Tell A Thousand Lies

by Rasana Atreya

  I closed my eyes, trying to take it all in. Opening my eyes, I said, “And this man is your grandfather?”

  He shrugged.

  “How did our son get to you?” I asked again.

  “I was close to breakdown, getting too unpredictable for my grandfather, making a nuisance of myself by begging the staff to track you down. He came to the mental hospital one day. I’d been there many days by then, I don’t know how long. He told me I had a son.” He looked at me, tears flowing. “You can’t imagine my joy, Pullamma. All those days of intense agony, and then to hear this –”

  I smiled at him, my heart breaking for what he’d been through.

  “He’d give me my child, he said, but I had to give up my search for you.”

  I drew in a sharp breath.

  Srikar looked at me in anguish. “I fought long and hard, Pullamma. You know I’d never have given you up willingly.” He looked at me pleadingly.

  I nodded, unable to speak past the tears.

  “I demanded proof that the child was mine. He laughed and said he didn’t particularly care if I didn’t believe him. He’d be happy to give the child away. I couldn’t take that risk, Pulla –” He choked. Taking a moment to compose himself, he said, “I said it was either both of you, or nothing. He said if I didn’t take his offer, he had the resources to lock me away indefinitely. He’d give the child away for adoption because he could never let you loose, it was too dangerous for him. He warned that after I took my son, if I resumed my search for you, he –” He swallowed hard. “He’d have you and our child killed. I made a bargain with the Devil, Pulla.”

  I leaned forward, my hand hovering uncertainly. I’d lost the right to touch him when he married someone else. Then I touched his cheek gently. “You did what you had to do,” I said, even as my heart was breaking. “I’m glad our son had the love of one parent.”

  Pressing his hand against mine, he let his tears flow.

  ><

  “You remarried.”

  He looked up sharply. “You’ve met her?”

  I shook my head. “Why?” My voice was hoarse. “Why did you remarry?”

  “It wasn’t a wife I was looking for, Pullamma. I needed a mother for our son. My grandfather wouldn’t allow my grandmother, or yours, to help. And I had to get to my job, in order to support our child.”

  I doubled over from the sharp agony.

  “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I’m so sorry.”

  I leaned forward, covering my eyes with my hand. Tears dripped. I should have been the one taking care of our baby. I should have been the one being a wife to my husband. “Is there a chance for us? For the three of us to be a family?” I wiped ineffectually. God, let him say he wants me back.

  “I can’t see how,” he whispered. He looked devastated.

  “Don’t you care for me anymore?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  “How can you even say that? In fact –”

  “What?”

  He cleared his throat. “One of the big issues with my wife has been that I’ve not been able to get over you.”

  I closed my eyes. So many tears shed over my husband and child; how was it that I had so many more left?

  “I… uh… I still love you.”

  My eyes shot open.

  He flushed.

  I felt a rush of tenderness for this man. I knew how hard it was for him to say this out loud. Ammamma always said, this I-love-you business was not worthy of our conservative culture. Of course husbands and wives loved one another. But who went about declaring such things?

  “Where do we go from here?” I asked.

  He looked troubled. “I remarried in good faith, Pulla. I was convinced my grandfather had you killed, despite what he told me. I could see no other way you’d let our child go.”

  More tears joined the ones wetting my sari. “Your grandfather kidnapped me and dumped me in a home for destitute women.”

  Srikar looked shocked.

  “Geeta came across us as we were leaving. Your grandfather assaulted her and threatened her with dire consequences if she ever told anyone what she’d seen.”

  Srikar’s face lost colour. “Unbelievable that I’m related to that man!”

  “In the Home, they did a forcible caesarean on me to take the baby out. They took away my child, telling me I’d given birth to a stillborn girl.” I broke down. “For many years I didn’t even know I had a child that lived. And, from the time I found out, I’ve been searching for him.”

  Srikar pulled me in his arms, holding me as I wept.

  ><

  “What now?” I said.

  He sighed.

  “Can the three of us ever be together?”

  “I don’t know how to make it up to you. I can’t see how to make it work.”

  A tiny sound of distress escaped my lips.

  “It’s not what you think, Pulla.”

  My heart crimped at the endearment.

  “I married a woman whose first husband threw her out of the house because they couldn’t have children.”

  “You... you don’t have other children?”

  “No.”

  Thank you, God!

  “How can I, in good conscience, abandon her?” His eyes begged for understanding. “What would her life be like, her status in society, after being abandoned by two husbands?”

  “What about me?” I hated that this sounded like pleading.

  “She took care of us when we needed her, even though she knew I’d rather be with you. I tried hard not to show my true feelings, but she knew, Pulla. She always knew. She stayed only because she had nowhere else to go. How can I throw her out now, when we don’t need her anymore?” He looked troubled.

  “But it wasn’t my fault.” Tears slowly made their way down.

  He cupped my face in his hands. “I know, Pulla, I know.”

  I rested my head against his, letting the tears flow. “All these years,” I whispered. “The only thing that sustained me was the certainty of reuniting with you. And our son.”

  He took my hand in his. “I’m so sorry, Pulla. Between my grandfather and I, we ruined your life.”

  “No.” I covered his mouth with my hand. “Never compare yourself with your grandfather. That man wouldn’t know integrity if it punched him in the gut.”

  He pulled me into his arms. Then he wept.

  Chapter 44

  Will I Raise My Son?

  Srikar sagged against the chair, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “God, what a mess.”

  I inspected his face. Eight years ago Srikar had been a boyish twenty-two, scraggly beard sprouting; now I could see a stubble on his chin. He had filled out, become more muscular. His hair still fell endearingly over his forehead, though.

  He was staring blankly at the jewel studded picture of Lord Krishna across the room. I ran my eyes over the room. My son was growing up with these chairs, these walls, this daybed. I felt an irrational jealously of these objects that had seen my son, touched him, held him.

  Through the window I could see Aunty leaning against the gate, watching traffic go by. Conscious of the fact she was waiting to meet her son, I gathered up my courage and put a hand on Srikar’s arm.

  He looked at it for a long moment before turning his gaze on me. “All these years,” he said hoarsely. “What a waste.”

  “It is unbelievable how conniving that man is!” What a personification of evil. “I escaped from the home a few weeks after our son was born. I went to Madhuban Apartments. Two thugs were waiting to kill me.”

  Srikar blanched. “My... my grandfather?”

  “Who else?”

  He fell back against the wall.

  “What is our son’s name?”

  “Pullaiyya.”

  Stick boy.

  ><

  “Will you let me raise Pu... Pullaiyya?”

  “That would be the right thing to do. He was, after all, stolen from you.”

  I had never doubted Srik
ar’s integrity. I touched the back of his hand. “Thank you.”

  “But, Pullamma –” He cleared his throat. “I wish it were that simple.”

  “Why? He is my child. I was denied the right to raise him.”

  “I know that, and you know that, but...”

  “But what?”

  “Pullaiyya doesn’t.”

  I drew in a sharp breath.

  He pulled me into his arms again. “I want to make things right for you, I really do. What my grandfather did to you was terrible. But we have to find a way of doing this without hurting our child.”

  “I’ve waited so long for him,” I sobbed into his shoulder. “Is it fair to expect me to wait longer?”

  “He’s a child, Pulla. He doesn’t know about fairness. All he knows is that his world is safe right now.”

  I moved away. “And it won’t be safe if I claim him.” I was bitter. “Can you at least tell me what he looks like? Who he resembles? Does he have friends? Is he happy?” It galled me that I had to ask.

  “He takes a little time to warm up to people he doesn’t know. But once he does, he’s just another little boy. If I let him, he’d play all day. He can be, in turns, happy, sulky, irritable, lovable. Gets into a lot of mischief. Doesn’t much care for his studies. I wonder where he got that from?” Srikar smiled.

  But I couldn’t get past my anguish. I shouldn’t have to find all this out second hand.

  “He looks like me,” Srikar said.

  “Do you have a picture?”

  “Hmm. Let me see. I think there is a picture of him. That’s probably the latest one.” Srikar got up and rummaged through a pile on the corner table. “Here it is.”

  I grabbed at it with eager hands. A solemn little boy in school uniform stared back. His hair was slicked back, probably for his school ID. Roundish face, big eyes. I ran a finger over the picture. I blinked back tears. “Can I keep it?”

  He nodded, eyes wet.

  “Is he close to Ammamma?”

  Srikar had a look of regret on his face. “No, he’s never been to the village. My... uh... wife didn’t want to keep up that connection.”

  Poor Ammamma. To be denied her great-grandson!

  “As soon as you talk to him –”

  “You’ll meet him, I promise. Now tell me what you’ve been up to.”

  “This sounds like two friends catching up, not a reunion between husband and wife.” I felt bitterness well up within.

  “I’m married to someone else,” Srikar mumbled, not meeting my eyes.

  I looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. “You remember we’d plan our future on our late night walks?”

  Srikar nodded.

  “I took your advice and studied.”

  He nodded approvingly. “It shows,” he said. “You look more self-confident, more self-assured. What did you study?”

  “I became a doctor.”

  “A doctor?” His face split into a disbelieving smile. “My Pullamma, a doctor?” He gave a delighted laugh. “I can’t believe it.”

  I smiled back. “What do you think of my looks?”

  He gave my question serious consideration. “As long as the person within hasn’t changed, it really doesn’t matter.”

  I was glad.

  “It was your quiet dignity that drew me in the first place,” he reminded me with a faint smile.

  I felt warmth spread in my chest. I felt more connected to the Pullamma of old, too. “Were you able to study?” I asked.

  “I got my MBA. I run my own construction company now.”

  “I’m glad for you,” I said quietly. My throat hurt. “To think you suffered so much because of me.”

  He put an arm around me and pulled me close. “It wasn’t all bad, Pulla. I had our son. Without him, I don’t think I would have made it.”

  For that at least, I was glad.

  ><

  Now to administer Srikar his second shock of the day. “Yemandi?” It seemed wrong to be addressing him thus when he was married to another, but I didn’t know how else to. “What happened to your mother?”

  “Why do you want to know?” Srikar sounded suspicious. “Why now?”

  “Please, can you just tell me?”

  “She abandoned me when I was two years old. She was a wicked woman. I neither have the knowledge of her whereabouts, nor do I have the desire to know.”

  “Why was she wicked?”

  “Because –” He stopped. “Why are you asking anyway?”

  At the look on my face, he jumped up. “No! Don’t tell me my grandfather had something to do with her disappearance, as well.”

  I tried to reach for his hand, but he pulled away in shock. “Where is she? How do you know about her?”

  “When I thought I would lose my mind from missing you, she stepped in and took care of me and our baby-to-be. I have been living with her for eight years. I love her as much as I would my own mother.”

  Srikar had a wild expression in his eyes. “That lady outside?”

  I nodded at him with compassion.

  “You can’t just walk into my life after so many years, turn it upside down, then turn around and tell me you have found my mother,” he shouted. “You showing up after so many years is shock enough. You can’t just spring something like this on a person.” He paced faster and faster till I thought my head would spin. Abruptly he fell on the daybed.

  “She has lived with the pain of losing you for more than twenty-seven years,” I said softly. “Doesn’t she deserve a chance?”

  Srikar dropped his head into his hands.

  I stood up. “I will send her in.”

  Outside, I took Aunty’s hand and led her to the door. Then it was my turn to step out and close the door behind me.

  ><

  I walked around. The yard was hard packed mud, with lots of fruit trees bordered by bricks painted white. This was the home my husband shared with our son and another woman. I walked around the whitewashed walls, looking around at the detritus of childhood – a broken cricket bat, a couple punctured balls. A notebook lay carelessly to the side. My son’s? I picked it up and opened it. The front page had Pullaiyya scrawled all over. I flipped a page. Steeply triangled mountains through which the sun rose. The rays of the sun were rigidly placed. I smiled through my tears – an artist, my son wasn’t. The stick figures were exaggerated – really long hands curving around the tiny heads. I put the book to my cheek, trying to absorb the essence of my child. How could I convince Srikar to be a family with my son and me?

  Aunty waved me over.

  Srikar and Aunty stood with their arms around each other, their faces wearing deeply contented smiles. Aunty pulled me into a hug. She turned to Srikar, “There is probably a first for everything, but I love my daughter-in-law as much as I love my son!”

  We all laughed.

  Their reunion gave me deep pleasure. But it was tinged with deep sadness. My husband wasn’t my own, anymore. “What about Pullaiyya? When can we meet him?”

  Srikar looked uncertain. “I don’t know how he will react,” he finally said.

  “What about your wife?” My chest hurt to say that word.

  Srikar opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again.

  “Srikar?” Aunty prompted.

  “That is going to be a problem,” he said heavily.

  “I don’t want to disrupt Pullaiyya’s life,” I said. “I’m sure Aunty doesn’t, either. But we want him in our lives.”

  “Give me some time. I’ll phone you. Please?”

  Aunty and I nodded. It was the best we could do.

  Chapter 45

  My Husband’s Wife

  Janaki aunty and I waited till we got home before we talked about our reunion with Srikar; drivers and maids were notorious spreaders of gossip.

  Aunty sighed. “To think one man is responsible for ruining so many lives.”

  Srikar, married. That was one possibility that hadn’t occurred to me when I set
out to find him. Despite what he said, I wasn’t able to give up on the hope that the three of us would be a family someday. Especially since I knew he still cared for me.

  I’d thought I would return from my reunion with Srikar feeling happy; instead I felt more depressed than ever. My son was still out of reach. The only good thing to come out of this was I knew my child was healthy and well cared for.

  From the look on her face I could tell Aunty wanted to add something. “Aunty,” I said softly. “I’ve never doubted your love for me. If you want to say something, please don’t hesitate.”

  She smiled gratefully. “If you are expecting your son to bond with you instantly just because you gave birth to him…”

  “I know,” I said painfully. “As far as he is concerned, he already has a mother.”

  ><

  Now that I knew what my son looked like, my dreams of him became more vivid. I saw myself taking care of him, cooking for him, helping him with homework, bandaging his hurts. I wished Srikar would phone to tell me when I could meet him. Only the fear of traumatizing my child kept me away. Many times I was tempted to rush to their house and grab my son. Now that I knew where he lived, it was getting harder and harder to stay away.

  Over the next few days, I went to the clinic, saw patients, did paperwork, occasionally cooked, generally lived my life as I had before Srikar came back into it. But in the back of my mind was that phone call Srikar had promised me, the call telling me that I could meet my son.

  But Srikar did not call.

  Instead, he appeared at my doorstep six days later. I looked up from the sofa – and there he was. Aunty gave me a hug in silent support and picked up her purse. She gave Srikar a hug, too, and let herself out of the flat. I felt a rush of affection for her.

  Srikar sat on the other sofa. Back and forth, back and forth, the keys went between his hands. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “Say something,” I said, unable to stand the tension.

  “I married your sister,” he said abruptly.

  “Malli?” I was confused. “But she’s already married.”

  “Your other sister. Lata. We’ve been married almost six years.” He seemed tortured.