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“Right now is not a good time.”
I pulled away from his grip.
“You always say that. Will there ever be a good time for me to be with you?” I shouted in frustration.
“It will come. But you are still so young. Your education is suffering here in this small place, and you are surrounded by people you constantly fight with. I won’t allow you to waste your life here. You and your grandmother are moving to Dehradun. You’ll complete your education, and I promise you, once you finish your graduation, I’ll bring you back to live with me. You’ll always stay with me.”
“Stay with you?” I was tempted. “In your house?”
“Yes,” he smiled. “You’ll live with me forever in our house.”
He reached out and kissed my forehead. I hugged him tightly, excited about the idea. If he would let me stay with him once I grew up, I was ready to do whatever it took at the moment. So, I agreed to relocate with my grandmother to Dehradun.
Three months after I joined the school in Dehradun, my grandmother shared the disheartening news of the death of my father’s wife, Meera Pratap Walia. She had tragically slipped on the stairs in the Walia House and lost her life. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what my father must have gone through during that time. I longed to see him, talk to him and find out if he was doing okay, even though I knew it was nearly impossible. I didn’t have the right to go and meet him in public without attracting attention and media queries about my relationship with Pratap Walia. Almost two months later, I finally got the chance to speak to him on the phone, and he still sounded deeply troubled, saddened, and in a great deal of pain. He now had the responsibility of caring for his young daughter, who was too small to comprehend the loss of her mother.
While I continued to focus on my studies, my interest in extracurricular activities and sports grew stronger. I started learning martial arts, received training in shooting, and, as I turned 18, began taking my fitness seriously. I concentrated on maintaining a healthy diet, regularly going to the gym and building my physique. My infrequent phone calls with Dad were now reduced to just two or three times a year as opposed to earlier when we used to speak every few months. After his wife passed away, he rarely visited me in Dehradun. Grandma explained that it was because he was busy campaigning to transition from a Member of Parliament to a Member of the Legislative Assembly, and he also had the enormous responsibility of caring for his young daughter, Meher, in addition to his political work. I was his eldest son, and if I couldn’t understand his situation, who would? I clung to the hope that once I completed my graduation, he would finally reveal to the world that I was his son, and from then on, we would be a united family. This dream of being together as a family, taking care of a sister and having a loving father to look after was enough to motivate me through the next few years of my life.
Finally, the day I had been waiting for arrived. At the age of 22, I graduated with good grades and became a man my father would be proud of. I had not only nurtured my mind but also honed my body and skills in a way that I would be an impenetrable shield to protect my father from any harm. As I packed my bags, preparing to leave Dehradun, Mohan, my father’s driver and the one person who had known from the beginning that I was Pratap Walia’s son, knocked on the door.
“Mohan uncle?” I said, a bit surprised to see him.
“Hello, Vishnu,” he responded, offering me a faint smile. “Sir has sent me to pick you up. Is all your luggage ready?”
“Yes, it is,” I answered. “But why isn’t Dad here? He had promised to come and pick me up this time.”
Mohan sighed, explaining, “Sir had an urgent political meeting in Delhi. So, he had to fly there and asked me to bring you to Mumbai.”
While I wasn’t thrilled about my father breaking his promise, I tried my best not to harbour any anger toward him. After all, he was a busy politician with the weight of the state’s responsibilities on his shoulders. I knew that once I began living with him, I could help relieve at least some of his burdens. So, I agreed to leave with Mohan for Mumbai, filled with dreams and excitement about reuniting with my father and discovering how the rest of the Walia family would react when they learned I was part of their clan.
Our plane landed in Mumbai, and the car drove us to the Walia House. As the vehicle entered the gates of the Walia house, my heart raced with anticipation. My mother might never have dreamt of living with my father, at least to my knowledge, but for me, this had always been my dream. And today, that dream was finally about to come true. However, in a split second, my dreams came crashing down as the car veered towards the servant quarters, adjacent to the main Walia House.
“Why are we going this way? The main entrance is that way,” I asked Mohan Uncle, who sighed in disappointment but didn’t respond until the car came to a stop.
I followed him out and watched as he had my luggage unloaded.
“What’s happening, uncle?” I asked him sternly this time. “Why are you moving my luggage here?”
“Those are Sir’s orders,” he replied guiltily.
“What?” I protested.
Mohan directed the servants to place my luggage in one of the rooms in the servant quarters and then turned back to me.
“Sir said he had promised you that after your graduation, you’d be living with him,” he explained.
I waited for him to continue.
“So, this is where you’ll live, Vishnu,” he uttered with the same disappointment I felt. “As his bodyguard. That’s the only way you can gain entry into this family and be close to your father at all times.”
My heart pounded in my chest. A bodyguard? It wasn’t that I minded being one for my dad, but why couldn’t he just acknowledge me as his son to the world and to his family? Why continue to pretend there was no connection between us? Countless doubts swirled in my head, all leading to one painful realisation. My father would never risk unveiling his secret past to the world or his family. He was a distinguished MLA now, and he wouldn’t jeopardise his reputation by admitting he had a son born outside of marriage. It could threaten his position, his name and everything he had worked so hard to build. My heart shattered in ways I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Was this what I had spent all these years longing for? To be so close to him yet never have the right to call him my father? If this was all he had to offer, I’d rather go our separate ways. I could stay with Grandma, who was still in Dehradun. She had joined an ashram and found a group of like-minded elderly women who shared her interests. Her work raising me during my parents’ absence was done. Now, she wanted to spend the remaining years of her life on her spiritual journey. I didn’t want to disrupt her goals, but that didn’t mean I would stay here and endure the humiliation from the man who was still, technically, my father.
Within a few hours, I had almost made up my mind to leave Walia House and turn down my father’s offer to be a bodyguard. But then, I remembered the promise I had made to my mother. She had wanted me to look after him and preserve his honour. How could I go back on my word now? How could I break my mother’s last wish and hurt her soul? I couldn’t bring myself to do that. So, it was for her that I stayed. The Vishnu, who had longed for the day his father would publicly accept him as his rightful son, had faded into oblivion. I realised my father had been offering excuses all these years, and he probably never intended to acknowledge me as his son. That night, I decided to let go of that dream forever. I would stay with him, protecting him, his family and his career until my last breath, just as I had promised my late mother. My father might be able to break his promise, but his son would never do so. Because that’s how a true Walia keeps his promise! Until his last breath!
The following day, Pratap Walia returned from Delhi and requested my presence in his study at the Walia House. Mohan guided me to the room, offering a reassuring pat on my back, understanding the depth of my helplessness at that moment. Pushing the door open, I stepped inside, confronting the man who had shattered my trust, my dreams and my hopes. He was no longer my father; instead, he was the man I was now obliged to serve until my last breath—a duty and responsibility to uphold the promise I had made to my late mother.
“Vishnu,” he addressed me, rising from his chair. Tension was evident in his expression as if he was struggling to find the words to explain how he wouldn’t be able to introduce me as his son to the family yet.
“Mohan uncle has briefed me on my role, Sir,” I replied, noticing how he flinched at me calling him ‘Sir’, but that didn’t affect me anymore as I’d masked my emotions. “I assure you there will be no mistakes on my part.”
