Six Months Later

Sarah

It was the six-month anniversary of my leaving Hojukeri. What kind of life I must have had, you might wonder, that the anniversaries I remembered were of incidents like those, incidents of loss and desperate measures. How had I been in all these months, did you ask? Not bad. Not bad at all.

On that fateful night, I walked all six kilometers back to the bus-stop where I had first disembarked to reach Hojukeri. I got on the first bus that came there just before the dawn broke. It happened to be going to Madikeri , and not to Bangalore where I intended to go. That was fine by me, because my first priority was to get away to a place where he would not be able to find me easily. It was better to catch a bus to Bangalore from Madikeri anyway. I was more likely to get a seat. A pain shot through my heart as I thought of that. He was the one who had suggested that to me once. It couldn’t have been too long ago. But it looked like a lifetime away now.

I had about four thousand rupees with me. I had to find a way of getting as far away from Hojukeri and Bangalore as I could and start earning my livelihood before I ran out of that money. I managed that by buying the cheapest bus tickets available from Madikeri to Bangalore and then from Bangalore to Pune. Going to Pune was not premeditated. That just happened to be the furthest destination to which I could immediately find an affordable bus from Bangalore. When I reached Pune I was down to one thousand and five hundred rupees in my possession. I asked the way to the nearest church and sat in the nearly-empty pew a long time. Then I got talking to a sister there, introduced myself and told her about my need to find a roof over my head and job to pay for it. It was quite a task to convey all this in a convincing manner without revealing anything about what made me leave Hojukeri, but I managed it. She directed me to a nearby hotel which had cheap, livable rooms. She also told me about a local classified paper which should have advertisements for job openings.

Without getting into more details, let me just tell you that I found a position as an English teacher in a Marathi-medium school and also managed to rent a small, rundown room to stay in. Life wasn’t luxurious, but I wasn’t starving any longer. I spent my free time volunteering with church and teaching poor children. Once I had settled in Pune, I got in touch with the employee and gave him my new contact number. He was to contact me only for the marrow donation. He agreed to that and kept his word. About a month later, he called me for the donation. I went to Bangalore, went through a simple procedure and then came back. Rajesh Goenka accosted me again. He wanted me to come back to the family. I reminded him again that I had no family, and that I was an orphan. I told them not to trouble Mr. Roychowdhury about me as I no longer worked for or stayed with him. For good measure I also told him that he should not try to find or contact me or I will go to police.

The threat must have worked, or once his son’s life was saved he no longer cared; either way, I wasn’t troubled by anyone from Goenka family again.

Until that day, when it was the six-month anniversary of the date that made me a friendless, orphan again.

—

The young man at the door was nobody I knew.

“Sarah?” he asked tentatively. His pronunciation of my name was perfect, but his voice revealed what his face didn’t. It was too much like his father.

“Who are you?” I asked, although I already knew.

“My name is Naman. Can I come in?”

“I don’t think I know you. So, no!” I made to shut the door.

“Sarah. Please. I owe my life to you. Trust me I can do you no harm.”

“What do you want?”

“I just want to know my sister.”

I took a good look at him. He was begging. But his demeanor was graceful. He looked not arrogant, but determined. His illness had left its effect on his physique, making him too lean for his frame, but he still made his presence felt. Not for the first time in my life, I felt small before someone who should have been an equal. We shared a womb for nine months. But since then he had received the grooming, education and opportunities that I could not even dream of. I was luckier than most abandoned infants; Home of Hope was probably the best that could have happened to someone without a family. But it was nothing compared to what my twin brother had. I felt bitter yet again.

Still I stepped aside and let him in. I can’t quite fathom why I did that. Was it his aristocratic manner, so unlike his father’s? Or was I so lonely that the intimacy and company – and even gratitude because I had saved his life – that a twin brother promised was difficult to turn away from?

I was uncomfortably conscious of how dingy my room looked from the moment he stepped in. But I did not show it. I had two plastic chairs in the room and I motioned him to sit on one. He accepted the water I offered him and drank it in one go. Despite his calm exterior, he was nervous!

“I don’t know where to begin…”

“You didn’t need to come here,” I cut in sharply. Oh the joys of acting nasty!

“I needed to. Not for your sake, but for mine.”

“How can I help you?”

He stayed silent for a long moment, rolling the empty glass in his hand before putting it down. “By letting me in,” he spoke at last, “In your life, I mean.”

“Why would you want that?”

“You have every right to be angry, Sarah.”

“I have no right to be angry with strangers.”

“Trust me, I didn’t know who the donor was until I had already recovered. When I found out…”

“Yes. How did you find me at all? I had strictly asked…”

“Thakur Uncle didn’t betray you,” he defended the employee, “I indulged in spying, even on him and his phone records. He never gave them to me. And despite having your number, I don’t think he has figured out which city you are in, much less where exactly you stay.”

“Then how did you find out?”

“I hired a detective. With the phone number, it was easy for him.”

—

To be continued