I opened my eyes. In the light, it was something I could do for only up to three seconds at a time. I was cold. After living in a sweet, warm womb for nine months, I had finally entered the big, wide world outside. The hours that had led up to the moment had been happy ones. I was looking forward to getting out of my cramp, congested home. “When I get out,” I had said to myself, “I’ll be able to play, dance and wonder.” In my mind, I would be stepping into a better world, a space that would be all mine, and only mine.
When my days of anticipation had finally come to an end, however, the reality appeared to be contrary to what I had imagined. I could not stand the light, the cold in this place I had come to on my own accord.
“Amma.....!” someone had been uttering these words when I stepped outside. And I couldn’t help feeling like they were words uttered in great pain, perhaps the greatest pain the person had ever felt in her life.
“Don’t worry, dear. Everything is going to be all right. Calm down,” said another voice as it struck on my ear.
The two voices were completely different from each other, and I felt as if I knew the first voice particularly well.
“Congratulations!” said a third voice sometime later, sounding somewhat furious, although it was relaxed. “You have given birth to a beautiful daughter, Mahima jee.”
I started crying because of two reasons. The first, because I had been wrong in thinking that this great, big word would be a place of happiness, the second, because the first voice had sounded like it was in a great amount of pain. Somehow, I couldn’t help feeling like it was all because of me, because of my decision to come out.
The crying lasted long. I promised myself that I would make whoever it was that the first voice belonged to forget the pain. She would smile forever, as she’d look at me.
Someone wiped the sticky mucous off of my body and wrapped my body in soft, clean cloth. I realised that these people who lived outside the womb had learnt how to create an artificial environment which would keep their bodies warm.
Soon, I was placed over warm skin, my head, between a pair of strange-looking shapes. As the person tapped me gently on my back, and kissed my forehead, I realised that I had known her for a very long time. I recognised her as the first person I’d ever recognised as existent besides myself. A primal instinct kicked in at that moment and I drew my attention towards those strange shapes against which I was being held. I can’t explain why, exactly, but I felt I must lick them. It was hard for me to crane my neck in the right position to do so, but when I finally did that, I felt immeasurably happy. Something told me again, that I must start sucking on that strange shape. It was difficult for me the first time, and that beautiful person with whom I felt an unexplainable affinity helped me.
I don’t remember what happened next. But after what I can only guess was an hour, I found myself in another pair of warm arms once again. Someone—this had to be the second person—was holding me with a lot of affection and love. As I opened my eyes, again, only for a few seconds, I saw so many new faces around me that I could hardly recognise everyone, and yet all these strange faces seemed to be very happy about my arrival.
After an hour’s drive, I was welcomed into a countryside home. I suppose it was the countryside because the air there seemed fresher than it had been at the hospital ward where I was born. With great care, the first person, who was holding me at the time, got off the car and took me into a dark room. There, I could open my eyes a lot longer than I had been able to since I’d entered my new world, and I tried to take in as much of it as I could. Unfortunately though, I discovered I could see nothing in the dark.
The first person carefully placed me on a soft surface and lay down beside me. She then lifted me into her arms and drew my attention towards the same strange shape from which
I had drunk the most delicious liquid earlier, warm, nourishing and full of love. I sucked on it till I was fully satisfied wondering what the wholesome liquid was. And who was this woman who was letting me tug on her body?
People would come and go. They’d lift me up, kiss me on my cheeks and push something into my hands. I could not understand what was happening. I was beginning to get irritated by the kisses everybody seemed to think they could give me without my consent and was wondering when it would all finally be over.
The first person was cleaning me....She showed no annoyance or disgust as she changed me. I too felt no hesitation, no embarrassment. She was the person who’d given birth to me, my mother, and she loved me unconditionally. I was happy. I promised that I would love and make her happy. I was so over come with emotion that I could not stop crying.
•••
“Mahima! Mahima! What happened? Why are you crying? Wake up, dear,” Saugat was shaking me and trying to bring me in to the real world. I woke up and found nothing was quite like it had been in my dream.
“Oh! Saugat, it was a beautiful dream. Our child had come to the world, and you know what, our child…”
“Mahima, let it be…don’t think much. You should rest, and all this stress isn’t good for you,” Saugat interrupted as he handed me a glass of water, which I obediently gulped and laid back in bed. I wish the dream had continued. It had showed me what it must feel like to be a newborn, and I felt like my own child had been hearing everything with me. It was as if she were speaking to me so that I could understand, and act accordingly.
The sun had already come up the hill when I woke up. I couldn’t help smiling when my eyes travelled to the framed image of the Makhan Chor in my room. I thought of the lovable little baby I had just dreamt of.
Saugat walked into the room again some minutes later with a breakfast tray. “Omelette and bread for you, my dear,” he said to me. “And a small portion for my child.” He smiled, and I plunged into the plate he’d put in front of me.
As I ate the food my husband had so loving prepared for me, I thought of the long journey he and I had taken together: our friendship in school, the blossoming of romance in college, and our marriage. Everything had always been perfect, and the pregnancy—although late in coming—had made everything better. After years of trying and failing to conceive, we’d finally received the good news eight-and-a-half months ago. The pregnancy had been as normal as could be, and it had only been a week since the doctor had recommended complete bed rest for me. The dream had left with a lingering feeling of happiness, and I shared it with Saugat again. He was positively elated when he heard I’d dreamt of our little daughter. He has always wanted a little girl.
I continued dreaming of our baby girl. The time of her arrival was nearing, and she seemed to be telling me how happy she was about it. She and I were one soul, one consciousness when I dreamed, so I was a little puzzled when I saw my daughter sitting on someone else’s lap one night. The purohit was chanting mantras as my sister-in-law held my little darling on her lap.
It was Chaiti, the day when my baby’s fate would be written.
I was wondering how she might be feeling at that moment, when my daughter got up from my sister-in-law’s lap and ran towards me. ‘Momma,’ she cried, as she held her tiny tummy and told me it hurt.
I woke up and found my own hands on my belly. “It was that dream again,” I said to myself, and smiling, caressed my womb. But something didn’t feel right at that moment. I felt a jolt I could not explain. I could not feel my child kicking. Something was wrong.
A few hours later, I woke up in a hospital emergency room. My family were huddled around my bed, and I was cold, clammy, strangely empty....I looked at Saugat’s tear-strained eyes. They told me something I did not want to hear.
Even before he held my hand and mouthed the word, ‘miscarriage’, tears had begun rolling down my cheeks.
- Rabina Dhakal
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