The Lost Daughter of India Read online

  * * *

  He wrote to Caroline, who agreed that he had done the right thing and wrote back:

  ‘We must do what’s right for her. I mean, yes, I do feel guilt about not being a good mother and leaving her behind. But, Kamal, I was truly desperate! The botulism was simply the last straw – I had to come home. It was the right thing to do, and I could only do it with the knowledge that Asha is truly happy and well cared for. She couldn’t have a better mother than Sundari, and I say that as her real mother. One day, hopefully soon, we will all be together. Until then, I am trying to put my life together here in Cambridge, get back on my feet, build a foundation for us all.

  What I really need to do, Kamal, is think about my own future, my own career. I’ve been able to finish my thesis but it was a bit of a rushed job – the fire had gone out of me and I was unable to reignite it. I need to do something else, something more relevant. I want to go back to college, get a more practical degree. I’m torn in two directions. Law, which would be the sensible thing. My parents are urging me in that direction. But I’m tired of being sensible. I want to do something I truly love, and I’m really pulled towards the Creative Arts Therapy course at Lesley College in Cambridge. That’s something I’d love to do, and the good thing is, I can live with my parents. So that’s the direction I’m going in. I probably will choose what I love.

  I’ve reconciled completely with Mom and Dad. They are happy to have me stay with them, and even if I don’t study law, they’ll be happy just to have me here. I don’t think they’re yet accepting of you, my darling, but we can live with that, can’t we? You won’t have to see them. They’ll adore Asha, and maybe in time they will learn to reconcile with you as her father. I’ll do my best to bring that about. I love all of you and I want us to be one big happy family. I’m sure it will happen eventually.’

  Reconciled to Caroline’s decision – which he agreed with, in principle, though it would mean a delay in the grand plan for them all to come together in America – Kamal returned with renewed vigour to his job in North India. It was for the family, for the future. For the time being, he was glad that Caroline was happy.

  * * *

  But in the end she became too happy. Their phone calls – always difficult because of the time difference – grew more and more rare. And at the end of the year Kamal received a Dear John letter.

  Dear Kamal.

  * * *

  This is the hardest letter I’ve ever written in my life, and believe me, the pain of writing it is equal to the pain I know it will cause you. I do apologise for taking so long to reply to your last letters. That I haven’t called you in months. The truth is, I didn’t know what to say; I had no words. How could I put into a letter all the changes I have been going through in the last six months? It was just too much, and I chose to keep silent until the turbulence calmed down and I could arrive at some sort of a resolution, some sort of a conclusion, some sort of a confirmation that I have made the right decision.

  Kamal, it truly breaks my heart to tell you this but I have met someone else, someone with whom I am completely comfortable, in all areas of life. His name is Wayne Richmond. It is as if all the loose ends of my life are tied up with Wayne. He is an up-and-coming attorney at Dad’s firm and – well, we just clicked. These things happen – the chemistry was there from the beginning and I did try hard to fight it off; I did, Kamal! I do take my marriage vows seriously but you have to admit that the hurdles for the two of us have simply been too high to overcome. The physical separation, the cultural differences, the geographical problems: all of these have contributed to the distance that has grown between us.

  The physical separation is just a metaphor for the spiritual distance, Kamal. I need a husband who is at my side, and apart from the honeymoon phase of our marriage this has just not been the case. It’s just not working, Kamal. I’m sure you must have felt it too? I’m sure you must have, but your loyalty and sense of duty – those very Indian qualities that I admire so much – have kept you bound to me. I think we should both be free, Kamal. Free to explore our lives and to find other, better alternatives for our paths forward. I know you will be hurt by this letter but one day you will see it as a blessing: I am setting you free! Free to find the right path for you. I am sure there is a beautiful Indian woman out there, near your workplace, someone who is just perfect for you.

  It’s not that I don’t love you – I do, but in a very quiet, passionless way. It’s not enough, Kamal. It’s not what I imagine I should feel for my husband. I don’t feel the butterflies! It’s not good enough for you. You will surely find someone who loves you as much as you deserve. You are such a good man; you are wasted on me. And we will always be bound together because we have Asha.

  Asha! My darling Asha. My one consolation is that she is in the best hands possible, in a family that loves her. A child needs a stable family, with both parents; brothers and sisters, a stable home, a nest where she can grow and thrive. We have never offered her that. The Iyengars have. Sundari writes often and sends photographs and I am confident enough to say that I think we have made the best choice, the unselfish choice: we have chosen what is best for her, and not what we want. I often felt guilty about not being a good mother but Sundari is just that. Mothers have such a high status in India – they are next to God, and I could never live up to that. I no longer feel that guilt. Just knowing she is in good hands is enough for me, and that makes me a good mother, comfortable with my decision. There are many ways to be a good mother.

  I will always write her letters, send her photos, so she will always know she has a second mother – a third mother, because isn’t Janiki her little mother too, her chinna-amma! And I will visit her as soon as I can. But I cannot tear her away from her home, from the people she regards as her parents, from her family, from her culture. She would not feel at home in America, as was our original plan. Yes, it does break my heart a little not to see her growing up, but so be it. It’s for her sake. When she is grown up she will understand.

  I’m hoping that you feel the same way, Kamal. That when you find the right woman for you – and you will! – you will resist the urge to tear her away from the family she regards as her own. You will have other children, as will I, and you will always be her father, but I hope that as a father you will always choose what is best for her and however much you want her, I am hoping you will do the right thing.

  I’m not asking for a divorce as yet. I have three more years of study and we’re not planning to marry before I graduate. We’re doing this the proper, traditional way! I guess I was always a daddy’s girl at heart and it’s good to be back in the heart of my family. I hope you, too will find peace, and soon.

  On that note, Kamal, I embrace you as a sister, not as a wife, and hope you read these words in the right spirit and know that my decision is the right one – for both of us. I know you will be hurt at first but trust me, in time you will know that it is best, for all of us.

  All my love, Caroline.

  Kamal was devastated. He had not been expecting this, not at all. For him, fidelity and trust were at the heart of a marriage, and he had not at all, as Caroline hinted, felt that it wasn’t working. The difficulties they faced – well, they were challenges to what was basically a strong marriage, he’d thought, and would make that marriage stronger yet. Challenges, after all, were at the heart of strength; anything that was too easy just wasn’t worth having. Challenges gave muscle to a relationship, because you had to work all the harder to keep it alive. A relationship was like a muscle, and needed to be worked in order to be strong, for otherwise it would grow slack and useless. Kamal had worked his own muscle; Caroline, it seemed, hadn’t. For how else could she do this thing?

  As for Caroline’s suggestion, that he find another woman, another wife – it floored him. Did she think a wife was like a shirt that you just changed when you felt the old one didn’t suit you any more? Was this really the woman he had married? Was her outlook so very shallow
? Or was this just the American way? Perhaps he really was too Indian for her. That must be it. It was the only explanation he could think of. And now he had no choice in the matter, but must live with Caroline’s choice. In his heart he would always be married to her. But one thing was certain: Asha’s well-being must come first. And in this one thing Caroline was right: thank goodness for the Iyengars.

  But what about him? What about the turmoil, the sense of abandonment, the disappointment, the pain, of his loss? He had built his life on the hope of a new beginning with Caroline and Asha, in America. What now? His job seemed futile; and unlike Caroline, he had no one in the world except Asha.

  Chapter 15

  Kamal

  Broken-hearted, Kamal took three months’ unpaid leave and went to stay with Swami Naadiyaananda in his Himalayan retreat. There, in the serenity and stillness of nature, living in a hut beside a rushing brook, his desolation melted and he found the strength to carry on; a different man, more silent, less gregarious than before.

  For the last two weeks of his leave he travelled down to Tamil Nadu to visit Asha. She was all he had left; he would now build his world around her. Take her up to Uttarkund with him, find a home for the two of them, a carer for her during his working hours.

  But she did not know him, did not want to know him. She stood there with her hands behind her back, shrinking away from his open arms, crying when he hugged her, resisting Sundari’s gentle coaxing: ‘Go to Daddy, Asha, go to Daddy like a good girl!’ But Asha wasn’t a good girl; she obviously didn’t care for him.

  ‘You see how she is wary of you,’ Sundari said, taking the child into her arms and handing her a bottle of water. ‘That is normal at this age; to her you are a stranger. The first three years are most crucial in the life of a child. A child needs stability. Familiar faces. A steady home. You cannot just tear a child from one home and put it in another. That would be most selfish. And apart from that, what do you know about small children? What is your experience with them?’

  Kamal rubbed his temples tiredly. He had asked himself this question several times in the last two days. So Sundari answered for him.

  ‘Nothing whatsoever. And anyway, you are at work all day so you would be obliged to give her into strange hands. You would pay someone to keep your daughter! Why go to all that trouble when she has a good home here already?’

  ‘Sundari, I’ve thought of all this myself. I’ve asked myself if it wouldn’t be better to leave her here, with you—’

  ‘Better? Of course it’s better. How could there be any other alternative? I love this child as much as any of my own children. Janiki adores her. You must see that.’

  ‘But just until my contract runs out. Then I’ll move here and try to get to know her, and be a proper father.’

  ‘Still the child will need a mother. You realise that, don’t you?’

  Kamal nodded. ‘I know I can never be father and mother to her.’

  ‘So you will have to marry again, once Caroline and you are divorced. Very quickly.’

  Kamal shook his head vigorously. ‘No. I won’t marry again. Caroline was the love of my life. I can never replace her.’

  Sundari smiled knowingly. Asha smiled too, gazing up at Sundari and hooking her forefinger into the woman’s bottom lip. She threw her empty bottle to the ground, where it rolled into a corner. Startled by the noise, Asha twisted around in Sundari’s arms, saw the bottle and struggled to be put down. Sundari placed her on the floor and she darted off to retrieve the bottle.

  ‘Ah, that’s what you say now. However, once the sadness has faded, you will start searching once more – you will try to fill the emptiness.’

  Caroline had once laughingly told her the story of how Rani Abishta had tried to find a bride for Kamal. Sundari had not laughed; she had found it rude of Kamal to reject the potential brides, after Kamal’s Daadi had gone to so much trouble; it was her duty, she had told Caroline sternly. It wasn’t a joke. Marriage was an important step; it should not be left to chance meetings. Kamal had been wrong to reject them all out of hand. ‘But then,’ Sundari said, with a smile of reconciliation, ‘he found you and now I have met you and we are such good friends. Everything happens for a reason; even when we make mistakes, the outcome is what had to happen. You and I, we had to meet. And Asha had to be born.’

  Sundari had been curious about Rani Abishta, as Kamal himself never mentioned her, never spoke of his childhood. Caroline herself had known little, but what she knew, she had told Sundari.

  ‘He doesn’t tell me much either,’ Caroline had said. ‘It’s like a taboo subject for him – I’ve no idea why. He just has issues with her, I guess. She’s very possessive, very domineering, I think, and I guess he just wants to assert his independence. He likes to think of himself as an ordinary person, not a prince. He’s so modest. It’s what I love about him.’

  ‘It is not good to be estranged from family,’ said Sundari sternly. ‘Family is everything. It is the foundation of society. One must respect one’s elders.’

  Caroline shrugged. ‘I agree, and I’d love to meet her and go to that palace and meet my grandmother-in-law!’ she said, and, laughing, added: ‘It’s not every American girl gets to go into a real old Indian palace and meet a real old Indian ex-queen! I wish we could have married there. My parents would have adored it – their daughter, a princess!’

  ‘So Asha is really a princess,’ Sundari said in awe. And from then on she called Asha Little Princess. Now, she said to Kamal:

  ‘You must start looking for a new bride. A new mother for Asha. Why not ask that grandmother of yours, that woman who thinks she is a queen? I’m sure she would be eager to find a good match for you. Or if you like, I will help. My husband has some excellent connections,

  you know. It is always better to have a go-between in these marriage matters.’

  Kamal shook his head, held out his open palm as if to repel the very suggestion. ‘No, no, I won’t remarry. I’m certain of that.’

  ‘How will you look after Asha, then? It’s not as if you have a mother who would take her.’

  ‘Other men have raised children alone.’

  ‘Maybe in those foreign countries. Not here, not in India. Perhaps when she is older, but as long as she is young she should stay with us. Here she has two mothers, Janiki and me. We’ll be happy to have her. In fact, Janiki would be heartbroken if you took Asha away. She already feels all the love of a mother for her, even though she is so young. We would both be so very happy. And Asha too.’

  Asha, meanwhile, had clenched the rubber teat expertly between four tiny teeth and, the bottle swinging gaily before her, returned to Sundari’s feet where she pulled herself upright and made the appropriate noises. Sundari bent over and picked her up. Asha pulled the palu of Sundari’s sari over her face and tried to engage her in a game of hide-and-seek. She ignored Kamal completely.

  Kamal felt despair wash over him like a cold and final wave. All the peace he had gained in the mountains fled him; once again his soul reeled at the thought of Caroline’s betrayal; he felt incapable of making a single decision. He wanted Caroline! He ached for her. Where she had been there was a huge black gaping hole inside him, and he stood precariously at its edge, tottering, tottering, bracing himself against a fall. It was the thought of Asha that held him back.

  He looked at the child in Sundari’s arms in despair; Asha was now twirling a curl of her thick mop of silky hair around a fat finger, gazing up adoringly at the woman she called Amma.

  She will never call me Daddy, Kamal thought, even though I can love her enough for that love to fill the emptiness in me. She is all I have in the world, now. But where do I begin? What can I do? To provide for her is my greatest duty. But she must be cared for, mothered. I cannot do both. To take her away would be heartless, egoistic; it would be serving my own purpose, using her. She is happiest here. Caroline and Sundari are right – her happiness must come first. I must love her enough to lose her. True love is letti
ng go. I can love her as well from a distance as by her side, with a love not bound by time or space.

  Two days later Kamal left Gingee. Reconciled to Asha’s place as a daughter of the Iyengar household, he went back to work a week earlier than planned, after making arrangements with the Iyengars for the continued payments for Asha’s maintenance. He plunged into his work, and that became the focus of his life. A few years later he found an extremely lucrative position in Dubai, bringing water to the desert. He would save every penny for when Asha grew up and became an independent woman. He lived a quiet life. He was an introvert, a recluse, doing his job well but with no social life to speak of.

  He was doing it all for Asha. He would save up for her, so that one day the world would be open to her. And so the years flipped past, turning like the pages of a book.

  Chapter 16

  Janiki

  When Asha was six Janiki went away to Madras to study, having persuaded her parents that she was not yet ready for marriage. Sundari, who had been keeping her eyes open for a suitable groom since Janiki was a child, had been sorely disappointed, as she was keen to send out feelers to the parents of several eligible bachelors; but Janiki was adamant. She wanted to continue her education.

  ‘There are so many other fish in the sea,’ she said, ‘and I will meet so many nice boys when I am a student. I am sure these boys you found for me will find nice brides! Don’t worry about it, Amma. I am only eighteen and if I meet someone I like I will let you know and you can have great fun chatting to his amma about marriage. Just a few years more.’

  And so Sundari, trying to be modern and liberal, had agreed. Appa, being compliant to all of Sundari’s decisions, and anyway in favour of women’s education, also agreed; he was willing to maintain his daughter for a further four years, and so Janiki went off to Madras. Asha wept bitterly when Janiki left. Janiki embraced her and comforted her.