Tell A Thousand Lies (34 page)

The driver held the door of the car open. I slid in. Aunty stood, hesitating. I turned away. She got in the front. Once home, I slammed my bedroom door, and crawled into bed. When I awoke, it was dawn, and my face was wet from the tears.

Aunty was asleep on the chair in my room.

I couldn’t bear to look in her direction. The woman I’d trusted with my deepest secrets hadn’t trusted me enough to tell me where my husband was.

I turned on the electric water heater in the bathroom, and went to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. I put the cup to my lips, and felt a sharp surge of nausea. Pouring the coffee down the drain, I went to the bathroom, turned off the heater, and took a long, hot bath. When I emerged, Aunty was no longer in my bedroom. She sat huddled on the sofa in the living room, her fingers wrapped around a rimmed steel tumbler of coffee. She looked up when she saw me. The skin of her face seemed to have sagged overnight. “Do you want me to move out?”

“I don’t know.”

She flinched. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“I don’t know that, either.”

She set the steel tumbler aside and rubbed her eyelids. “If I had to do this again, maybe I’d have told you sooner. But…” Her voice trailed away.

“You might as well tell me the rest.”

“I went to my father-in-law’s political party office and bribed someone to give me Srikar’s address. I thought I was so smart.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I’ve been going over to Srikar’s house, watching from a distance. Yesterday Kondal Rao followed me home. I led them to you, Pullamma.” She sounded distressed. “I’m such a fool.”
 

Suddenly I knew with deep conviction that this woman, whom I loved like a mother, was no more a manipulator than Ammamma was. I reached for her, and hugged her tightly. She trembled with emotion. I rubbed a hand over her back, feeling rage build up at Srikar’s grandfather. “I am sorry I reacted so badly yesterday. I was in shock.”

She looked pathetically grateful.

“However, I am very hurt that you didn’t feel you could trust me with this information.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, reminding me she wasn’t the villain here. She’d suffered, too. “But after his taunts, I just couldn’t tell you.”

“What are you saying?” My heart thumped uncomfortably against my ribcage.

Aunty gave a short laugh. “He’s known all along where your son is.”

My heart picked up speed. My hands turned clammy. Wrapping my arms around myself, I began to rock. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Aunty looked at me with compassion. “He said the child is where he belongs.”

I sat up with a jerk. My heart started to pound painfully. “Which is where?”

“With his father.”

“With
Srikar
?”

“Yes.”

I leaned back and closed my eyes. My limbs felt weighted down.

“Pullamma?”

I couldn’t believe this. I had been searching for my son for so long, hurting for Srikar that he didn’t know the fate of his child. I stared blankly, anguish welling up within. All this while he’d been the one raising our son. Kondal Rao must have stolen my baby and left him with Srikar. Kondal Rao – well, he’d stayed true to character. But Srikar? To believe I was unfaithful, was one thing. But to deprive me of my child?

“Say something,” Aunty begged.

I forced my eyes to blink. “What do you want me to say? That I miss my son desperately? You know I do.” I swallowed down the bile. “For my son’s sake, I’m glad he’s known the love of his father. I am glad it isn’t a stranger who’s raising him. But for my sake –”

Aunty put her hand on mine. “You are angry.”

“Wouldn’t you be, if you’d spent years searching for your child, not knowing whose hands he’d fallen into?”

“What are you going to do?” Aunty asked.

“Get back my stolen child. Convince Srikar I wasn’t unfaithful. See if we can build a life together.” I looked at Aunty. “How long have you known Srikar’s address?”

“Five months.” At the look of incredulity on my face, she grabbed my hands, pleading, “I was only trying to protect you.”

“From what? Happiness?” I shook her hands off. “So that’s where you disappear to each morning. You’ve been having a gala time with your son and grandson while I spend my days worrying myself sick about their welfare.”

“Pullamma –”

“Stop!”

“I didn’t know he was raising your son.”

“Enough of your lies,” I shouted.

“He passes by on his motorcycle, and he doesn’t know,” Aunty whispered, head down, tears wetting the fabric of the sofa. She started to sob in my shoulder. “He doesn’t know I’m his mother.”

“And you couldn’t tell me this.”

“No,” she said, sniffling.

“Why not?”

She sobbed harder.

I pushed her off my shoulder. “Aunty, I need to know. Why couldn’t you tell me?”

“Because he was with his wife.”

Chapter 43

Confronting Kondal Rao

I
started at Aunty. She couldn’t be serious.
Oh God, she means it!
“Aunty,” I said, heart clutching, “what if he’s taught my baby to hate me?”
Don’t think about the wife. Focus on your child.

Aunty hugged me. “He wouldn’t do that to his own child.”

“And Kondal Rao would never break up his own grandson’s marriage, right?” I swallowed. “Why was Kondal Rao here today? The real reason.” I’d had enough of people keeping information from me ‘for my own good.’

“He did find me near Srikar’s house. He came by to warn you to keep a low profile, and for me to stay away. Some journalist’s been trying to dig up dirt on him. He doesn’t want information about you popping up.”

“What about that attempt on my life?”

“He claims it was knee-jerk reaction. You escaped, he sent his men after you. It won’t happen again.”

I gave an incredulous laugh. “He said that?”

“That’s what he said.”

“I curse the day I met Kondal Rao.” I swallowed my tears. “Aunty, please tell me where they are, I’m begging you.”

“Pullamma, I don’t want you rushing off –”

“Rushing? After eight years, I’m rushing?”

“Pullamma –”

“Are you going to tell me or not?”

“No.”

I was shocked.

“I’m trying to protect you.” Aunty was apologetic.

“I’m sick and tired of people deciding what’s best for me. You won’t tell me? Fine. I’ll ask Kondal Rao himself.”

“Pullamma!”

I grabbed my purse, and shot through the door. Bloody Kondal Rao had gone too far. I sprinted down the stairs, ignoring Aunty’s pleas to come back. Hailing a passing auto-rickshaw, I jumped in, and directed him to the office of Kondal Rao’s political party. I arrived at the gate the same time the bloody man’s convey was pulling in. He descended from the jeep, laughing at something the man welcoming him said.

A roaring sound encompassed my head – he’d stolen my son, denied me my husband, and the monstrous man had the temerity to laugh? With a determined stride I took off towards him.

“What are you doing?” A strongman tried to block my path.

I pushed past him.

Kondal Rao raised his head at the commotion. When his eyes fell on me, his face darkened.

I lunged at him, grabbing fists-full of his
kurta
. “You stole my son,” I screamed. A goon grabbed my arms and twisted them behind my back. The goon started walking me backward. “You stole my husband,” I spat out. “Be a man. Face me without your goons. Tell me where they are.”

Kondal Rao smoothed the front of his
kurta
. “Poor woman. Must have suffered some trauma. Some mental thing. Why else would she make such a spectacle of herself?”

Enraged I opened my mouth. A meaty hand clamped down on my mouth, covering my nose. I almost gagged. I struggled to breathe. The man moved his hand lower, but didn’t release me.

Kondal Rao flicked a finger at his henchman. “Take the poor woman outside the compound, give her some money and release her.”

Patronizing bastard! If only I could get my hands around his stubby little neck.

Kondal Rao turned his back on me, and disappeared into the building. The remaining strongmen lined up against the entryway in a show of strength.

I bit down on the hand covering my mouth.

The man uttered an oath and let go.

I ran through the gates and jumped into an auto-rickshaw parked by the side, offering to double the fare if the driver got going.
 
He took off, tyres screeching. As he sped through the city streets, I closed my eyes, feeling a sense of desolation.

When he pulled up at my building, I shoved money in his hands and dragged myself up the stairs.

“Where were you?” Aunty said shrilly.

“Kondal Rao’s office.” Wearily, I sank to the floor.

“Oh no,” Aunty moaned. “How could you do such a thing?”

“Don’t worry, he walked away.”

“It is a fool who jabs a poisonous snake with a stick.” Aunty looked scared.

My stomach muscles clenched in spasms. I bent over double, gasping from the pain.

“Pullamma!”

I crumpled to the floor in a foetal ball, pain radiating in all directions. The anger was gone, leaving behind despair. Gut wrenching despair.

To imagine Srikar with another woman... holding her... touching her...

This same woman was bringing up my son, the child I’d carried within me for nine loving months. Did the two of them lie in bed together, my husband, and his wife, holding each other, discussing my son? Another spasm shot from my stomach.
Oh God, Oh God, Oh God. Spare me this suffering.
I lay on the floor writhing in agony; the pain, both physical and emotional, more than I could bear.

Aunty slid to the floor, weeping. “Please, Pullamma, talk to me. I can’t bear to see you like this.”

“What would you have me do?” I gasped. “Jump in joy? My beloved husband is cavorting with another woman, his
wife,
” I spat out. “And they’re happily raising
my
son together.”

Aunty sagged against the wall. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

“My sister, Lata, used to mock my ‘perfect’ love.” I clenched my teeth as another spasm speared my belly. ‘
Chiranjeevi
’ she’d called Srikar after the Telugu film star my friend Chinni and I had such a crush on. “Leave me to my misery.”

I lay on my side, not moving, not caring that Aunty wept.

The shadows lengthened. I watched the street lights come on. My husband and his...
 
that… that woman... would be putting my son to bed. The window framed a sliver of the moon. Bedtime for my husband and that...

“It’s been hours, Child. Let me help you to your room.”

I curled into a tight ball.

A while later I sat up, disoriented, wiping drool from my cheek. Then it all came rushing back. My husband, my child and that... that...

At my sound of distress, Aunty scooted over and put her arm around me. She helped me to my feet and to bed.

><

“Get up, attend a prayer session, go for a walk, see patients, do something,” Aunty said as she sat by my bedside. “I’ve been filling in for you, but Dr.
Govardhan’s
asking if you need to consult with specialists for your health situation. How long will you keep this up?”

“Why? Who needs me?”

“Your son.”

“He doesn’t know I exist. He has a mother; he’s happy. My husband has a wife; he’s happy, too.” At some level I realized I’d shut down for self-preservation. Perhaps Aunty had been right to try and spare me the pain. Because it was a pain beyond measure.