As I approached his study, I heard Debjani’s chatter. I didn’t want her around, but I dreaded meeting him alone too. This was the best I would have, I thought to myself as I knocked on the door.

“Yes?” his voice was gruff, in contrast to Debjani’s silvery tongue.

He bolted out of the chair as soon as he saw me entering.

“Sorry for disturbing…”

“What is it?” he cut through my preliminaries.

“I need to go…”

“What?”

“I mean, for a few days. To see Father Jacob. He is unwell.”

“Is he?”

“You think I would lie about something like that?” I couldn’t help getting annoyed. “You can ask Kaveri. She was the one who received the call.”

“I don’t have to ask anyone. When do you want to go?”

“Right now.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know…” I saw his eyebrows rising and realized that my reply was not helping his suspicions, “I would like to come back in three or four days, but if he is unwell and wants me there…”

“Very well. I will drop you to the bus stop…”

“I will find someone to drop me. Some bus or…”

“It is better to get a bus from Madekeri. You are more likely to find a seat. And I said I will drop you. Go, pack your stuff.”

“I wouldn’t mind a drive either,” Debjani threw in her weight, “I would come with you, Protim. You won’t have much luggage, would you Sarah?”

“No Ma’am. Just a bag.”

He opened his mouth, but closed it without saying anything. It had looked like he would refuse Debjani, but then changed his mind. It made sense. It won’t give the right message to his fiancée, if he insisted on accompanying me alone to Madikeri.

“Annie might want to come too,” he told me, “Ask her.”

“Yes Sir.”

—

Protim

I had never understood the metaphor of something slipping out of your hand like sand better than on that day, on our ride to Madekeri bus stop. On the way to the main road, at a spot about four kilometers from Hojukeri, I found myself pressing the breaks abruptly.

“Oh my God! What happened Protim?”

“Daddy! I could have fallen off.”

Debjani and Annie screamed in chorus.

Sarah was also shaken, but she did not say anything. Our eyes met for a moment in the rear-view mirror. And I knew that she recognized the spot too. This was where I had met her first with a broken jeep. I never could redeem myself since then, could I?

Annie’s affection for Sarah surprised me yet again. She kept badgering her to return early all through our ride and even when we waited on the Madikeri bus stand. Sarah herself looked close to tears, as she hugged my daughter one last time before stepping on the bus. For me, though, she didn’t even have a spare glance. She did not forget her manners. She thanked be adequately for granting her leave and for dropping her. But she did not meet my eyes even as she spoke.

Had I lost her?

—

Sarah

Why did I ever wish for a normal life? Inch by inch, my previous simple life from the orphanage days was crumbling down and the normal life was showing its true, complicated colors.

Father Jacob was breathing his last, willing himself to wait, just for me. He asked to talk to me alone as soon as I reached there.

“It is not for me to take this decision, child,” he told me, “Your real family has been asking about you.”

“You know them?” Shock couldn’t have adequately described what I felt.

“I didn’t always. But sometime back, someone came enquiring. About a child they had left… Everything matched.”

I was tongue-tied for a long minute. Did I want to know any further? What would I hear? Why was I abandoned? Could it be any good?

“You may not be ready to hear it all, Sarah,” Father Jacob spoke with difficulty, “But I don’t have time. I must tell you. I am sorry about that, my child.”

“Father. You are unwell. We can talk later…”

“No. No. Time is what I don’t have. You must listen. And you must be brave. Can you do that for me, Sarah?”

“Yes Father.” He deserved to unburden himself in his last moments.

My family was rich. A fairly well-known Marwari business family in Bangalore. The kind who want sons to carry their legacy forward. My father’s elder brothers had too many daughters already. I had a twin brother. So, when I was born they decided to keep only the son and… My mother was told that her daughter was still born. A trusted servant of the family was entrusted to dispose me off. And it was he who had come looking for me now.

“Why?” I willed myself not to choke on my words.

“Your brother needs a bone marrow transplant. They have tried hard to find a matching donor, but failed. You are their best hope.”

“My brother?”

“Your bitterness is understandable, child. But do remember that he was innocent is all this. And even for others. Forgiveness…” his voice trailed as I looked sharply at him. Then I felt guilty.

“Forgive me my weaknesses, Father. You know how I am.”

“You are all right, Sarah. And I know you would do the right thing. Open the cupboard, and bring me the diary from the right drawer.”

I did as he bid me to do. He leafed through the diary with difficulty and showed me the page with their contact details.

I copied it on a paper and kept the diary back in its place in the cupboard. Then I sat beside Father Jacob in silence for a long time. He was content to let me sit.

“Forgiveness,” I spoke finally, “That is what you would expect of me, Father, won’t you?”

“Yes. Although there is more for you if you go back to them than just peace of mind,” he smiled weakly, “You have a rich family, Sarah. You will never want for anything.”

“I am not going back to them, Father. I had no say when they threw me out. But I will have a say when they want me back. Whatever I do, I will do it on my own terms now. And no! I am not going back to them.”

“I expected no less from you, child. But forgiveness is still…”

“Charity they shall have, if God has made me capable of that. I hope the marrow matches.”

—

To be continued