Читать книгу The Forbidden Daughter - Shobhan Bantwal - Страница 14

Harish Salvi plopped into his office chair. This was his much-needed five-minute afternoon break, when Rama, his Man Friday, made him a cup of tea. Harish took a sip of the now-tepid brew. Peeling off his glasses, he closed his tired eyes for a blessed moment. Phew, what a day!

The latest strain of the flu virus had turned out to be more invasive than anyone had anticipated. He’d seen more children with the flu and its secondary complications in the past week than he had in the past three years put together. Ear and throat infections, sinusitis, bronchitis, pneumonia—he’d treated them all.

Gulping down the rest of the tea, he put aside the cup and looked at his wristwatch. Nearly five o’clock and he still had three more patients to see. After that he had to go to St. Mary’s Convent to inoculate the orphans. He hoped those kids hadn’t caught the flu bug, too. Now that would be a disaster, since they lived together in such cramped quarters with minimal hygiene.

When Harish had started his pediatric practice in Palgaum a few years ago, he’d never imagined his life would get this hectic. But here he was, often working six days a week, and on some days, up to twelve hours or more.

Of course, he was earning a considerable income, much more than he had anticipated. After growing up in a lower-middle-class household, one of the reasons he’d pursued medicine was to be able to have a better life. Living in a tiny, badly ventilated, two-room rented home in the heart of town along with a sibling, and watching his father struggling to raise the two of them on a schoolteacher’s salary, had taught Harish the value of striving for more. But money was not his sole incentive for going into private practice.

Fortunately he was brighter and more motivated than most of his contemporaries. He had qualified for a scholarship at the local science college and then again at a medical college, enabling him to become a pediatrician.

The only problem with all this work was that he didn’t have much time for a personal life. He was thirty years old, and his old-fashioned parents wanted to see him married, but he had yet to make time to meet a girl from amongst the several his mother had chosen after having matched his horoscope with theirs.

The intercom on his desk buzzed, rousing Harish from his thoughts.

“Doctor-saheb, patient number nineteen is waiting,” announced Saroj, his nurse-receptionist. She had a loud, gruff voice that belied her petite size. In spite of using the respectful handle of saheb—sir—she was more like his mother. With two grown sons and three grandchildren, she considered herself old enough to boss Harish around. In deference to her age, everyone called her Saroj-bayi, including Harish.

But Saroj-bayi’s authoritarian attitude had its advantages. It helped in keeping his more rambunctious young patients in line. All she had to do was toss them a certain look over the rims of her glasses, and the little hooligans went back to their seats and hung their heads.

The door opened and Saroj-bayi stuck her head inside for a moment. “Just wanted to warn you that your next patient is the Motwani boy,” she informed him in a conspiratorial whisper. “He has a nasty cough. My guess is bronchitis, and his mother is very agitated.”

“Oh no!” Harish groaned. The Motwani boy was a spoiled brat. He was the Motwanis’s only son and he’d been born after three daughters. As usual, Mrs. Motwani would expect Harish to find an instant cure for her son’s ailment. If only it were that simple!

Putting his glasses back on, he rose from his chair. “Send them in.” He opened the connecting door to the examination room and went in.

It was well after six o’clock by the time the last patient left. “Time to go to the orphanage, Doctor-saheb,” Saroj-bayi reminded him.

“Thanks.” He didn’t need reminding, but she delighted in keeping a strict eye on his schedule. “Could you please help me pack the supplies?”

“Of course.” Saroj was quick and efficient in her ways. In spite of all the hours she’d worked in the office, her starched white sari still looked crisp and wrinkle-free. Her mostly gray hair was neatly twisted into a bun at her nape. For her age, she was amazingly fit and trim.

Within minutes she had a cardboard box filled with vaccines and other items ready to go. “You should start thinking about charging those nuns for your services, you know,” she said blandly. It wasn’t the first time she’d expressed her opinion on the subject.

“That’s out of the question.” Harish took off his lab coat and put it on a hanger. “These are orphans we’re treating. The nuns are barely able to feed them, let alone pay for medical care.”

Saroj-bayi rolled her eyes. “I know that, but if you keep giving free treatment, how are you going to provide for a wife and children?”

He couldn’t help smiling. He knew his mother and Saroj conspired behind his back about ways to nudge him toward marriage. “Why worry when I don’t have a wife and children?”

“Then it is about time you got yourself a wife,” she sniffed. “That poor mother of yours is longing to see you settled. Right now she has half a dozen nice girls lined up for you.”

He patted her shoulder. “One of these days I’ll see what I can do to make Mamma and you happy.”

“If you keep putting it off, all the good girls will be taken and you will be stuck with some ugly old maid with dentures and a balding head.”

With an amused laugh he slung his medical bag over his shoulder and grabbed the box. “Thanks for helping me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He put his gear in the trunk of his compact four-year-old Ford, got behind the wheel, and headed out to the convent. It was a trip he made every three months. This was something he looked forward to, even though he didn’t get paid for it. It was his modest contribution to the community. He was blessed, and as a good but not devout Hindu, this was the only way he could give something in charity.

When he got to the locked steel gates of the convent, he stopped, pulled out his mobile phone, and called Mother Regina’s number so someone could let him in. Returning the phone to his pocket, he smiled to himself. The nuns took their job of protecting the girls under their guardianship very seriously indeed.

However, neither stone walls nor steel gates could prevent the really tenacious and enterprising ones from sneaking in or out. The previous year’s bizarre episode was a prime example. In spite of the keen-eyed nuns watching over their wards day and night, one of their teenagers had still managed to become pregnant.

The baby’s father was a boy from St. John’s School for Boys, located across the street from the convent. It was run by Catholic priests. St. John’s was Harish’s alma mater.

Nobody could figure out how those two teenagers had managed to meet, let alone have sex. It was still a mystery, but a testimony to human ingenuity.

Eventually, the boy and girl had been expelled from school and each sent home to their parents. And that’s where it ended. The nuns never talked about it afterward. Anything that sinful wasn’t meant to be discussed in the hallowed atmosphere of a convent.

A minute later, a novice came to open the gates for him. Harish drove his car around to the back of the cluster of buildings. That’s where the old stone boardinghouse and the orphanage were located. The more modern brick buildings facing the street were reserved for classrooms, where day-students as well as boarders studied together.

The same novice who had opened the gates appeared from somewhere. “Good evening, Dr. Salvi. I’m Sister Rose,” she said. “I’ll be helping you with the children this evening. I can carry some of your supplies if you’d like.”

“Thank you, Sister Rose. Appreciate the help,” he said and handed her his bag. He hadn’t seen her before. Like the other novices, she was very young and didn’t wear a cap. They were also referred to as Sister. He had learned that the white cap with black border was something that came after they took their final vows and shaved their heads. That’s when they dropped the title of Sister and took on the venerable title of Mother. Until then, they usually braided their hair and twisted it in the back in a severe knot.

He picked up the box from the trunk and followed her brisk steps into the building. She looked like a teenager—fresh-faced and innocent—too young to give up everything the world had to offer and embrace this austere lifestyle. Was she an orphan, too? Had she chosen this type of existence for herself, or was it the only option for a homeless child raised in a convent?

The next two hours were spent in vaccinating the children against a variety of childhood ailments. He needed extra help from one other nun besides Sister Rose to hold the children and comfort them while he performed his work.

As always, there were lots of tears. It came with the territory, so he always brought a large bag of lollipops. A brightly colored lollipop went a long way in putting an end to the fussing, and it worked effectively. And for these poor children, a lollipop was a luxury—pure delight on a stick.

The pathetic faces of the children never failed to touch him. Many of them had been abandoned on the convent’s doorstep.

There were both boys and girls. The boys stayed at the convent until they turned five and then they got moved to some orphanage in another town that took in only boys.

No matter what their gender, they all seemed to be starved for affection. The more outgoing ones clung to his legs and often refused to let go. He gave them a hug and a lollipop. The nuns had to pry them away from him.

Harish didn’t consider himself an emotional man, but at times he had to suppress tears when that happened. The little tykes nearly broke his heart.

They were all very thin and suffered from malnutrition in various degrees. The nuns did what they could, but there was only so much they could provide with their severely limited budget and staff.

He admired the nuns’ efforts and tried to help out in whatever way he could. He gave them free samples of vitamins, baby food, over-the-counter medications, and first-aid supplies. He often wished he could do more, but there were restrictions on his time and money, too.

Exhausted and hungry, he finally put away his supplies, pulled off the rubber gloves and tossed them in the rubbish bin.

He saw Mother Regina coming his way, a smile warming her wrinkled face. Her ample hips seemed to bounce as she hurried. He had no idea how old she was. He suspected she was at least eighty. But she was a bundle of energy, and despite her enormous proportions, always moved nimbly. He had never seen her sitting down.

“Thank you so much for everything, Dr. Salvi,” she said to him. “God bless you. You are our messenger from Jesus.”

Harish smiled. “I do what I can, Mother.”

“But it takes a generous heart to do what you do, sir. You are a good man.” She was Italian by birth, and despite her very proper English, the slightly soft accent persisted. “So, tell me, Doctor, how are our children doing?”

“As well as can be expected. And I’m relieved that the flu hasn’t spread here. It’s been a difficult epidemic this year.”

“Well then, we shall pray that it never comes here.” She did a quick sign of the cross. “If it is not too much trouble, may I ask another favor of you?”

“Certainly.” Harish’s eyes went to his wristwatch. It was nearly nine o’clock. What could Mother Regina want at this hour?

“A baby was born here last night and I was wondering if you might spare some time to check out the little one.”

His brows climbed in surprise. “A baby born here? You didn’t have another…um…” A second unwanted pregnancy in less than a year was a bit much for a convent.

Mother Regina’s blue eyes went wide behind her bifocals. “Oh no! Nothing of that sort! The mother is a young widow. This is a very unusual and tragic case. She recently lost her husband, and because of serious problems in her in-laws’ home, she was forced to leave them. She no longer has family of her own, you see.”

“How did she end up here?”

“She’s one of our former students, and being a mother of one child and about to have another, we could not turn her away when she asked for help.”

Harish nodded. “I understand.”

She looked at him with that questioning tilt of her head. “You will see this child, then?”

“Of course.” How could he say no to such a simple request? He picked up his bag and motioned to her to lead the way. His stomach rumbled, reminding him how hungry he was.

As he followed her through the heavy steel door he realized he was stepping into normally forbidden territory. He had never seen this part of the boardinghouse. No men were allowed here. In fact, they were barred from most of the areas except the offices, classrooms, and the orphanage—and that only when strictly necessary.

Needless to say, he was curious, so he looked around as he followed the aging nun down a long corridor with rooms situated on either side. All the doors were shut, which meant the boarders were either studying or sleeping at this hour.

The nuns probably didn’t tolerate breaking of any house rules regarding lights out or anything else that was part of their rigid lifestyle. He knew for a fact that the girls were expected to wake up very early and attend mass at the on-site chapel before they ate breakfast.

The passage was dimly lit. The nun’s sturdy black shoes and his own sounded loud on the gray flagstone floor. There was a faint acidic smell of stale urine combined with disinfectant in the air—an indication of toilets somewhere nearby.

At the end of the corridor, Mother Regina knocked on a closed door. “Isha.”

He heard a muffled reply. “Mother Regina?”

“Yes, dear. I have the doctor with me. He’s here to examine the baby.”

“One second, Mother,” said the soft, feminine voice. They waited until she called, “Please come in.”

They walked into the small room. The woman said, “Praised be Jesus and Mary, Mother,” in the standard way to greet a nun in this particular convent.

“Forever,” said Mother Regina, using the usual response to the greeting.

It took Harish a second to adjust to the dim light coming from the single low-wattage lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. He looked around the quarters.

A narrow cot, covered with a faded green bedspread, hugged the wall on one side and an ancient nightstand stood next to it. It had a jug of water, a tumbler, and a short stack of children’s books.

On the floor next to the bed was a bedroll with a child sprawled over it. He could see a small head with curly brown hair resting on a pillow. A little pink ear and cheek were visible, but the rest of the face was buried in there somewhere. The tiny body was covered with a sheet. The child appeared to be asleep.

Three large, bulging suitcases were stacked against the far wall. There was no wardrobe, or dresser, so the residents obviously lived out of their suitcases. The room was small and cramped, especially for three individuals, one of them being an infant that needed a lot of paraphernalia.

After a quick sweep of the room, his gaze latched on to the tableau in the chair by the window. A woman sat in it with a small bundle swaddled in white in her arms. It looked like she might have been nursing the baby. She had a small towel over her shoulder, covering one side of her chest. She wore a simple yellow kaftan.

When he studied her face more closely, he nearly gasped. “Isha Ketkar!”

She looked up, and her eyes went wide. She seemed equally astounded to see him.