“…your own grandmother, Kaveri Kulkarni.”
I stared at Advocate Bhairav Mehta.
“My grandmother?”
He nodded slowly.
“The woman your mother trusted more than anyone else. The woman who promised to protect Mrinalini.”
My brother leaned forward.
“But Aaji died before I was born.”
“Yes,” the advocate replied. “And she carried a terrible secret to her grave.”
I looked at the photograph again.
The little girl in the man’s arms had round cheeks, large dark eyes, and a ribbon tied around her hair.
She looked no older than four.
“Who was Mrinalini?” I whispered.
Bhairav ji removed his spectacles.
“Your mother’s first daughter.”
The room seemed to tilt.
I gripped the edge of the desk.
“No.”
He lowered his head.
“Yes, Vaidehi. Mrinalini was born before your parents married.”
My brother stared at him.
“You’re saying Amma had another child?”
He nodded.
“And she has spent more than fifty years trying to find her.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then I heard myself ask, “Who was her father?”
The advocate looked toward the photograph.
“A man named Raghavendra Deshmukh.”
I frowned.
“I’ve never heard that name.”
“Your mother knew him when she was nineteen. She worked as a cook in his family’s bungalow near Deccan Gymkhana.”
I looked down at the old knife in my handbag.
Suddenly, it felt heavier.
Bhairav ji continued.
“Raghavendra was the only son of a wealthy textile merchant. He and Sulochana became close. He promised to marry her.”
My throat tightened.
“What happened?”
“When his father discovered the relationship, he threatened to disinherit him.”
“And Raghavendra?”
The advocate’s face hardened.
“He chose his inheritance.”
I closed my eyes.
I could almost imagine my mother at nineteen.
Young.
Frightened.
Pregnant.
And abandoned by a man who had promised her a future.
Bhairav ji unfolded the hospital record.
“Mrinalini was born in a private nursing home. Raghavendra’s family arranged everything.”
My brother asked, “Did Amma agree to give up the baby?”
“No.”
The advocate’s voice became firm.
“She repeatedly refused.”
He pointed toward the handwritten declaration.
“Her signature appears on a document consenting to the child’s placement with another family. But your mother always maintained that she never signed it.”
My heart pounded.
“Was it forged?”
“The circumstances were disputed. We cannot establish everything from these records alone.”
I stared at the paper.
“Then how did they take the child?”
He took a slow breath.
“Your grandmother Kaveri was working at the bungalow too. She was told the baby needed medical care and was asked to carry her to a waiting car.”
I felt sick.
“She didn’t know?”
“Not until later.”
He looked at me.
“When she realized the child had been taken away, she tried to find her.”
My hands trembled.
“And the knife?”
Bhairav ji looked toward my handbag.
“That knife and board were among the few things Sulochana carried when she left the bungalow. Your grandmother gave them to her.”
I began crying.
All my life, I had thought Amma kept those objects because we had been poor.
Now I understood they were the last pieces of a life someone had stolen from her.
“What happened afterward?” Shashidhar asked.
Bhairav ji folded his hands.
“Your grandmother discovered that Mrinalini had been placed with a couple connected to the Deshmukh family. But the child’s name had been changed.”
I leaned forward.
“Did Amma ever see her again?”
He shook his head.
“Not then.”
My heart sank.
“Your grandmother was threatened when she continued asking questions. She eventually took Sulochana away from Pune.”
I wiped my tears.
“And Papa?”
“Nandkumar met your mother several years later. She told him everything before they married.”
I stared at him.
“He knew?”
“Yes.”
My eyes filled.
I remembered my father sharpening Amma’s knife every Sunday.
I remembered how gently he treated her.
How he sometimes found her sitting alone and quietly placed a cup of chai beside her.
He had known about the daughter she lost.
And he had loved her anyway.
Bhairav ji turned another page.
“Your father began searching for Mrinalini after your brother was born.”
Shashidhar looked startled.
“Papa?”
The advocate nodded.
“He came to my office with a photograph and a hospital reference number. He said his wife had lived with this grief long enough.”
My throat tightened.
“Did you find her?”
“Not immediately.”
He paused.
“Twenty years ago, we found evidence that a girl matching Mrinalini’s records had been raised by a family in Mumbai.”
I gripped the desk.
“Then why didn’t Amma contact her?”
“Because the woman we located had been told that her birth mother had abandoned her.”
I closed my eyes.
Bhairav ji continued.
“She refused contact. Your parents decided not to force themselves into her life.”
My brother whispered, “That must have broken Amma.”
The advocate nodded.
“It did.”
