(Sequel to the fiction featured in Muse India Issue No 75)
After hesitating a bit, ma removed another photo and showed it to me. It was that of a boy around twelve years of age. I wondered as to why ma was showing me Rahul’s photo.
“It is not what you think. This is Varun,” ma said very softly. Rahul had never mentioned a brother. I was speechless.
“Just between you and me, another time,” said ma as she left the room. Yet another bedtime story was on the cusp of revelation……….
***
I could not forget the image of that twelve-year-old boy Varun, a replica of Rahul. Were they twins? Why was ma silent all these years? All of a sudden why did she open up and that too, only to me and not her son? What if Rahul knew but had never spoken to me about it. Slim chance but still…the suspense was killing me.
One night, I decided to prod Rahul in my ploy to find out the truth.
“I am trying to write flash fiction for a literary magazine. Can you help me with some ideas?”
What I had envisaged as a manipulative conversation starter to get some leads on the mystery, didn’t exactly elicit the response that I had imagined.
Rahul gave me a blank look. “Since when and why?” he mumbled.
I was dismayed at his damp response. Maybe I wasn’t convincing enough, naturally, because I wasn’t writing any story at all.
“What do you mean ‘why’? Why not,” I demanded defiantly.
I must have sounded as if declaring a war with words not to spare the emotions that flowed with it. Rahul instantly said, “Okay,” and repeated the word ‘okay’ a few more times.
“I never knew that you were into writing. Now tell me more about it,” he said attentively. I tried to ignore the twinge of guilt that was threatening to creep in.
Why the heck was I not being direct with Rahul? Was it because I didn’t want to cause an awkward situation for ma? Was it because ma confided in me and not to her own son, assuming Rahul had no inkling about his doppelganger? Relationships were tricky and sometimes we tread on thin ice and unwittingly might crack it.
“I mustn’t let that happen,” I promised myself.
“Seriously Rahul, I am participating in a short story contest. There are online literary magazines that publish “voices of the unheard.” I am going to give it a shot. There is a lovely literary world that I intend to explore. You really need to get out of your business world and look at the other side of the spectrum.”
“Voices of the unheard? That is quite funny although I must say that you have a knack of putting things in perspective, Swati.”
“Funny? Does that sound funny to you? I do have a creative bent of mind. It appears to me that you don’t know me well enough,” I retorted getting side tracked once again.
“Some day you will realise,” I added defending my pride.
“I didn’t mean to sound harsh or insensitive. Of course I will be proud to see your name and story getting published and you know that,” he said softly and asked, “What kind of story do you have in mind?”
I had set the stage well enough. I took the plunge.
“Well, let me ask you something? What would your reaction be if you came to know that you have a brother?” My words hung in the air as I took a deep breath.
Rahul’s expression suddenly changed. He was clearly not amused.
“What kind of a devious story is this, my dear? Are you writing about me?”
“What if I was?” I rose to the bait.
“Well, in that case you shouldn’t be asking me for ideas, aye?”
I was failing one more time in this verbal tantrum.
“Ok Rahul. What if you found out that you have a brother? What if ma had a son that you never knew about?”
Rahul became really serious now and his voice was firm.
“I think you’d better stop this right away. I do not like where all this is headed. Are you suggesting that my mother had an affair? Sweet God! Your imagination is really wild. Please show some respect to ma.”
I swallowed the guilt that was choking me and decided to end this inane conversation that was on the tip of turning into a fight. I had no choice but to wait until ma was ready to share her secret.
This happened exactly two weeks later when Rahul was away on a business trip.
One afternoon…
“Swati, are you free now?” asked ma knocking on my door, quite unexpectedly.
“Yes, oh yes!” I quickly put my laptop on sleep mode and followed ma like a desperate child.
******
She began…
“I have wanted to get this off my chest.” She paused for what seemed like a whole sixty seconds, as if searching for words and then said, “Varun is Rahul’s twin brother, legitimate and unfortunate.”
Her words sent shock waves through me.
“We were cowards, Swati. Your pa and me,” she said lowering her voice.
“Varun turned out to be the exact opposite of Rahul. Except for the facial similarity, nothing else was. He was born with half developed limbs, misshapen.”
I sat still with unabated breath and pursed my lips, not knowing how to react.
“The sonography had somewhat detected this but since they were twins and one was normal, I had to go ahead with the pregnancy. However I forbade the doctor to disclose this to pa and have regretted that mistake, all my life. I was young and too scared to comprehend that one of my babies was deformed and yet I had to bring him into this world. I was expecting some miracle. Sadly that did not happen. When pa saw the twins, with one baby so out of shape; he simply could not take it. He also knew that I had hidden this from him. That same night when I was asleep he made arrangements with the help of a nurse and gave my baby away. I was too weak to put up a fight. Probably, deep down I knew that I might not be able to handle the situation. I was shattered and shamed. Every month a cheque was sent to the orphanage and both of us tried to con ourselves into believing that we were at least doing our financial duty.”
Ma stopped. She was staring into space. I placed my hand on hers. She looked at me and continued,
“A miracle did happen but much later. Providence took my boy all the way to England. We received a letter from the orphanage informing us that Varun had found a foster home and there was no need to send the cheque. No other details were revealed. I admired the couple who were kind hearted and strong enough to give Varun, a home. Remember that photo of which I showed you?”
I nodded vigorously delighted to have been ma’s confidante.
“It was the one taken on his last day at the orphanage. That is when it struck me how similar he was to Rahul. Pa had no regrets about his decision. He even refused to look at the photograph. It is good that our boy has found a home,” was all he said.
“Ma, do you want my help in finding out more about Varun?” I asked hesitantly. “It might be difficult if he has changed his name but at least I could try,” I assured.
“I was coming to that, Swati. At the library I came across this book which showcased paintings by ‘brilliant, talented, challenged artists’ as they were called, some of whom had lost their limbs during an accident or war. There is a guild in the UK that promotes such artists who out of sheer courage dedication had made a worthy life for themselves. And there I saw my boy, Varun Victor Whittaker, a renowned artist in Europe, proudly displaying his paintings. Blessed with astute talent and with the support of his foster parents, Varun has enriched his life. I am happy that my boy turned out to be a great personality but sad that we were not the ones who enabled him to do so.”
Ma was in tears. I held her hands tightly.
“We are the unfortunate ones, not Varun. Pa passed away without knowing that his ruthless decision gave a new meaning to the life of our abandoned son.”
I embraced ma. That moment I made up my mind to tell Rahul, everything. He had the right to know. He may take some time to understand, accept and forgive but I knew that he wouldn’t hate ma or pa.
I was right.
One day …
“Why not we all go to UK for a holiday this summer?” Rahul asked looking at all of us who were engrossed in the Sunday morning comedy show.
“Yay! But why UK papa,” quipped Anu. To see the Queen?” she asked with exuberance.
“To say hello to somebody even more interesting than the Queen, your uncle ‘Varun Victor Whittaker.”
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