Finding Arun by Marisha Pink

Director of the Rachna Hari Women’s
Refuge.’
    Aaron couldn’t believe his luck and, dusting the
dirt from his shorts, he leapt up to shake Manoj’s hand. He was
several feet taller than the refuge director and though he towered
over him imposingly, the tiny man had an aura about him that
instantly commanded respect. Introducing himself, he searched
Manoj’s eyes for a spark of recognition at the Rutherford name, but
the refuge director remained nonplussed, enquiring instead about
the relative that Aaron was seeking information on. Aaron delivered
a brief synopsis of his mother’s friendship with Kalpana, his
birth, adoption and transfer to England, and of his mother’s recent
passing, explaining that he now wished to be reunited with his
biological mother. It was close enough to the truth and, not
wanting to complicate matters any more than necessary, he
deliberately omitted details of Kalpana’s letters and his mother’s
deceit.
    Manoj listened intently to the young man’s story
without judgement or interruption, and by the end of it he seemed
to accept that Aaron’s quest was genuine. He looked up at the young
man kindly, his eyes soft and full of empathy.
    ‘That is quite a remarkable story, Mr
Rutherford.’
    ‘Aaron. Please, call me Aaron,’ he quickly
corrected. ‘Mr Rutherford makes me sound like my father.’
    ‘Very well, Aaron. And tell me, what does your
father make of your decision to search for your birth mother?’
    Aaron looked away and shifted uncomfortably on the
spot, unsure how to answer.
    ‘He … he understands.’
    Manoj seemed to sense that he had ventured into
awkward territory and raised his hands, partly in apology and
partly to signal that Aaron need not elaborate on his answer.
    ‘Well, you are welcome to accompany me to the
refuge, Aaron, but I’m afraid that record keeping back then was not
quite what it is today. In fact, before I came from Delhi and took
charge a few years ago, things were in a terrible state. It’s
possible that we have some information, but there is a good chance
that it is incomplete and I have to say that a forwarding address
seems very unlikely indeed.’
    ‘Unlikely, but not impossible, right?’
    ‘Nothing is impossible, Aaron,’ replied Manoj with a
small wink.
    He motioned for Aaron to follow him to where a large
motorcycle was parked and, with a renewed sense of hope, Aaron
trundled down the street taking one step for every two of Manoj’s.
He clambered awkwardly onto the back of the motorcycle, struggling
to tuck his long limbs in alongside Manoj’s small frame and greatly
concerned by the absence of a helmet for either of them. Yet there
was little time to give it further thought when the engine
sputtered to life in a thick plume of swirling black smoke and with
Aaron perched precariously on the back, his arms wrapped tightly
around Manoj’s waist, the pair sped off towards the new refuge.
    Aaron had no idea what awaited him at the new
refuge, but feeling instinctively that he was supposed to meet
Manoj, he mentally congratulated himself for having made the
correct decision in getting out of the taxi. When they passed from
the deserted streets back into civilisation, he felt himself relax
a little and, releasing his grip on Manoj’s waist, began to enjoy
the feeling of the wind rushing past his face. Manoj manoeuvred the
motorcycle effortlessly through the city traffic in a more or less
linear fashion, until a sharp right turn saw them ascending a
gentle incline along a quiet dirt track. The path was lined with
leafy green trees and rice paddies and as they approached the brow
of the hill, a large white colonial-style house, surrounded by an
imposing metal gate, loomed on the horizon. Aaron gasped when it
was fully in view, quickly understanding Manoj’s earlier comment
about the improved premises. Such a beautiful house was the last
thing that you would expect to find at the end of the long dirt
track and once again Aaron was silently