rose moved forward. “Do you need help, Doctor?”
He shook his head. “Thanks, but this is quite simple.”
A minute later, while Isha held the baby’s arm in place, and Priya looked on with big, curious eyes, he administered the vaccine. Other than a sharp cry that lasted no more than a second or two, Diya took it quite well. Harish noticed the baby’s face had lost its crepe-paper look. It looked smoother now and her features were more pronounced.
She no longer looked like a newborn. She was a very pretty THE
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baby, too, with fair skin, delicately arched eyebrows, and a tiny pink mouth. She strongly resembled her sister. Both the girls had large green eyes with flecks of gray and gold, fringed by long brown lashes. They’d inherited those from their late father. He once again recalled Nikhil Tilak, the handsome athlete with the macho swagger from his college days.
“A small bump or scar might develop on Diya’s arm,” he advised Isha. “But don’t apply any cream or bandage on it. It should be left open to dry and heal.”
She nodded. “I remember it from when Priya got her BCG
shot.”
Now that his task was complete, it was time to go, but Harish was reluctant to leave. Sister Rose had clasped and un-clasped her hands several times, making it clear that the two of them should make their exit. She must have a dozen chores to complete before she could go to dinner. The nuns probably kept the novices busy every minute of the day. Idleness was sinful.
Once again he scribbled something on the back of a calling card and handed it to Isha. “Please contact me if there are any complications or if you have questions.”
“Thank you so much, Doctor.” Her expression was the same as the last time—so full of gratitude that it embarrassed him. He noticed the tired look about her eyes. Did she get any sleep at all? She was probably exhausted from taking care of two small children. Babies could cause a lot of work and deprive the mother of sleep, not to mention the fatigue from all the feeding, bathing, cleaning up, and everything else that came with them—
which Isha probably wasn’t used to doing.
Sister Rose and he stepped outside after saying good night to the Tilaks. This time, when they walked down the hallway, a few of the bolder girls were at their doors, openly staring at him.
Sister Rose shooed them away. “Back to your homework, girls! Go on now.”
Outside, she locked the gates the moment his car passed through them. Now that she was rid of him, the prison was once again secured for the night.
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* * *
As he drove to his brother’s house, Harish wondered if Isha would bother to read his message on the back of his card. He didn’t know how else to alert her that there was food in the bag. He had carefully wrapped plastic bags around the containers to keep the strong aroma of his mother’s leftover chicken curry from escaping. He must have been successful, because neither Priya nor the two women had sniffed suspiciously.
Unsure of how the nuns would react to food being delivered to someone in the convent, he’d had to resort to silly tricks. He hoped Isha wouldn’t consider his offer an insult—something like charity.
He also wondered if he should mention Isha Tilak to his family. His parents definitely knew who she was and who her parents and in-laws were. Everyone in Palgaum had to know the prominent Ketkars and Tilaks. But did his parents know about Isha’s separation from her in-laws?
Would Isha mind if he shared the information with his family? She seemed like a very private woman, and she was clearly hiding from society by staying in the convent.
As his thoughts shifted to Priya, an affable child with no television or games or other children to play with, an idea came to him. His niece was close in age to Priya. On Sundays, his family sometimes took the little girl to the park and for ice cream. Harish wondered if he could offer to take Priya along. Would Isha Tilak trust him with her precious child? He didn’t think so. She hardly knew him. How could she entrust a five-year-old to his care?
How could anyone trust a child with an unknown man?
As soon as the door closed behind Sister Rose and Dr. Salvi, Isha opened the mystery bag. It was all very secretive, the way he’d silently requested her to keep her mouth shut. What could be so questionable that Sister Rose would disapprove? More chocolates for Priya?
She peeled off the multiple layers of packing and discovered THE
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the disposable plastic container with something that smelled delightfully spicy. There were also clear resealable bags with chapatis and rice. There was a note taped to the container.
“Hope you don’t mind this. My mother’s chicken curry is excellent and I’m only guessing you and Priya are nonvegetarians. If you’re not, feel free to throw it out. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy it.”
The aroma made Isha’s stomach growl. Priya looked up from her book and raised her nose like a puppy sniffing the air. “I smell something good. Is it . . . um . . . is it curry?”
“You guessed right.” Isha opened the lid and took an appreciative sniff. How long had it been since Priya and she had had anything like this? They had survived on bread and boiled vegetables with little or no seasoning. No wonder they’d both lost weight. This was pure luxury.
But then the guilt started to scratch at her. How could she and Priya eat the curry when dozens of children, including the boarders and orphans, were forced to eat the slop they served in the dining hall?
Nonetheless her decision was made for her when Priya shot to her feet. “Chicken curry! Yum! And chapatis! ” Priya’s sudden interest in food in recent weeks was a source of both surprise as well as regret for Isha. Deprivation was forcing the previously picky eater to crave tasty foods, but sadly Isha couldn’t give her much.
Priya must have been starving, because she could hardly wait for Isha to unwrap the chapatis and rice. In the next instant they were eating the best meal they’d had in months, even though it was cold. With each bite, Isha’s guilt escalated, but she couldn’t stop gorging herself. She watched Priya devour more food than she’d ever seen the child eat in one sitting.
She also prayed the odors wouldn’t escape into the hall. If the nuns discovered the contraband, she and her girls would be out on the streets. She could only picture Mother Regina’s eyes turn-120 Shobhan Bantwal
ing to blue ice, mutely questioning Isha’s behavior. How can you and your daughter eat like queens when you are surrounded by other children and starving orphans?
Later, after Priya fell asleep, Isha read the message on the back of Dr. Salvi’s card: “My home phone number, in case you need to call. ” So now he’d given her not only his office and mobile numbers but also the land-line to his home—his private number.
Why? What was she to him, other than someone he knew slightly years ago in college? Whatever it was that prompted him to do this for her, she was grateful. Her well-stuffed tummy was more than grateful.
She studied Priya’s face in sleep and knew that she, too, slept better with a good, nutritious meal in her belly. Poor baby, she looked so thin.
Lord, she’d never imagined feeling overwhelming gratitude for one decent meal. She had taken good food for granted. She had assumed everything in life was her birthright. Until now.
She fished out her mobile phone, powered it up, and called his number. He picked it up on the second ring and she asked hesitantly, “Dr. Salvi?”
“Speaking,” he said, sounding a little preoccupied.
“This is Isha Tilak.” She heard what sounded like a television or radio in the background. Was she intruding on his personal time? But then he had given her his home phone number.
“Oh! How are you?” His tone changed to one of friendly interest.
“I wanted to thank you for the dinner. It was delicious.”
“My pleasure,” he said. “My mother packs so many leftovers for me that I thought I’d share some with you.”
“Your mother lives with you, then?” Isha regretted her question the instant it flew out of her mouth. His personal life was none of her business. And he was likely to resent her nosiness.
“No. My parents live with my older brother, Satish. He’s married and has a larger house, a young daughter who needs to be cared for, et cetera. I’m only a poor bachelor, so they insist THE
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that I have my meals with them. My family is close and they wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“How lucky for you!” A pang of envy skittered through her.
He had a close-knit and caring family. She’d always wanted one like that.
“Do you . . . would you mind if I mentioned you and the children to my parents?”
She sighed. “I’m sure they know all about me by now.”
“I don’t think so. At least, I haven’t heard them talk about it.
And please don’t be so formal. Call me Harish.”
“All right, I’ll call you Harish if you call me Isha.”
“Fine.”
An awkward silence followed. It was time to end the call.
“I’ll be in touch if Diya develops a strong reaction to the vaccine,” Isha said.
“All right. And please don’t hesitate to ring if you need help.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that, but my husband’s sister discovered I was still in Palgaum and she has offered help.”
“That must be the lady I spoke to over the phone?”
“Yes. She’s a good person and we’re friends.”
“Glad to hear you have someone you can depend on.” He sounded genuinely relieved.
She wished him a polite good night and hung up.
Just so no one would guess what had occurred in their room, Isha rewrapped the empty container and tiptoed late at night to the rubbish bin located outside the dining hall to dispose of the bag.
Buried under a lot of other smelly garbage-filled bags, she hoped nobody would discover it.
Returning to the room, Isha settled herself on the cot. The baby was already stirring.
Chapter 14
“So we were right! Nikhil’s murder was premeditated!” Although Isha had believed that all along, the shock of hearing Sheila confirm it was too sharp to ignore. All of a sudden her knees felt weak.
“Are you all right?” Sheila looked at her with worried eyes, but Isha could do no more than nod at her sister-in-law. She was shaking all over.
Sheila quickly grabbed her arm. “Sit down.” As Isha lowered herself to the cot, Sheila sat down beside her. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have told you so bluntly about Niku’s murder. You’ve gone through childbirth only days ago. You’re still fragile.”
“Don’t be sorry.” It was the old-fashioned Indian custom to pamper women in postpartum, but Isha had no illusions about such luxuries anymore. “I’m glad you told me. I don’t know why I’m so shocked when I always knew something didn’t add up. I guess I was hoping I was wrong.”
Believing it would have been admitting that Nikhil had enemies, that someone had hated her husband with such passion that they’d be willing to kill him. Even the word murder was sometimes hard for Isha to use to describe her husband’s death.
It conjured up gruesome images that were too painful.
“I was hoping I was wrong, too.”
Isha took a long, steadying breath. “So exactly why and how did you end up questioning the police superintendent about THE
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Nikhil’s death?” Now that the shock was beginning to wear off, Isha wanted to know the whole truth.
“When I called Manoj Munshi he started to dance around the issue, so I told Kumar about it. When Kumar forced Manoj’s hand, he was told to talk to Patil, the police superintendent, about it. Apparently when there’s a criminal investigation, the insurance company waits for the outcome before deciding whether to settle a claim. I guess they have to make sure it wasn’t . . . um . . . you know . . . especially since the policy was so recent.”
Isha stared at her stuttering sister-in-law. “What are you saying? They think I might have arranged to have him murdered, so I could grab his insurance money?”
“You know how the police—”
“I know,” Isha cut in. “The spouse is always the main suspect.”
“It seems to be standard procedure in murder cases, and the amount of ins
urance money in this case is substantial.” Probably because Isha was still shaking, Sheila squeezed her hand.
“Kumar and I don’t think you had anything to do with it. We would never, ever think that way.”
“Thank you.” At least someone was on her side. “Since I had nothing to do with it, then who did?”
Sheila shrugged. “Who knows? But I think Manoj is frightened of opening his mouth because of what happened to Niku.”
“Why?”
It took Sheila a moment to reply. “Maybe because he’s afraid of meeting the same fate as Niku?” She raised a brow at Isha.
“Did Niku say anything to you about going to the police?”
Isha shook her head. “He was terribly upset that a seemingly decent man like Karnik would even allude to something that’s clearly illegal.”
Sheila shook her head. “Knowing Niku and his strict principles, I’m not surprised at his reaction. But did he specifically say anything about going to the police about Karnik?”
“I remember a conversation when he said something to that effect in Ayee and Baba’s presence and Baba reprimanding Nikhil.”
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“What did Baba say?”
“He ordered Nikhil to leave the doctor alone, because Dr. Karnik was only doing what his patients asked of him and that he was a good man and longtime customer.”
Sheila rose to her feet and started to pace the tiny room.
“From what Kumar gathered from Mr. Patil, Nikhil did file a report with him.”
“He never mentioned it to me.” Isha wondered what other secrets her husband had kept from her.
“Maybe he knew you’d try to stop him . . . or perhaps he didn’t want you involved in anything dangerous. Based on Patil’s limited explanation, Nikhil had no evidence on Karnik of any kind.
And without any solid proof, they couldn’t even touch Karnik.
So they did nothing.”
“Typical small-town police attitude!”
“They may be right, because they wouldn’t have found anything, anyway. I’m sure Karnik makes a load of money, paid strictly in cash by grateful customers. But I bet there are no records kept of any shady activities. Karnik’s no fool.”
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