as she wrapped her arms around me. Feeling her warmth made me realize how lonely I had felt. Her warmth filled the longing I had been battling since the moment I had left my father’s bedside. She offered reassurance, comfort and love, and I accepted.
“I feel lost without Daddy,” I confessed. “I don’t know . . . anything any more. How I should behave, what I should do, who I should be . . . I’m lost.” I could no longer hold back my emotions. I felt a surge of energy and rage come from within, and this time I let it flow out. “I just feel so horrible. The things I said about him, those words, those feelings, they haunt me every moment, but . . . at the same time, it still doesn’t make any sense, Mom.”
“What doesn’t?”
“Everything! What’s true, what’s not, the things Daddy said to me before he . . . It’s too much!”
“Perhaps it is, but life does not stop moving because things get to be too much, Esha. Time does not stop. We have to pick up the pieces.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that? Life isn’t moving for me. Everything has stopped moving, everything . . .”
“Your father was a good man. He had a lot of respect and admiration for the people in his life, and he received just as much in return. Most important, he loved his kids very much. I hope you will remember that always.”
I nodded as she continued. “What you have heard about this . . . this other family in India . . . is partly true and partly fictional. The time has come for you to know everything.”
I looked up as she finally started to address a topic that was very disturbing for me. She turned away and walked over to my bed, where she sat down and gently folded her hands in her lap, staring at them intently. Perhaps she didn’t have the courage to look me in the eye as she spoke of this secret that obviously had been a burden on her marriage for years.
“You and your sister are not aware of this, but your father once had a brother. He was only one year younger than your father, but they were like twins, always together. Your father loved him very much, the whole family did. All the neighbours in the village would comment on how proud he would make the family one day. He was bright, handsome, and full of life.”
“Why haven’t we been told about him before? Why didn’t Dad ever say anything about a brother?”
“Because the family cut all ties with him not too long after your father and I married. It was agreed that we would never mention him again. Even now, I am not sure how to tell you about him.”
“Just say it, Mom. From the beginning,” I said eagerly.
“Okay, well,” she began, “he was a very carefree young boy, someone who was praised by his peers and adored by the elders. Like most boys, he was always up to some mischief, but never anything serious, and he could almost always get away with it. After your father and I married, he did his very best to make me feel comfortable within the family. We got along very well. He would come running to me and plead with me to calm your father and smooth things over whenever he was caught cheating on his school papers.”
“So what happened?” I asked. My curiosity was becoming unbearable.
“It was the evening of Diwali. The house was lit up with candles, and it looked beautiful, just like every year. The house was filled with people preparing for the evening’s festivities. Your grandfather was really particular about celebrating special occasions with family and friends. Diwali was always a very special day for him. Your father had just returned from the bazaar with sweets, and I was rushing him into the bedroom, pleading that he get dressed quickly so we could go outside and join everyone else. I was walking out to the courtyard when I heard it . . .”
She trailed off, and I hesitated a moment before pushing her to keep going. “Heard what, Mom?”
“A noise . . . It sounded like muffled screams. I looked around and tried to determine if what I heard was real or just in my head. So I stopped and listened carefully. Then I heard it again, and this time I followed the voices in the direction of the servants’ quarters. No one else was in the house, as most were either out in the courtyard, or just making their way back from the Gurdwara. We had given the servants the evening off to go and be with their families, so the noise immediately aroused my curiosity.
“As I made my way to the back, I saw a dim light emerging from the storage room, located by the servant quarters, and I heard it again; a faint scream and cries that could only belong to a female. I could hear a shuffling noise, which I later attributed to the struggle that was going on inside.”
“Struggle? Oh, Mom . . . what did you see?” My heart pounded as I made my way closer to where she was seated.
“I crept to the door and slowly pushed it open,” she continued with her eyes still carefully averted away from my curious gaze. “The door creaked a little, and I remember trembling at that moment. I was nervous and almost afraid to step inside. When I looked up, I was instantly filled with terror. The scene before me was . . . it was . . . to this day I cannot put it out of my mind. There he was . . . the pride of our family, the joy of the village . . . forcefully on top of an innocent girl. Her hands were pinned high above her head with his. Tears were streaming down her face, and her legs were pinned beneath his weight. Her clothing had been stripped off . . . the sight was so disgusting, I screamed and I screamed. I yelled at him to let her go. I was so shocked and so hurt to see him in such an act. I could not believe what was happening right before my eyes.”
“Oh my god . . . oh my . . . Mom, what did you do?”
“What else could I do but try and stop him? I ran to him, and I started pushing him away. I just threw myself at him. I was hysterical. I cannot forget how he just looked at me. There was no sadness or remorse; he just stared at me as he blocked my attacks. Eventually, he managed to push me aside, got up and walked away. He never once turned around. He just simply walked away.”
“What about the girl? What happened to her?”
“I took her in my arms, and I alerted your father about what had happened. He was furious. I could never have imagined the anger that I saw in his eyes that night. He decided that his father, your grandfather, should be notified and left in charge of the situation.
“In the end, it was decided that Jeet would marry that poor girl. She was so traumatized by what had happened. It was clear that she was terrified about the uncertainty of her future. She was scared, as most women back then were. There weren’t many options for female victims of rape then. Her life was ruined by Jeet’s moment of lust and insanity.”
“I can’t even begin to imagine what she was experiencing, but marry?” I said. “Forcing her to marry her rapist is even worse! What about the cops? What about charging his ass with rape, dumping him in jail and tossing away the key?” I found it absolutely absurd that they didn’t jump to the obvious remedy.
“Oh, Esha, back then things were done differently,” she replied, waving a hand. “Families tried to salvage what they could of their honour. The girl’s father was worried that no man would marry her if the ordeal was made public. Also, a few weeks later, it was learned that she was pregnant. Marriage was the only way to save both families.”
“I seriously don’t agree, but, okay, what happened next? I imagine things didn’t go as planned, otherwise why would I find a wedding picture of Dad and that woman? That was her, wasn’t it?”
“Jeet wasn’t pleased with the idea
