Free The Forbidden Daughter by Shobhan Bantwal Page A

than anyone had anticipated. He’d seen more children with the flu and its secondary complications in the past week than he had in the past three years put together. Ear and throat infections, sinusitis, bronchitis, pneumonia—he’d treated them all.
    Gulping down the rest of the tea, he put aside the cup and looked at his wristwatch. Nearly five o’clock and he still had three more patients to see. After that he had to go to St. Mary’s Convent to inoculate the orphans. He hoped those kids hadn’t caught the flu bug, too. Now that would be a disaster, since they lived together in such cramped quarters with minimal hygiene.
    When Harish had started his pediatric practice in Palgaum a few years ago, he’d never imagined his life would get this hectic.
    But here he was, often working six days a week, and on some days, up to twelve hours or more.
    Of course, he was earning a considerable income, much more than he had anticipated. After growing up in a lower-middle-class household, one of the reasons he’d pursued medicine was to be able to have a better life. Living in a tiny, badly ventilated, 56 Shobhan Bantwal
    two-room rented home in the heart of town along with a sibling, and watching his father struggling to raise the two of them on a schoolteacher’s salary, had taught Harish the value of striv-ing for more. But money was not his sole incentive for going into private practice.
    Fortunately he was brighter and more motivated than most of his contemporaries. He had qualified for a scholarship at the local science college and then again at a medical college, en-abling him to become a pediatrician.
    The only problem with all this work was that he didn’t have much time for a personal life. He was thirty years old, and his old-fashioned parents wanted to see him married, but he had yet to make time to meet a girl from amongst the several his mother had chosen after having matched his horoscope with theirs.
    The intercom on his desk buzzed, rousing Harish from his thoughts.
    “Doctor-saheb, patient number nineteen is waiting,” announced Saroj, his nurse-receptionist. She had a loud, gruff voice that belied her petite size. In spite of using the respectful handle of saheb —sir—she was more like his mother. With two grown sons and three grandchildren, she considered herself old enough to boss Harish around. In deference to her age, everyone called her Saroj-bayi, including Harish.
    But Saroj-bayi’s authoritarian attitude had its advantages. It helped in keeping his more rambunctious young patients in line.
    All she had to do was toss them a certain look over the rims of her glasses, and the little hooligans went back to their seats and hung their heads.
    The door opened and Saroj-bayi stuck her head inside for a moment. “Just wanted to warn you that your next patient is the Motwani boy,” she informed him in a conspiratorial whisper.
    “He has a nasty cough. My guess is bronchitis, and his mother is very agitated.”
    “Oh no!” Harish groaned. The Motwani boy was a spoiled brat. He was the Motwanis’s only son and he’d been born after three daughters. As usual, Mrs. Motwani would expect Harish THE
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    to find an instant cure for her son’s ailment. If only it were that simple!
    Putting his glasses back on, he rose from his chair. “Send them in.” He opened the connecting door to the examination room and went in.
    It was well after six o’clock by the time the last patient left.
    “Time to go to the orphanage, Doctor-saheb,” Saroj-bayi reminded him.
    “Thanks.” He didn’t need reminding, but she delighted in keeping a strict eye on his schedule. “Could you please help me pack the supplies?”
    “Of course.” Saroj was quick and efficient in her ways. In spite of all the hours she’d worked in the office, her starched white sari still looked crisp and wrinkle-free. Her mostly gray hair was neatly twisted into a bun at her nape. For her age, she was amazingly fit and