Lethal Secrets

by Anju Gattani

  “Yes, yes, we did,” he said. “All as agreed. But I’m afraid there’s a slight problem.”

  Sheetal stiffened. She’d fixed the problem with that one painting and ensured on-time delivery, despite Mama’s funeral and the twelve days of mourning that followed. “What’s wrong, Kannadaji?”

  “Some paintings are good. Very good. Bright, happy, and full of life. But others...we cannot use them for a new wing in the hotel. They are too dark and depressing.”

  Sheetal bit her lower lip. How was that possible when she’d stuck to the theme? “I don’t understand.” She could feel the press of Megha’s stare and shuffled toward the door.

  “I’m keeping ones that are suitable, but I have already returned the rest.”

  “How many did you send back?”

  “Six. You should get them tomorrow.”

  She leaned against the doorframe. “I’ll take a look and see if I can fix or—no. I can paint another six for you.”

  “No time, Mrs. Dhanraj. The ribbon cutting is three days away.” Kannadaji went on to describe the four accepted paintings and Sheetal concluded she’d completed those before Yash’s accident. Thanks to Naina, she’d lost focus and more than half the order. How would she establish herself as a professional if work kept getting returned?

  Sheetal thanked Kannadaji for the call and hung up.

  “What’s wrong, Bhabhi?” Megha asked.

  “Nothing.” Her attention wandered to six orchids leaning against the wall and one that covered the broken window. Seven rejected flowers and now six mountains on their way back. She certainly couldn’t pile them like a stack of magazines on the coffee table downstairs. She walked across to the open window for some fresh air.

  The flower-bordered driveway resembled a garland of flowers, the type hung on a deceased family member’s photo in accordance with the Hindu custom of commemorating the dead. A knot of pain tightened her chest. She blinked and tears spilled.

  “Just think how much she endured,” Megha said behind her. “All that suffering stopped now. All that pain gone.”

  Did anyone really care as long as life returned to normal? The gardeners still weeded and trimmed the hedges, and the front lawn had resumed its original perfect state. Servants still mopped and cleaned the house. Mummyji attended all her social events and lunches at the club. Naina continued her depression and bed rest. Rakesh clocked his hours at work, but now returned at seven sharp every night.

  “I was only a baby when my mother died. I know....”

  Her gut roiled with regret. This was about Mama. Not Megha’s mama who had died over twenty-five years ago. “I need to be alone. I—”

  “I understand.” Megha returned to the sofa. “Bhaiya said you might be a little curt but not to worry. No offense taken.” She patted her bulging tummy and propped her feet on the coffee table again.

  Sheetal turned around to face her. “What do you mean, a little curt?”

  “Just that you haven’t been yourself lately and you should have someone with you. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Oh?” Sheetal crossed her arms. For ten years, Rakesh had never worried about her being alone, now suddenly he appointed Megha as a companion?

  “He said you might need a friend.”

  “Really? If he’s so concerned, then why doesn’t he take time off to be my friend?”

  “Have you spoken to my mother-in-law about my having the baby here?”

  “I.... We haven’t had time to think about it yet.” Rakesh would never refuse, and the time fast approached for her to make the call. “There’s too much on my mind right now.”

  “I’m due in three months and....”

  Weeks had passed since Rakesh’s abuse and Mama’s death, but no one cared.

  “Are you listening, Bhabhi? I’m talking to you.”

  “I was talking to you, too, but I don’t think you’re listening. Please leave me alone.”

  “Suit yourself. I’m only here because Bhaiya asked me to. I don’t need to be here, you know.”

  She looked over her shoulder. “I will talk to your in-laws sometime next week.”

  Megha stomped from the room.

  Sheetal closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She could almost imagine the outline of Mama’s features taking form in the blank canvas of her soul. “It is easy to hold on to what you have,” Mama’s voice played in her mind. “But the difficulty is in letting go.”

  She had to find a way to let go.

  Sheetal returned to the easel and positioned a new canvas. She brushed a horizontal line, a third of the way down, to anchor grief. Then she angled a brush on her palette, swirled the bristles in yellow, and centered a yellow ball on the upper half of the canvas. She swirled some milky blue left and right of the yellow ball and circled the brush to give the clouds a wispy appearance. Then she filled wide open spaces with blues and pastels. Five hours later, she finished a U-shaped garland of flowers along the lower third of the canvas. On the upper half, equidistance from the sun, she filled with fragments of rainbow tearing their way through the clouds. She stepped back and a wave of relief washed over her. All she had to do now was find the painting a home.

  ***

  The next day, Sheetal signed the return-delivery receipt for six paintings of the Himalayan Mountains. Heartbroken, she stacked them beside the orchids, regret welling over the lost balance. Only two hundred and fifty thousand rupees had been deposited into her account. Her savings totaled about eight hundred thousand rupees.

  That afternoon, Sheetal perused the walls of the Dhanraj residence for a place to hang the broken rainbow painting. However, lighting in a corridor was either too bright, too dull, or art work or a statue already occupied the space. After much searching, she found a corner, close to her bedroom, that felt right. She lifted down an old painting and mounted hers, careful not to touch the wet paint.

  Rakesh, who happened to be passing, stopped. “What is this? No substance in this painting.”

  Sheetal removed her painting from the wall. So typical of a Dhanraj to lose sight of the obvious.

  At that moment, Mummyji and Naina, who approached from the opposite direction, stopped, and Mummyji pumped both hands on her hips. “Stars. You need stars, I tell you. Fill the sky with hundreds and you’ll have more diamonds than you can imagine! Here, let me show you what I mean.” Mummyji led Sheetal and Naina to the studio, grabbed one of the Himalayan paintings, and positioned it on the easel. Then she grabbed a brush and dipped it in white paint. “You don’t mind, no? It’s rejected work, anyway.”

  Sheetal froze. She wouldn’t dare.

  Mummyji marked several asterisks in the sky. “See, Naina! How pretty are the stars? How much brighter they make this painting. So easy, even you can do it.”

  “Stop.” Sheetal reached for the paintbrush, but Mummyji arched her hand away. “You’re ruining my work. Look what you’ve done!”

  “Arrey! What’s to ruin when the painting is already so miserable? You are painting in my house and this is my property. So, what harm if I correct it, I tell you? I am only brightening it. So easy, this. And you make it look like painting is a talent. Watch, Naina. How I fix this.” Mummyji dragged the brush through yellow and proceeded to dot the left side of the mountains.

  Blood rushed to Sheetal’s head and she curled her fingers into fists. So what if the paintings had been returned? The work had been created by her and the supplies paid for from her earnings. She was about to grab the brush from Mummyji when her cell phone rang. She marched to the doorway and removed the phone from her sari pouch.

  “Hello.”

  “Sheetal?”

  “Yes?” The air stilled. “Who...who is this?”

  “Arvind.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Where...where are you calling from?”

  “Mansali.”

  “How did you get my number?”

  “From Yash.”

  Only Dr. Chaturvedi and the staff had access to that kind of informa
tion. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yash is fine. I’m worried about you.”

  Sheetal tightened her grip on the phone. “You shouldn’t call me.”

  “Yash told me about your mother. I’m so sorry.”

  Sheetal opened her mouth but words didn’t come.

  “Sheetal. Are you there?”

  “Yes. I-I—”

  “I know. It’s hard. What happened?”

  “The cancer. We all—” She broke off. “There was nothing more anyone could do.”

  “I understand how you feel. Are you okay?” He paused. “I mean, really. Are you okay?”

  Sheetal took a deep breath. “I need time.”

  “We all do. It’s what gets you through. You will, but slowly.”

  “Sheetal.”

  “What?”

  “Sheetal.”

  “What?” Where was the voice coming from? She lowered the phone and stared at the receiver. The voice wasn’t Arvind’s.

  “Who is it?”

  Mint scented the air, and Sheetal turned. Rakesh. How long had he been standing in the corridor? Her mind raced. How much did he hear? “I’m talking to Papa.” She pressed the phone to her ear.

  The one-two, one-two steps of Rakesh’s shoes synched with Arvind’s breathing.

  “Hello? Sheetal?” Arvind said.

  “Here. Let me talk. You seem fizzed.” Rakesh took the phone from her hand and pressed it to his ear.

  Her heart raced.

  “Hello? Hello? Are you there, Papa?” He looked at her and raised his eyebrows.

  The floor and ceiling spun. She locked the fingers of both hands in a fist to halt their trembling.

  “Here.” Rakesh beeped off the phone and handed it back. “He hung up for some reason. You don’t look good. Something wrong?”

  “I’m fine. I-I just need time.”

  “Time. It’s what gets you through. Slowly.”

  ***

  With a heart as heavy as the framed canvases, Sheetal took the paintings of the broken rainbow and the seven orchids to Papa’s house on New Year’s Eve.

  She timed her visit to conflict with the Singhals’ party and used the excuse that she preferred to be with Papa. She had no desire to make small talk with friends and acquaintances, nibble on appetizers and naan, and sip drinks while surrounded by drunks when her heart still ached over Mama’s absence.

  Sheetal entered Papa’s office and slanted the orchids against a wall. Cracks ran along the length of the office wall, and some of the beige paint had chipped and peeled. Dust had settled in nooks and corners, and papers cluttered tables and seating as well as Papa’s desk. The glory of Prasad Bhavan no longer belonged to this room. “Look, Papa.” She propped the broken rainbow painting on a chair and tilted it against the backrest.

  Papa had lost a lot of weight since Mama’s death and now slouched in his chair. He pushed his eyeglasses up the bridge of his nose. A watery film filled the lower cradle of his eyes. “It’s...it’s Indu, isn’t it?”

  “You see her?” Sheetal swallowed the lump in her throat. “You see Mama?”

  “I only see her and nothing else.” He dabbed his cheeks with the back of a shirtsleeve. “I see her everywhere.”

  Finally! Someone could see past the illusion to Mama wearing a floral garland, her forehead dotted with a fading yellow bindi, and rainbows spilling from her eyes. Sheetal sank into a chair with relief. “I think of her all the time. I miss her, Papa.”

  Papa rose and walked around the desk. He pulled out a chair and sat beside her. “She’s gone and left us. I never realized how much she meant until now.” Papa took off his glasses and put them on the table. He dabbed at tears with his handkerchief. “She was and always will be everything to me in this lifetime.” He gestured to the painting. “It’s more than beautiful. It’s a priceless work of art.”

  “Put your glasses on, Papa. You’ll see better.”

  Papa shook his head. “What’s the use when I see so much more now without them? What hurts even more is that your mother will never know the truth. If only I’d listened more.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Papa leaned back. Fading sunlight lit the wall above the desk. “She always said I shared too much information with Vikram about the business and gave him more responsibility than he deserved. Can you believe, Vikram’s been running board meetings without me and authorizing paperwork without my approval. Legal documents.”

  “Since when?”

  “Before Indu— I don’t even know. I—”

  “Can’t you do something?”

  “He has too much control now, and it’s all my fault. Indu tried so hard to warn me, the same way she warned against you marrying Rakeshji, but I....”

  “Rakesh?” She froze.

  “She never wanted you to marry him.”

  “But she insisted it was what you both wanted and the right thing to do.”

  “It’s what I wanted.” He gazed at the floor. “She warned me several times that Rakesh would never make a good husband. She said Arvind truly loved you.”

  Her heart knotted. Did Papa realize he was admitting they’d chosen wrong? “Why didn’t you or Mama say anything for so long?”

  “And risk the stability in your life? Indu didn’t want the past to haunt you again. But after we saw you that day wrapped in all those bandages and blood, she reminded me of my mistake.” The sinking sun cast shadows between them. “Is this the first time he’s done this to you?”

  Sheetal shook her head. “Once or twice before, but he’s never gone so far.”

  Papa propped both elbows on his knees and cradled his head. “How did I let this happen?”

  “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I couldn’t bring shame to the family. What would you have done? Agreed to a divorce? The last time I left him and came home, you waited two months and then told me I had to find a way to work things out and make peace with my husband and family for Yash’s sake.”

  “I was wrong. So wrong,” his voice cracked. “People like us, not born rich. I worked so hard to bring us this far. I did not want you to live those dark days when I couldn’t afford to buy you a proper bed, a clean place to live, or your own room. I know what it means to live scarcely and not know if you can provide food for your family from one week to the next because you can only think of today. But never did I imagine that people with so much can stoop down to so little.” Papa switched on a table lamp. “You are wise to keep your earnings in a separate account and enroll Yash in a boarding school.” He reached over and ran a palm along her shoulder. “For no fault of your own, you suffer.” He broke down and his voice cracked, “Can you forgive me?”

  An ache welled up her chest. “Let it go, Papa.”

  “I’ll talk to Rakesh and see what I can do.”

  “There’s nothing you can do. No matter what happens, the fault is always mine.”

  “No one deserves to live like that and be treated that way.”

  “It won’t happen again.” She pressed his arm.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because I won’t let it happen.”

  “Come stay with me and leave him. I mean it. You don’t need to go back.”

  Instead of taking care of Papa, as she’d promised Mama, she’d burden him with more of her responsibilities. “Rakesh will demand custody of Yash and he’ll fight me till the end.”

  “Then take Yash and leave.”

  Sheetal numbed.

  “I’ll support whatever decision you make.” He patted her hand.

  “Where can I go?”

  “I’ll call Ashwin in New Jersey and inform him of your situation.”

  Papa was overreacting. “I’ll figure something out. Trust me.”

  “For so long I trusted Rakesh when it should have been you. I’m such a fool.”

  “Papa—”

  “Promise me. From now on, you wil
l make the decision that is right for you. Even if it kills, you must fight to protect the ones you love. Because once they’re gone, there’s nothing left.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ash

  Rakesh slipped the office telephone’s receiver back onto its cradle and every tight-wired chord in his body sagged with relief. He hadn’t expected Tanaka to agree to the partnership so quickly. He’d prepared for a barrage of questions, arguments against the partnership, and a possible cancellation of the meeting. Instead, Tanaka agreed to partner with Dhanraj & Son and scheduled a meeting in New Delhi on April fifth to complete all the legal formalities and sign documents.

  He flexed the fingers of his left hand. At last! Pieces were falling into place. His attention halted on a photograph of Sheetal and Yash, their cheeks pressed to each other, wide smiles revealing evenly set, white teeth and a sparkle in their eyes. They looked so happy without him.

  Chopra.

  The name revolved in his head. What were the odds that Sheetal would find Arvind Chopra after all these years? Impossible. Clearly a mistake somewhere.

  Adrenaline surged through his veins and he took a deep breath to keep calm. Sheetal didn’t have the gall to skip one Karva Chauth, let alone think of another man. Still, he had to be careful. Stay in control. The Japanese would be watching his every move from now on.

  The intercom buzzed.

  “Yes?”

  “Dr. Chaturvedi is on the line,” Reshma said.

  “Who?”

  “The principal of Stonewall Preparatory School. You scheduled a call with him.”

  Rakesh crossed his legs, lit a Robusto cigar, and waited for the tip to glow. Then he picked up the receiver and pushed a button. “Hello? Rakesh speaking.” He exhaled. Clouds of smoke curled into the air.

  “Ah, Mr. Dhanraj,” Dr. Chaturvedi’s voice oozed through the speaker, “how nice to speak with you.”

  ”How’s the weather in Mansali? Cooler than Raigun, no doubt.”

  ”Well, of course, it’s very cool up in the mountains, sir. But another month or two until spring. Which reminds me, I hope you’ll attend the annual spring concert on April fifth.”