The Forbidden Daughter. Shobhan Bantwal

and money, too.

      Exhausted and hungry, he finally put away his supplies, pulled off the rubber gloves and tossed them in the rubbish bin.

      He saw Mother Regina coming his way, a smile warming her wrinkled face. Her ample hips seemed to bounce as she hurried. He had no idea how old she was. He suspected she was at least eighty. But she was a bundle of energy, and despite her enormous proportions, always moved nimbly. He had never seen her sitting down.

      “Thank you so much for everything, Dr. Salvi,” she said to him. “God bless you. You are our messenger from Jesus.”

      Harish smiled. “I do what I can, Mother.”

      “But it takes a generous heart to do what you do, sir. You are a good man.” She was Italian by birth, and despite her very proper English, the slightly soft accent persisted. “So, tell me, Doctor, how are our children doing?”

      “As well as can be expected. And I’m relieved that the flu hasn’t spread here. It’s been a difficult epidemic this year.”

      “Well then, we shall pray that it never comes here.” She did a quick sign of the cross. “If it is not too much trouble, may I ask another favor of you?”

      “Certainly.” Harish’s eyes went to his wristwatch. It was nearly nine o’clock. What could Mother Regina want at this hour?

      “A baby was born here last night and I was wondering if you might spare some time to check out the little one.”

      His brows climbed in surprise. “A baby born here? You didn’t have another…um…” A second unwanted pregnancy in less than a year was a bit much for a convent.

      Mother Regina’s blue eyes went wide behind her bifocals. “Oh no! Nothing of that sort! The mother is a young widow. This is a very unusual and tragic case. She recently lost her husband, and because of serious problems in her in-laws’ home, she was forced to leave them. She no longer has family of her own, you see.”

      “How did she end up here?”

      “She’s one of our former students, and being a mother of one child and about to have another, we could not turn her away when she asked for help.”

      Harish nodded. “I understand.”

      She looked at him with that questioning tilt of her head. “You will see this child, then?”

      “Of course.” How could he say no to such a simple request? He picked up his bag and motioned to her to lead the way. His stomach rumbled, reminding him how hungry he was.

      As he followed her through the heavy steel door he realized he was stepping into normally forbidden territory. He had never seen this part of the boardinghouse. No men were allowed here. In fact, they were barred from most of the areas except the offices, classrooms, and the orphanage—and that only when strictly necessary.

      Needless to say, he was curious, so he looked around as he followed the aging nun down a long corridor with rooms situated on either side. All the doors were shut, which meant the boarders were either studying or sleeping at this hour.

      The nuns probably didn’t tolerate breaking of any house rules regarding lights out or anything else that was part of their rigid lifestyle. He knew for a fact that the girls were expected to wake up very early and attend mass at the on-site chapel before they ate breakfast.

      The passage was dimly lit. The nun’s sturdy black shoes and his own sounded loud on the gray flagstone floor. There was a faint acidic smell of stale urine combined with disinfectant in the air—an indication of toilets somewhere nearby.

      At the end of the corridor, Mother Regina knocked on a closed door. “Isha.”

      He heard a muffled reply. “Mother Regina?”

      “Yes, dear. I have the doctor with me. He’s here to examine the baby.”

      “One second, Mother,” said the soft, feminine voice. They waited until she called, “Please come in.”

      They walked into the small room. The woman said, “Praised be Jesus and Mary, Mother,” in the standard way to greet a nun in this particular convent.

      “Forever,” said Mother Regina, using the usual response to the greeting.

      It took Harish a second to adjust to the dim light coming from the single low-wattage lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. He looked around the quarters.

      A narrow cot, covered with a faded green bedspread, hugged the wall on one side and an ancient nightstand stood next to it. It had a jug of water, a tumbler, and a short stack of children’s books.

      On the floor next to the bed was a bedroll with a child sprawled over it. He could see a small head with curly brown hair resting on a pillow. A little pink ear and cheek were visible, but the rest of the face was buried in there somewhere. The tiny body was covered with a sheet. The child appeared to be asleep.

      Three large, bulging suitcases were stacked against the far wall. There was no wardrobe, or dresser, so the residents obviously lived out of their suitcases. The room was small and cramped, especially for three individuals, one of them being an infant that needed a lot of paraphernalia.

      After a quick sweep of the room, his gaze latched on to the tableau in the chair by the window. A woman sat in it with a small bundle swaddled in white in her arms. It looked like she might have been nursing the baby. She had a small towel over her shoulder, covering one side of her chest. She wore a simple yellow kaftan.

      When he studied her face more closely, he nearly gasped. “Isha Ketkar!”

      She looked up, and her eyes went wide. She seemed equally astounded to see him.