A new beginning or an end?

'NO!' she ranted, 'NO! NO! NO!'

They tried to restrain her. NO! And they tried to calm her, 'Everything will be alright, your baby will be fine.' They tried to hold her, that bevy of women, as she crumpled to the floor. No, she wanted him back, 'MY BABY!' she repeated brokenly, alternating between whispers and cries. They tried to quieten her, ‘Shh! Shh! He will hear, he will get angry!’

She wouldn’t listen, she pushed away their hands and pulled at her saree as though its touch was too much for her skin to bear.

When her antics were too much for them to see, they threatened her, ‘You better stop! He decides everything. You had better listen to him! Be glad that you have a roof over your head, stupid girl! He could have thrown you out!'

'I don’t want this roof, I just want my baby,' she spoke as one sapped of all energy. 'I want him here,' and she cradled her arms. She sat cross-legged, that was how her baby liked to sleep, on her lap.

They murmured in mock-fury communicating their understanding of her predicament to each other but playing a charade for her to see, 'Leave her, leave her, she should understand. What kind of upbringing has she had? What shame she brings to her parents with this act! After all, she is a woman. Once her husband has agreed, can she refuse? Poor woman, first baby, no? Of course, you will feel like this, but he will be cared for, shh! No crying, no crying, it is inauspicious!'

A man entered the women's quarters and each shushed the other, men were not supposed to walk in unbidden, but he was the eldest who would raise a voice? He glared down at the angry woman, 'Wait,' a soft voice pleaded, 'after all, she is the mother, this is a shock to her...'

'You, be quiet!' he commanded. She looked dazedly into his eyes, not bothering to cover her wet breasts, not caring to look away in deference. He had taken her baby! She heaved as she sat up pleading, screaming, pleading, screaming and fell back in a faint.

How had it changed so suddenly? It had just been a month since she returned from her mother's house after the delivery. Her mother had held the baby while she alighted from the compartment. There had been smiling welcoming faces all around as she followed close behind. The firstborn, a son, the gods had been kind to her. Probably it had been the prayers of her mother or her husband, no, she had insisted, my mother's prayers were answered.

Everyone fussed around, cooing, making sure she ate well otherwise how would the baby grow properly? Her slender frame had to put on a few layers of fat, how would the boy become strong to face life? There seemed to be a never-ending bustle of women around her. She was lucky to have so much care. Her parents left soon after she had settled in.

Her mother-in-law was dead, so what, the eldest sister-in-law would fill in for her. She would take care of her and the baby. Though it was a busy time, the young mother loved every moment of it. She would wake up in the morning and bathe well before the little one cried for his feed. Between her and her sister-in-law they took good care of the boy. They understood each other so well. She was lucky to have such a kind elder around. Such a loving family, she felt warm and loved.

One afternoon, as she fed the baby, her sister-in-law commented, ‘You look so weak, hardly gaining weight, how will the baby grow strong in your care? Let us start giving him gruel to make him stronger.’

Stung, the young mother asked her, ‘How do you know? Married for so long and no baby of your own. My mother told me only my milk will strengthen him.'

‘I heard some talk among the women…,’ the lady snapped. 'The baby needs a strong mother.' She referred to the widowed aunts and cousins and the unmarried sister of the house. They had taken refuge here and helped with all the chores in return for food and shelter.

‘Five widows with no issue and one who was never married, how can they know?’ the sharpness of youth can be hard to bear. The older woman walked away.

The conversation dampened her affection for the older woman but she was so busy there wasn't time to brood. Besides, she was struggling with intense love for her child, a feeling that overwhelmed her at times. She wanted to be the only mother he ever knew, the only one he called ‘ma’, she wanted hers to be the only chain he pulled at as he suckled her breast, hers the only finger that he held but there were so many contenders for his love. So many women wanting to take turns to keep him in their ample laps and gaze at him adoringly that at times she snapped. Her mother had warned her before she had left home. ‘Everyone will want the child to call them ‘ma’, do not fight, they are elder, they yearn for a child's love, respect them.' She would not heed it.

How old was she, 15, 16 maybe? This story relates to a time when girls were but children when they married.

Then there was her husband. He watched the baby fondly but was either self-conscious or afraid of making a mistake, he never held the baby close, in his arms. She tried to teach him but no, he wouldn’t. He watched it from a distance as it woke up and kicked at the sky. He laughed as it made faces at the world. At 20, fatherhood was but a natural step, ordained by the gods. Who would have thought it would be a son. For mysterious reasons, he had been blessed.

Every morning she fed and cleaned the baby, before placing him in a shaded area of the open veranda where the softly rising sun would merely soothe him. The young father would watch from a distance.

Weeks flew past. The bustle around the baby had become an everyday norm. The sun did its work of strengthening those tiny arms, the breeze played with him softly as he slept. But the shining sun permits dark intent to thrive in its brilliance, who knew?

One afternoon, the elder sister-in-law walked in on her with a smile that spoke of much prior thought, 'He is as much my son as he is yours. I prayed that you should have a boy,' she said by way of explanation. 'My prayers have been answered.’

The mother's smile waned. 'My mother prayed, I prayed. If your prayers could work for me, surely they should have worked for you.’ Older she may be, I don't need her! Why does she make these unexpected announcements?

The elder woman betrayed no emotion as she left the room.

Who knew the singe in her heart? She was a willing devoted servant to her husband. She thirsted for his approval, one kind word, just one loving gesture. He gauged her need and denied her the merest glance. What use is a woman if she cannot bear a son?

He would have married another but fear overtook him lest the shadow of doubt about his wife’s barrenness fall on him. It was not as though he had been true to his wife, but there had never been a resultant pregnancy. Not even the young beauty he had recently brought in as help. As of now, all blame lay on the wife’s miserable shoulders and she bore it quietly. It was better that way. After all, he was the eldest son and the pressures on him were much greater than she could know. Much greater than anyone could bear.

He pondered his younger brother's family. That girl must have done some good in her past life to have this boy in her arms so early. His visit to the astrologer was overdue. A decision must be taken.

The change had been sudden. No one spoke but something was amiss and we must know the chatter in the house lest we face surprise. There were whispers, murmurs and furtive looks but when you are busy and happy, these pass without a glance.

So, when her husband slumped on the long swing in the veranda she gave no notice. ‘Give him to me,’ he spoke in a strangled tone that barely caught her attention. She handed him the baby and he hugged it close. He kissed its forehead as though to say goodbye.

‘Are you going somewhere?’ she asked. She would have to check his cupboards and pack his bag, oh my, so much to do.

‘We are going, dada wants me to manage the work at....’ He did not want to look her in the eye it seemed. She hardly heard where they were going as her face flushed with joy. Finally, she would have the baby to herself, ‘I can manage alone, the housework, baby and your needs, we don’t need these women, your aunts to come.’ Then realizing that it seemed she had ordered him, she covered that up with a shy, ‘Am I right?’

He did not reply but looked away. She usually felt unsure when he looked away. She was never quite sure whether he was offended or thinking of something else. He was so handsome, so good, this wonderful man she was married to. She smiled fondly as she saw him rummage through his hair. She would have asked him what he was searching for but there was a loud cry and her attention was diverted.

They said it was a prayer, a prayer for the baby. Her parents were not there, shouldn’t they have been? What was this prayer? Her husband and his elder brother and wife were seated in front of a burning ‘hom’. Questions raced through her mind as she let herself be directed by a hundred helping hands to sit next to her husband. ‘Why are they taking the baby in their arms?’ she got only a sidelong look in reply. The elder woman was quietly placing him on her lap. Oh, because they are the elders they pretend to be the parents, she thought bitterly. I should be holding him, there, watch the palm, can’t she even see how the arm is folded. What is she doing!

‘The adoption is complete in the eyes of God and all of you are witness,’ the priest announced. 

She sat stunned. Heh! What? What? She looked at her husband for support but he had none to give. ‘That is my baby! Mine! They cannot adopt my baby!! NO!’

The priest watched her rant with eyes of wisdom, ‘The mother should have been told about this before you arranged it,’ and there was a flutter among the audience. Many voices spoke at once, mollifying, explaining, soothing, cajoling, demanding, disapproving, reasoning. She listened to no one. Why, even the baby gagged and started to wail loudly. She lunged at her sister-in-law and dragged the baby away. Her hair came undone, she cared little. Her saree was askew, she cared little. She ran through that mass of people, hardly aware that a bevy of eyes followed her.

She had barely reached the upper-floor veranda when her husband caught up with her frenzy. She looked at him, wild-eyed with anguish, ‘You gave? MINE!’

‘Do not speak to your husband in that manner,’ a cold elder spoke. The elder brother was well-known for his temper.

‘What husband, he gave you MY child!’

‘Quiet! Keep your tone. Remember who you are speaking with!’

‘MY CHILD WILL BE WITH ME! You can have your own!’

He raised his hand and slapped her hard across her face.

She staggered but held the baby tight. ‘As the eldest in the family, it is my right to demand that your son become ours so we can follow our ‘dharma’ correctly. He will be rightful heir to everything. He will light my pyre when I die. He will carry the name of this family forward. As your son, he will get nothing. Your husband will have full charge of our business; you will have a big house. You will have more sons. Think!’

‘NONONONO!!!’

He raised her hand to strike her one more time, ‘Dada, please do not hit her,’ her husband’s tremulous voice broke through.

‘We’ll give you the next one, the next son. How can you take my firstborn?’ she pleaded.

‘I have consulted the astrologers. This boy was mine, he should have been mine! But this woman cannot bear a child. I would have brought another but my goodness prevented me.'

She pointed at him, ‘Then bring another wife, why fear…’

‘Stop it, no, please stop,’ her husband was pleading but another slap stung her cheek. As her face swung, she felt the baby slip from her grasp. She grabbed him tighter. She did not care, he could not take her baby away and suddenly she understood, 

‘You did not remarry! What goodness?? You! you can't! you can't!’ she was young, much too young to know the full import of her accusations.

'STOP!' The priest’s voice broke through the haze.

‘She dares abuse me, I am the eldest of this family. When we brought her here, we expected at least a modicum of respect. What have we got? She must be taught respect!’

‘MINE, YOU CANNOT TAKE HIM! I want my parents! I will take my baby and go!’

‘Go from here,’ the priest announced. 'GO!'

She stumbled away, opened the door to her darkened room and locked it behind her. Nobody followed her. She placed her crying son against her breast and soothed him. She was trembling. Her cheeks stung. If such a prayer was performed, shouldn’t her parents have been there? Did they know? Someone had to help her, she was alone. All alone.

She awoke to a knock on the door, she did not respond.

The knocking became urgent. It’s me.

He stood handsome and tall, silhouetted against the sunlight. She felt no liking, no warmth in his presence. She ran back to the bed and clasped her son. She had been right to, for behind him came the elder brother, his uncle, his wife and aunt.

The elder brother spoke, ‘The priest assures us that we can complete the formalities. The signs are good.’

‘You lie, I want my parents,’ she remained adamant. ‘If they had known this would happen they would never have agreed to such an alliance. Hmh! Elder brother demanding the younger one’s first born son,’ she watched with contempt as his face went red. You wouldn't dare speak of this to them, respect! YOU!'

The uncle intervened, he had a kind face, a face that showed understanding. She turned to him in hope as he spoke, ‘as the eldest, he has the right to request his brother for the boy. It is for the good of the family. How will your son feel if he has to follow his less fortunate parents while his younger brother is cared for by the family elder? Is it not unfair? A wrong to an innocent?’

‘You lie too,’ she repeated, her heart sinking. He did not understand, he could not be relied upon. They had to call her parents, but a cold sliver of clarity formed. They would call nobody.

She turned to her husband, ‘Please give our next child to them, please.’

But the elder asked, ‘How do you know that will be a boy?’

‘Then we will give the next son, please not this one! My heart is on him.’

‘We don’t know that the next will be healthy males, what if they are not? Will your health keep up? Who knows?'

‘Then you would have deprived your brother,’ she countered.

‘He has agreed to it, he is not deprived, he will be well looked after, you will be well looked after,’ he spat out.

She shook her head, ‘You cheat him of his son, you will cheat him of his business. You are no elder, just a common liar.’

‘Enough! Before I kill you, enough!’

‘Let me be your wife then, I don’t want your brother, I will go where my child is, I want my child, only my child,’ she pleaded.

That evil elder ran his eyes over her body, ‘I would have, but you are not worthy, you have no respect for age or position.'

‘You do not command any, my father is a great man. That was why he was blessed with two sons. You do not command respect. You are hated because you are a cheat. Phah! You beat your wife, what man beats his wife? I have heard about you and that fair woman you brought as maid. But there was no child of it. I know I know I know.’

‘That is now my baby,’ the elder sister-in-law interrupted as though it was all too much for her to bear. She came forward and grasped the child firmly.

The mother’s strength failed her, she fell back letting the child go.

If her heart broke there was no sign of it, instead, they said she went mad. Why one day, she ran out of the house, to a police station, screaming. But this was an influential family. She was duly returned with instructions to obey her elders. 

She tried to leave the house on her own one night, but someone saw her and brought her back. Issues of upbringing they said, yet no one complained to her parents. Nobody called them. And as was the custom of the time, they could not call upon her without good cause.

Her husband waited for her to get better, but she continued to rage in the darkened room. She would not look at him when he walked past, she should have calmed by now but her storms continued. 

'Why,' he tried to reason with her, 'we are in the same house, the baby is here. It will call you ma, it will call her ma. It is all the same, we are one family after all. Remember, you were even willing to marry my brother,’ he still smarted at the humiliation and the way the older man had gazed at his wife. An embarrassment no man should have to bear. 'Nice happy family,' he bit out, probably hopeful for a tearful apology. She looked at him with a slow dawning of his weakness, his dimness. She cared little about his increasing isolation. He was still here, maybe his brother had forgotten about his promise, she was past caring. 

Though her heart filled with pain when she heard her son's cries. She was not permitted to pick, not even touch him. When it laughed, her heart broke. A cruel report reached her, ‘he grows perfectly with his new mother, he has forgotten you.’ It was spoken with a smile, satisfied when the sting hurt right through.

She stopped going out of her room, the pain was too much to bear. Food was sent up to her, it remained untouched. ‘Let her starve, when she is hungry, she will come begging for food,’ the elder brother shouted. Her husband was too busy to check on her welfare, he chose to sleep in another room.

She died alone. In grief. In pain. Did her mother wail? Did her father cry? And her husband? Did he care?

Peace, brilliant golden peace. It remained like that willingly for long but who knows time here?

An invisible tug and it was back in a vaguely familiar veranda. The empty swing, the cool corner and ahead the large darkened room. There were no signs of her presence anywhere, no pictures of her, no paintings she had created, no memorabilia. It would have known the place if there had been something.

What had pulled it back? It flitted past empty rooms, a staircase, it had a faint memory of pain. It moved on to the front of the house. A shroud lay on the floor. The boy had died. He was 9. A mysterious illness that was grabbing the smiles of the young and snuffing them out despite medicines and prayers.

The mother sat distraught, the father was nowhere to be seen. Voices were everywhere, the form listened to the whispers. 

'Yes, shh, shh, she’s not the birth-mother, she adopted him. But his own mother could not have loved him as much. Oh, his own mother I think she was mad. She used to run out of the house screaming and wailing. Why once she ran to the police, you know? oh? What did they do? What could they do, some problem of the mind. Poor people, then she died, lucky they found another girl. But there have been daughters, no more sons in the family, poor thing.'

A woman, fair and stout stood separate from the others. She had lived years as a lesser woman in this household, she had seen much. 'Hmh! I know what they did,' she thought. 'They are cursed. They will repent!' She raged silently, never letting her words known. The form heard her thoughts, it helped it to remember this place.

It had answered the call of attachment. It moved away.